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THE STRAND MAGAZINE 


July to December, 1902 



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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


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THE 


STrtfHID MHGHZinE 


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EDITED BY 

GEORGE NEWNES 


Vol. XXIV. 

JULY TO DECEMBER 


Xon&on: 

GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, & 12, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, 

AND EXETER STREET, STRAND 

1902 


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I 

“ WATERE—WATER, MATE, FOR THE LOVE OF HEAVEN 1" 

{See page 9 ) 



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Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












Vol. xxiv. 


No. 139. 


The Strand Magazine. 

JULY, 1902. 


The House Under the Sea. 

By Max Pemberton. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE SECOND ATTACK ON CZERNYS HOUSE. 

HE shot was fired and answered 
at the lower gate. We had 
looked for that: for that we 
had been waiting during the 
watching hours. They would 
attack the lesser reef, we said, 
and our own good men, standing sentinels, 
would flash the news of it to us, and the gun 
would do the rest. Dark as it was, the 
blackest hour the island had given us, never¬ 
theless by daylight we had trained our barrels 
upon the reef, and now took aim in all 
confidence. Twice we whistled shrilly to 
warn our men ; twice we heard their answer¬ 
ing voices. Then the gun belched forth its 
hail of shot and the challenge was thrown 
down. 

“Give it to them, Dolly ! ” I cried, my brain 
afire at the call of action; “ for every honest 
seaman's sake, give it to them, lad ! We'll tell 
of this to morrow—aye, Dolly, we ll tell a great 
story yet !” 

He answered me with a boy's glad cry; I 
do believe it was like a game to him. 

“ Pass here, pass here !" he kept crying ; 
“we have them every time! In with the 
shot, Seth—in with it! Don’t keep them 
waiting ! Oh, captain, what a night! " 

The others said nothing; even Peter 
Bligh’s tongue was still in that surpassing 
moment. The doubt of it defied words. 
We knew nothing, nor could we do aught but 
leave our fortune to the darkness of the night. 
The rogues who fell, the rogues who stood, 
the boats that came on, the boats that with¬ 
drew, of these we were ignorant. All was 
hidden from our eyes ; the veil of the night 
cloaked from us the work we had done. If 

VoL t 

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men cried in agony, if groans mocked angry 
boasts, if we heard the splashing of the oars, 
the hoarse command, the vile blasphemy, 
the rest was in imagination’s keeping. The 
outposts of Czerny’s crew, we said, had 
tried to rush the gate where our own men 
watched ; but our own were behind the steel 
doors now and the gun’s hail swept the barren 
rock. The dawn would show us the harvest 
we had reaped. 

Now the volleys rolled their thunder right 
away to the hills of Ken’s Island, and the 
whistling of the bullets was like the singing 
of unseen birds above our heads ; there 
were oases of red flame in the waste of 
blackness; we heard oaths and cries, com¬ 
mands roared hoarsely across the water, 
voices triumphant and voices in despair; 
and then came the first great silence. VVhat- 
ever had befallen on the rock, those who 
sought to force the lesser gate were, for the 
moment, driven back. Even little Dolly, 
mad at the gun like one whom no reason 
could restrain, heard me at last and obeyed 
my command. 

“ Cease firing, lad ! ” roared I, “ cease 
firing ! Would you shoot the sea? Yonder’s 
the captain’s whistle. It means that the 
danger’s nearer. Aye, stand by, lads,” I said, 
“and look out for it.” 

We swung the gun round *so that it faced 
the basin before us, and, rifles ready, we 
peered again in the lowering darkness. About 
me now I could hear the deep breathing of 
my comrades, and see their crouching 
figures, and say that every nerve was tautened, 
every faculty awakened. Shielded by the 
night, those hidden boats were creeping up 
to us foot by foot. Whatever had been done 
at the lesser gate had been done as a ruse, 

Original from 

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4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE , 


I did not doubt* Czerny's goal was the 
greater door we held so desperately; his 
desire was to win possession of that house 
wherein lay life and treasure and lasting 
security. 

I counted twenty, no man speaking, and 
then I raised my voice* Dimly, in the 
shadows, I made out the shape of a long-boat 
drifting to the brink ; and to Dolly I said :—* 

“ Let go—in Heaven’s name, let go, lad ! w 

He stood to 
the gun with a 
cry of defiance 
and blazed into 
the darkness* 

The drifting 
boat lurched 
and sagged and 
turned her 
beam to the 
seas. I could 
distinguish the 
faces of men, 
ferocious and 
threatening, as 
they peered 
upward to the 
rock; I saw 
other boats 
looming over 
the dark water; 

I heard the 
ringing com¬ 
mand, “ In at 
them ! Down 
with them ! ” 
and then, I 
think, for many 
minutes t o- 
gether I fired 
wildly at the 
figures before 
me, swung 
round now to 
this side, now 
to that; was 
unconscious of 
the bullets 
splintering the 
rock or of the lead shower pouring on us. 
The battle raged; we were at the heart of it. 
What should a man remember then but 
those who counted upon him ? 

Now, you have imagined this picture, and 
you seem to stand with me upon that spit of 
rock, that defiant crag in the great Pacific 
Ocean, with the darkness of heaven above 
and the darkness of the sea below, with the 
belching guns and the spitting rifles, the yells 


of agony and the crouching figures, the hearts 
beating high and the sweating faces; and just 
as the outcome was hidden from me and I 
knew not from minute to minute whether it 
were life or death to us, so will you share the 
meaning of that suspense and all the terror 
of it. From every side now the rain of shot 
was poured in upon us, the unceasing torrent 
came ; above, below, ringing upon the iron 
shield, scattering deadly fragments, ploughing 

the waters, it 
fell like a wave 
impotent, a 
broken sea 
whose spindrift 
even could not 
harm us. For 
a good ring of 
steel fenced us 
about; we held 
the turret, and 
we laughed at 
the madness 
below. 

44 Round with 
the gun!” I 
would cry, again 
and again; 
“round with 
her, Dolly. Let 
them have it 
everywhere. No 
favours this 
night, my lad; 
full measure 
and overflowing 
— let them have 
it, for Miss 
Ruth's sake 1" 
His joyous 
“Aye, aye, sir E J * 
was a thing to 
hear. No sailor 
of the old time, 
black with powder, mad on a 
slippery deck, fought, I swear, 
as we four in that shelter of 
the turret. Clear as in the 
sun’s day were the waves 
about us while the crimson flame leaped out. 
Crouched all together, the sweat upon our 
fomheads, smoke in our eyes, the wild delight 
of it quickening us, we blazed at the enemy 
unseen; we said that right was with us* 

There were, so far as I could make out, 
six boats set to the attack upon the great 
gate, and seventy or eighty men manning 
them. Acting together on such a plan as a 
master-mind had laipl down for them, they 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



“he stood to the gun with a cry of defiance 

AND HI.A7KD INTO THE DARKNESS, 1 * 








THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA . 


5 


tried to rush the rock from four points of the 
compass, trusting, it may be, that one boat, 
at least, would land its crew upon the plateau. 
And in this they were successful. Pour shot 
upon them as we might, search every quarter 
with the flying shells, nevertheless one boat 
touched the rock in spite of us, one crew 
leaped up in frenzy toward the turret. So 
sudden it was, so unlooked for, that great 
demoniacal figures seemed upon us even 
while we said that the seas were clear. 
Whirling their knives, yelling* one to the 
other, some slipping on the slimy weed, 
others, more sure in foothold, making for 
the turret’s height, the mutineers fell upon 
us like a hurricane and so beat us down that 
my heart sank away from me, and I said that 
the house was lost and little Ruth Bellenden 
their prey at last. 

“Stand by the gun—by the gun to the 
last, if you love your life ! ” I cried to Dolly 
Venn. “ Do you, Peter, old comrade, follow 
me; I am going to clear the rock. You will 
help me to do that, Peter ?” 

“ Help you, captain! Aye,” roared he, 
“if it was the ould divil himself in a 
travelling caravan, I’d help you ! ” 

He swung his rifle by the barrel as he 
spoke the words and, bringing it down crash, 
he cleaved the skull of a great ruffian whose 
face was already glowering down from the 
turret’s rim. Nothing, I swear, in all that 
night was more wonderful than the sang froid 
of this great Irishman (as he would call him¬ 
self in fighting moods) or the merry words 
which he could find for us even then in the 
very crisis of it, when hope seemed gone and 
the worst upon us. For Peter knew well what 
I was about when I leapt from the turret 
and charged down upon the mutineers. A 
dozen men, perchance, had gained foothold 
on the rock. We must drive them back, he 
said ; stand face to face with them, let the 
odds be what they might. 

“Good luck to my arm this hour and 
light for the bald places!” cries he, leaping 
to the ground and whirling his musket like a 
demon. Seth Barker, do not doubt, was on 
his heels—trust the carpenter to be where 
danger was ! I could hear him grunting even 
above that awful din. He fought like ten, 
and wherever he swung his musket there he 
left death behind him. 

So follow us as we leap from the turret, 
and hurl ourselves upon that astonished crew. 
Black as the place was, tremulous the light, 
nevertheless the cabined space* the open 
plateau, was our salvation. I saw figures 
before me; faces seemed to look into my 


own; and as a battle-axe of old time, so my 
rifle’s butt would fall upon them. Heaven 
knows I had the strength of three and I 
used it with three’s agility, now shooting 
them down, now hitting wildly, thrust here, 
thrust there, bullets singing about my ears, 
haunting cries everywhere. Aye, how they 
went under! What music it was, those 
crashing blows upon head and breast, the 
loud report, the gurgling death-rattle, the 
body thrown into the sea, the pitiful screams 
for mercy ! And yet the greater wonder, 
perhaps, that we lived to tell of it. Twelve 
against three ; yet a craven twelve, remember, 
who feared to die and yet must fight to live ! 
And to nerve our arms a woman’s honour, 
and, to guide us aright, the watchword: 
“ Home ! ” 

I fought my way to the water’s edge, and 
then turned round to see what the others 
were doing. There were two upon Peter 
Bligh at that moment, but one fell headlong 
as I took a step toward them ; and the 
other’s driving-knife fell on empty air, and 
the man himself, struck full between the 
eyes, rolled dead into the lapping sea. 

“ Well done, Peter, well done ! ” I cried, 
wildly; and then, as though it were an 
answer to my boasts, something fell upon my 
shoulder like a great weight dropped from 
above, and I went down headlong upon the 
rock. Turning as I fell, I clutched a 
human throat, and, closing my fingers upon 
it, he and I, the man out of the darkness 
and the fool who had forgotten his eyes, 
went reeling over and over like wild beasts 
that seek a hold and would tear and bite 
when the moment comes. Aye, how I held 
him, how near his eyes seemed to mine, 
what gasping sounds he uttered, how his 
feet fought for foothold on the rock, how 
his hand felt for the knife at his girdle ! And 
I had him always, had him surely; and seek¬ 
ing to force himself upward, the slippery rock 
gave him no foothold, and he slipped at last 
from my very fingers, and some great fish, 
hidden from me, drew him down to the 
water and I saw the waves close above his 
mouth. Henceforth there were but three 
men left at the gate of Czerny’s house. 
They were three who, even at that time, 
could thank God because the peril was 
turned. 

We beat the twelve off, as I have told you, 
and for an hour at least no fresh attack 
was made on the rock. The sharpest eye 
now could not detect boats in the darkness; 
the sharpest r,ar cculd not distinguish the 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


6 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 



muffled splash of oars. We hy all together 
in the turret, and very methodically, as 
seamen will, we stanched our wounds and 
asked, " What neat ?" That we had some 
hurt of such 
an affray goes 
without say¬ 
ing. My own 
shoulder was 
bruised and 
aching ; the 
blood still 
trickled down 
Peter Bligh's 
honest face 
from the knife- 
wound that 
had gashed his 
forehead; Seth 
Barker pressed 
his hand to a 
jagged side 
and said that 
it was nothing. 

But for these 
scratches we 
cared little, 
and when our 
comrades 
hailed us from 
the lesser gate, 
their “ All’s 
well ! ** made 
us glad men indeed. In 
spile of it all, one of us, 
at least, I witness, could 
tell himself, 41 It is possible 
Heaven, it is possible—that we shall 
see the day ! ” That we had beaten 
off the first attack was not to be 
doubted. Wherever the mutineers 
had gone to, they no longer rowed in the 
loom of the gate. And yet I knew that the 
time must be short; day would not serve 
them nor the morning light The dark must 
decide it 

“ They will come again, Peter, and it will 
be before the dawn,” said 1, when one thing 
and another had been mentioned and no 
word of their misfortune. “ It's beyond 
expectation to suppose anything else. If this 
house is to be taken, they must take it in the 
dark. And more than that, lads,” said I, “it 
was a foolish thing for us to go among them 
as we did and to fight it out down yonder. 
We are safer in the turret—safer, by a long 
way ! ,J 

“I thought so all the time, sir,” answered 
Dolly Venn, wisely, 41 They can never get 


below if you cover the door; and T can keep 
the sea. IPs lucky Czerny loop-holed this 
place, anyway. If ever I meet him, I shall 
quote poetry: * He nursed the pinion which 
impelled the steel/ It would about 
make him mad, captain I ,J 

Aye,” says Peter BLigh, “ poetry 
is well enough, as my •poor old 
father used to say; but poetry 
never reefed a to*gallan’ sail in a 
hurricane and 
isn’t going to 
begin this 
night. IPs 
thick heads 
you need, lad, 
and good, 
sound sense 
inside of ’em ! 
As for what 
the captain 
says, I do hold 
it, truly. But, 
Lord 3 I’m like 
a boy at a fair 
w- h e n t h e 
crowns are 
cracking, and 
angels them¬ 
selves wouldn't 
keep me hack,” 
“ Y o u J d 
affright them, 
Mister Bligh,” 
puts in Seth 
Barker,“you'd 
affright them 
— asking your 
pardon — with 
your l a n d - 
gwich ! ” 

11 What!” cries Peter, as though in amaze¬ 
ment; “did I say things that oughtn’t to be 
said ? Well, you surprise me, Barker, you 
do surprise me ! ” 

Well, I was glad to hear them talk like 
this, for jest is better than the coward's 
“if”: and men who can face death with a 
laugh will win life before your craven any 
day. P>ut for the prone figures on the rock, 
looking up with their sightless eyes, or 
huddled in cleft and cranny —but for them, 
I say, and distant voices on the sea, and the 
black shape of Ken's Island, we four might 
have been merry comrades in a ship's cabin, 
smoking a pipe in the morning watch and 
looking gladly for dawn and a welcome 
shore. That this content could long endure 
was, beyond all qu^sjLio^ impossible* Never 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE SLUTSKY HOCK GAVE HIM mq rooiHOLU. 






















THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA. 


7 


theless, when next we started up and gripped 
our rifles and cried “ Stand by ! ” it was not 
any alarm from the sea that brought us to 
our feet, but a sudden shout from the house 
below, a rifle-shot echoing in the depths, a 
woman's voice, and then a man’s rejoinder ; 
a figure appearing without any warning at 
the stairs-head, the figure of a huge man, 
vast and hulking, with long yellow hair, 
and fists clenched and arms outstretched— 
a man who took one scared look round 
him and then leaped wildly into the 
sea. Now this, you may imagine, was the 
most surprising event of all that eventful 
night. So quickly did it come upon us, so 
little did we look fcr it, that when Kess 
Denton, the yellow man, stood at the open 
gate and uttered a loud and piercing yell of 
defiance, not one among us could lift a 
rifle, not one thought of plan or action. 
There the fellow was, laughing like a maniac. 
Why he came, whence he came, no man 
could tell. But he leaped into the sea and 
the night engulfed him, and only his mock¬ 
ing laugh told us that he lived. 

“ Kess Denton ! ” cried I, my head dazed 
and my words coming in a torrent; “ Kess 
Denton. Then there’s mischief below, lads 
—mischief, I swear ! ” 

Clair-de-Lune answered me—old Clair-de- 
Lune, standing in a blaze of light; for they 
had switched on the lamps below, and the 
vein of the reef stood out suddenly like some 
silver monster breathing on the surface of 
the sea. Clair-de-Lune answered me, I say, 
and his words were the most terrible I had 
heard since first I came to Ken’s Island. 

44 The water is in ! ” he cried, “the water is 
in the house ! ” 

I saw it as in a flash. This man we had 
neglected to hunt from the caverns below, 
striking at us in the supreme moment, had 
opened trap or window and let the sea pour 
in the labyrinth below. The water was flood¬ 
ing Czerny’s house. 

44 Now,” I cried, “you don’t mean that, 
Clair-de Lune? Then what of the men in 
the engine-room ? How will it fare with 
Captain Nepeen?” 

Doctor Gray stood behind the old French¬ 
man, and, limping up to my side, he leaned 
against the rock and began to speak of it 
very coolly. 

44 The water is in,” be said, “ but it will 
not flood the higher rooms, for they are 
above sea-level. We are saving what pro¬ 
visions we can, and the men below are 
all right. As for Nepeen, we must get him 
off in a boat somehow. It is the water I am 


thinking of, captain ; what are we going to 
do for water ? ” 

I sat upon the rock at his side and buried 
my face in my hands. All that terrible day 
seemed to culminate in this overwhelming 
misfortune. Driven on the one hand by the 
sea, on the other by these figures of the dark¬ 
ness, doomed, it might be, to hunger and 
thirst on that desolate rock, four good 
comrades cut off from us by the sea’s inter¬ 
vening, the very shadows full of dangers, 
what hope had we, what hope of that brave 
promise spoken to little Ruth but three short 
hours ago? 

“ Doctor,” I said at last, “if we are not at 
the bottom of it now, we never shall be. But 
we are men, and we will act as men should. 
Let the women stand together in the great hall 
until the sea drives them out. If water is 
our need, I am ashore to Ken’s Island 
to-morrow to get it. As for Nepeen, we 
have a boat and we have hands to man it; 
we’ll fetch Captain Nepeen, doctor,” said I. 

He nodded his head and appeared to be 
thinking deeply. Old Clair-de-Lune was the 
next to utter a sensible thing. 

“ The man flood the house,” said he, “ but 
no sure he get to ship. If he drown, Czerny 
know nothing. I say turn out the lamp— 
wait! ” 

“ As true a word as the night has spoken,” 
said I; “if Kess Denton does not reach the 
boats, they won’t hear the story. We ll keep 
it close enough, lads, and Captain Nepeen 
will learn it soon enough. Do you whistle, 
Dolly, and get an answer. I hope sincerely 
it is all well with them still.” 

He whistled across the sea, and after a 
long minute of waiting a distant voice cried, 
“ All’s well! ” For the hour at least our 
comrades were safe. Should we say the 
same of them when daylight came ? 

The dark fell with greater intensity as the 
dawn drew near. I thought that it typified 
our own black hour, when it seemed that fate 
had nothing left for us but a grave beneath 
the seas or the eternal sleep on the island 
shore. 

Another hour passed, and the dawn was 
nearer. I did not know then (though I 
know now) what kept Czerny’s crew in the 
shadows, or why we heard nothing of them. 
Once, indeed, in the far distance where 
the yacht lay anchored, gun-shots were fired, 
and were answered from some boat lying 
southward by the island; but no other 
message of the tright: was vouchsafed to us, 

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8 


THE STRAND MAGA/JNF.. 



* l I SAT THE HOCK AT HIS SIDE AND BURIED MV FACE 

no other omen to be heard. In the gloom 
of the darkened house women watched, men 
kept the vigil and prayed for the day. Would 
the light never come ; would that breaking 
East never speed its joyous day? Ah ! who 
could tell ? Who, in the agony of waiting, 
ever thinks aright or draws the truthful 
picture? 

There was no new attack, I say, nor any 
sure news from the caverns below. From 
time to time men went to the stairs-head and 
watched the seas washing green and slimy 
in the corridors, or spoke of them beating 
upon the very steps of the great hall and 
threatening to rise up and up until they 
engulfed us all and conquered even the 
citadel we held. Nevertheless, iron gates 
held them hack. Not vainly had Czerny’s 
master-mind foreseen such a misfortune as 
this. Those tremendous doors which divided 
the upper house from its fellow were stronger 
than any sluice-gates, more sure against the 


water's advance. We held 
the upper house ; it was ours 
while we could breathe in it 
or find life's sustenance there. 
Now, I saw Miss Ruth in 
the hour of dawn and she 
stood with us for a little 
while at the open gate and 
there spoke so brightly of 
to-morrow', so lightly of this 
hour, that she helped us to 
forget, and made men of us 
once more. 

“They will not come again 
to-night, Jasper,” she said; 
“I feel, I know it! Why 
should they wait? Something 
has happened, and something 
spells 1 Good luck.' Oh, yes, 

I have seen that for the last 
hour. Things must be worse 
before they mend, and they 
are mending now-. The gale 
will come at dawn and we 
shall all go ashore, you and 
I together, Jasper I ” 

“ Miss Ruth,” said I, “ that 
would be the happiest day in 
all my life. You bring the 
dawn always, wherever you 
go, the good sunlight and 
God's blue sky ! It has been 
day for me while I heard 
your voice and said that I 
might serve you ! ,f 

She would not answer me; 
but, as though to give my 
words their meaning, we had watched but 
a little while longer on the rock when 
suddenly out of the East the grey light 
winged over to us, and, spreading its wonder- 
rays upon the seas, it rolled the black veil 
back and showed us height and valley, sea 
and land, the white-capped breakers and the 
dim heavens beyond them. Many a dawn 
have I watched and waited for on the heart 
of the desolate sea, but never one which 
carried to me such a message as then it 
spake, the joy of action and release, the light 
of life and hope, the clarion call, uplifting, 
awakening I For I knew that in day our 
salvation lay, and that the terrible night was 
for ever passed; and every faculty being 
quickened, the mind alert, the eyes no longer 
veiled, I stretched out my arms to the sun 
and said, 11 Thank God 3 ” 

It was day, and the fresh sea answered its 
appeal. Com jug-j^ifi^kly 3 as day will in the 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA. 


9 


great Pacific, we had scarce seen that vast 
rim of the East lift itself above the sparkling 
water when all the scene was opened to us, 
the picture of boats and water and wave- 
washed reef made clear as in some scene of 
stageland. As with one tongue, realizing a 
mighty truth, we cried, 44 The ship is gone; 
the ship has sailed ! ” 

It was true, all true. Where at sundown 
there had been a yacht anchored in the 
offing, now at daybreak no yacht was to 
be seen. Darkness, which had been the 
ally of Czerny’s men, had helped the man 
himself to flee from them to an unknown 
haven where their vengeance should not 
reach him. By night had he fled, and by 
day would he mock these, his creatures. 
Drifting there in the open boats, the rising 
seas beginhing to wash in upon them, 
hunger and thirst their portion, the rebels 
were at no pains to hide their secret from us. 

We knew that they had been called back 
by these overwhelming tidings of the master- 
trick, and we asked what heart they would 
have to sell their lives for the man who 
betrayed them ? 

Would they not look to us for the satis¬ 
faction the chief rogue denied to them? 
We, as they, were left helpless in that woeful 
place. Before us, as before them, lay the 
peril of hunger and of thirst, the death-sleep 
or the greater mercy. And who should ask 
them to accept it without a last supreme 
attempt, a final assault, which should mend 
all or end all ? Driven to the last point, to 
the last point would they go to grasp that 
foothold of the seas, and to drive us from 
the rock whereon life might yet be had. 

“ Lads,” I said, “ the story is there as the 
man has written it. We have no quarrel with 
yon poor creatures nor they with us; but 
they will find one. We cannot help them ; 
they cannot help us. We’ll wait for the end 
—just wait for it.” 

I spoke with a confidence which time did 
not justify. Just as the dawn had put new 
life into us, so it had steeled the hearts of 
this derelict crew and nerved it for any 
desperate act. For long we watched the 
rogues rowing hither, thither; now in the 
island’s shadows, now coming toward us, 
but never once raising a rifle or uttering a 
threat. In the end they came all together, 
waving a sail upon a pole; and while they 
appeared to row for the lesser gate they 
accompanied the act with soft words and a 
protest of their honesty. 

44 ’Tis after a truce they are,” says Peter 
Bligh, presently, “and that’s a poor thing, 

Vol, xxxv.-Z, 


anyway. My poor father used to say, 4 Knock 
’em on the head first and sign the papers 
afterwards.’ He was a kind-hearted gentle¬ 
man, and did a lot of good in the world ! ” 

“ He must have done, Peter,” said I; 44 he 
must have done a power of good, hearing the 
little you say about him. ’Tis a pity the old 
gentleman isn’t here this day to preach his 
kindness to yonder rogues. They look in 
need of a friendly hand ; indeed, they do.” 

Well, the laugh was turned on Peter; but, 
as a matter of fact, he spoke sense, and I 
understood as well as he did the risk of 
parley with the wreckers, even though they 
did not seem to have any fight left in them— 
a fact which old Clair-de-Lune was the first 
to observe. 

44 They not fire gun this morning,” says the 
old man. 44 All starve, hungry. Czerny gone. 

What for they fight? They no stomach 
left.” 

44 Meaning they ; ve no heart in them,” puts 
in Doctor Gray, at his side. 44 Aye, that’s 
true, and a bit of human nature, too. You 
cannot fight every day any more than you 
can make love every day. It comes and 
goes like a fever. They had their square 
meal last night, and they are not taking any 
this morning. I should not be afraid of 
them if I were you, captain.” 

44 1 never was,” said I, bluntly ; 44 1 never 
was, doctor. , There’s not enough on my 
conscience for that. But I do believe you 
speak truly. Making love is more in their 
line this watch. Ask Dolly Venn there. 

From what I saw between him and little 
Rosamunda down below, he’s an authority 
on that point. Eh, Dolly, lad,” said I to 
him, 44 you could make love every day, 
couldn’t you ? ” 

The lad flushed all over his face at the 
charge, and Peter Bligh, he said something 
about “Love one another” being in the 
Bible, 44 which must mean many of ’em, and 
not one in particular,” says he. And what 
with the laugh and the jest, and the new 
confidence which the sight of those poor 
driven souls put into us, we came all 
together to the sea’s edge, and, scarcely 
cocking a rifle at them, we hailed the long¬ 
boats and got their story. 

44 Ahoy, there! And what port d’you 
think you’re making for ? ” cries Peter Bligh, 
in a voice that might have split the waters. 

They replied to him, standing up in the 
boat and stretching out their sunburnt, hairy 
arms to us:— 

44 Water!—water, mate, for the love of 

Heaven! ” 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

r 


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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“ And how do you know,” cries Peter back 
to them, “how do you know that we’ve water 
tor ourselves ? ” 

“ Why, Barebones saw to that,” says one of 
them, no doubt meaning Czerny thereby; 
“Barebones saw to that, though precious 
little of it the lubber drank ! ” 

“ He’s off, is Barebones,” says another; 
“ oh, trust Barebones ! Bones-and-Biscuits 
puts to sea last night, ’cause he’s a duty to 
perform in ’Frisco, he ’as. Trust Bones-and- 
Biscuits to turn up righteous when the 
trumpet blows! ” 

And another, said he:— 

“ I wish I had his black head under my 
boot this minute ! My mouth’s all sand and 
my throat is stuck ! Aye, mates,” says he, 
“ you’ll moisten my poor tongue—same as is 
wrote in the Scriptures ! ” 

There were other entreaties ; some of them 
spoke to us in French, the most part in 
German. Of the boats that were left, two 
had rowed away for the lesser gate, but 
five drifted about our rock and drew so close 
that we could have tossed a biscuit to them. 
Never have I seen a crowd of faces more 
repulsive, or jowls so repellent. Iron-limbed 
men, fat Germans, sleek Frenchmen, Greeks, 
niggers, some armed with rifles, some with 
fearsome knives, they squatted all together 
in the open boats and roared together for 
pity and release. Then, for the first time, I 
was able to see how cruelly Czerny’s gun had 
dealt with them in the darkness of the night. 
It was horrible to see the mangled limbs, the 
open wounds, the matted hair, the gaping 
faces of these creatures of a desperado’s mad 
ambition. The boats themselves were splin¬ 
tered and hacked as though heavy hatchets 
had beaten them. I could wonder no longer 
that they called the truce; and yet, knowing 
why they called it, what was I to do ? Let 
them set foot on the plateau, and we, but a 
handful at the best, might be swept into the 
sea like flies from a wall. I say that I was 
at my wits’ end. Every merciful instinct 
urged me to give them water; every prudent 
voice cried, “ Beat them off.” 

“ If there’s fight in that lot, I’m as black 
as yonder nigger! ” said Peter Bligh, when 
he had looked at them a little while, very con¬ 
temptuously. “ Not a kick to-day among 
the lot of them, by Jericho. But you cannot 
give them water, captain,” he goes on, “ for 
you’ve little to give.” 

Clair-de-Lune, thinking deeper, was, never¬ 
theless, for a stern refusal. 

“ Keep them off, captain, that’s my 
advice,” says he. “ They very desperate, 

Digitized by 00310 
o 


dangerous men. They drink water, then cut 
throat. Make ear deaf and say cistern all 
empty. They think you die, and they wait; 
but come aboard—no, not at all! ” 

Now, I knew that this was reason, and 
when Doctor Gray and Captain Nepeen 
added their words to the Frenchman’s I 
stepped down to the water’s edge and made 
my answer. 

“ I’ll give you water willingly, men, if 
you’ll show me where it is to be found,” said 
I; “ but we cannot give what we haven’t got, 
and that’s common sense ! We’re dry here, 
and if it’s bad luck for one it’s bad luck for 
all. The glass says rain,” I went on ; “ we’ll 
wait for it together and have done with all 
this nonsense.” 

They heard me to the end; but ignorant, 
perhaps, of my meaning they continued to 
whine, “Water, water,” and when I repeated 
that we had no water, one of them, leaping 
up in the boat, fired his rifle point-blank 
at Captain Nepeen, who fell without a word 
stone-dead at my side. 

“ Good heavens ! ” said I, “ they’ve shot the 
captain dead.” 

The suddenness of it was awful; just a 
gun flashing, a gasping cry, an honest man 
leaping up and falling lifeless. And then 
something that would never move or speak 
again. The crews themselves, I do believe, 
were as dazed by it as we were. They could 
have shot us, I witness, where we stood, 
every man of us, but, in God’s mercy, they 
never thought of that; and turning on their 
own man they tore the rifle from his hand 
and, striking him down with a musket, they 
sent him headlong into the sea. 

“ Witness we’ve no part in it! ” they roared. 
“ Jake Bilbow did it, and he was always a bad 
’un ! You won’t charge fifty with one man’s 
deed ! Down under with the arms, mates— 
we’ve no need of ’em ! ” 

Well, we heard them in amazement. Not 
a man had moved among us; the body was 
untouched at our feet. From the boats them¬ 
selves ruffians were casting their rifles pell- 
mell into the sea. Never at the wildest 
hazard would I have named this for the end 
of it. They cast their rifles into the sea and 
rowed unarmed about us. To the end of it, 
I think, they feared the gun with a fear that 
was nameless and lasting, nor did they 
know that the turret was empty—how should 
they ? 

It was a swift change; to me it seemed as 
though the day had conjured up this wonder. 
None the less, the perplexity of it remained, 
nor could I choospp course even under these 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA . 


new circumstances. Of water I had none 
to give; our own condition, indeed, was 
little better than that of these unhappy 
creatures in the boats about me. The sea 
flooded the house below us ; the great engine 
no longer throbbed ; our women were 
huddled together at the stairs-head, seeking 
air and light; the fog loomed heavy on Ken's 
Island ; no ship's sail brought hope to our 
horizon. What should I say, then, to the 
mutineers, how answer them? I could but 
protest: “We are as you; we must face it 
together.” 

Now, I have told you that both the greater 
and the lesser gate of Czerny's house were 
hewn in the pinnacles of rock rising up above 
the highest tides, and offering there a foot- 
hold and an anchorage ; but you must not 
think that these were the only caps of the 
reef which thrust themselves out to the 
sea. For there were others, rounded domes 
of tide-washed rock, treacherous ledges, little 
craggy steeples, sloping shelves, which low 
water gave up to the sun and where a man 
might walk dry-shod. To such strange 
places the long-boats turned when we would 
have none of them. Convinced, maybe, 
that our own case was no better than theirs, 


11 

the men, in desperation, and cramped with 
long confinement in the boats, now pushed 
their bows into the swirling waters ; and fol¬ 
lowing each other, as sheep will follow a 
leader, they climbed out upon the barren 
rocks and lay there jn a state of dejection 
defying words. Nor bad we any heart to 
turn upon them and drive them off. Little 
did the new day we desired so ardently bring 
to us. The sky, gloomy above the blackening, 
angry seas, was like a mock upon our bravest 
hopes. Let a few hours pass and the night 
would come again. This was but an inter¬ 
lude in which man could ask of man, “ What 
next ? ” We feared to speak to the women 
lest they should know the truth. 

The men crawled upon the sea-washed 
rocks, I say, and there the judgment of God 
came upon them. So awful was the scene 
my eyes were soon to behold that I take 
up my pen with hesitation even now to write 
of it; and as I write some figure of the 
shadows comes before me and seems to say, 
“You cannot speak of it 3 It is of the past, 
forgotten 1 ” And, certainly, if I could make 
it clear to you how Czerny's men were for 
ever driven off from the gate of the house 
that Czerny built, if I could make it clear to 
you and leave the thing untold, that would I 











12 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


do right gladly. But the end was not of my 
seeking; in all honesty I can say that if it 
had been in my power I would have helped 
those wretched creatures, have dealt out pity 
to them and carried them to the shore; but 
it was written otherwise; a higher Power 
decreed it; we could but stand, trembling 
and helpless, before that enthralling justice. 

They climbed on the rocks, forty or fifty of 
them, maybe, and lying in ail attitudes, some 
stretched out full length, some with their arms 
in the flowing tide, some huddled close as 
though for warmth, they appeared to 
surrender themselves to the inevitable and 
to accept the worst; when, rising up out of 
the near sea, the first octopus showed him¬ 
self, and a great tentacle, sliding over the 
rock, drew one of the mutineers screaming to 
the depths. Thereafter, in an instant, the 
whole terror was upon them. leaping up 
together, they uttered piercing cries, turned 
upon each other in their agony, hurled 
themselves into the sea to reach the boats 
again. Ah ! how few of them touched the 
befriending prows ! The whole water about 
the reef was now alive with the devilish 
creatures; a hundred arms, crushing, suck¬ 
ing, swept the unsheltered rocks and drew 
the victims down. So near were they, some 
of them, that I could see their staring eyes 
and distorted limbs as, in the fishes’ em¬ 
bracing grip, they were drawn under to the 
gaping mouths, or pressed close to that jellied 
mass which must devour them. The sea 
itself heaved and splashed as though to be 
the moving witness of that horrible attack; 
foam rushed up to our feet; a blinding spray 
was in the air; eyes protruded even in the 
green water; great shapes wormed and 
twisted, rending one another, covering the 
whole reef with their filthy slime, sending 
blinding fountains to the high pinnacles, or 
sinking down when their prey was taken to 
the black depths where no eye could follow 
them. What sounds of pain, what resound¬ 
ing screams, rent the air in those fearful 
minutes ! I draw the veil upon it. For all 
the gold that the sea washes to-day in 
Czerny’s house, I could not look upon such 
a picture again. For death can be a gentle 
thing; but there is a death no man may 
speak of. 

At twelve o’clock the clouds broke and 
the rain began to fall upon a rising sea. 
The vapours still lay thick upon Ken’s 
Island, but the wind was driving them, and 
they rolled away in misty clouds westward to 
the dark horizon. 


I went below to little Ruth, and in broken 
words I told her all my story. 

“ Little Ruth, the night is passed, the day 
is breaking ! Ah, little Ruth ! ” 

She fell into my arms, sobbing. The 
sleep-time was past, indeed; the hour of 
our deliverance at hand. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

IN WHICH THE SUN-TIME COMES AGAIN. 

I have told you the story of Ken’s Island, 
but there are some things you will need 
to know, and of these I will now make 
mention. Let me speak of them in order 
as they befell. 

And first I should record that we found 
the body of Edmond Czerny, cold and dead, 
by that pool in the woods where so many 
have slept the dreadful sleep. Clair -de- 
Lune stumbled upon it as we went joyously 
through the sunny thickets and, halting 
abruptly, his startled cry drew me to the 
place. And then I saw the thing, and knew 
that here was God’s justice written in words 
no man might mistake. 

For a long time we rested there, looking 
down upon that grim figure in its bed of 
leaves, and watching the open eyes seeking 
that bright heaven whose warmth they never 
would feel again. As in life, so in death, the 
handsome face carried the brand of the evil 
done, and spoke of the ungoverned passions 
which had wrecked so wonderful a genius. 
There have been few such men as Edmond 
Czerny since the world began ; there will be 
few while the world endures. Greatly daring, 
a man of boundless ambitions, the moral 
nature obliterated, the greed of money be¬ 
coming, in the end, like some burning disease, 
this man, I said, might have achieved much 
if the will had bent to humanity’s laws. And 
now he had reaped as he sowed. The cloak 
that covered him was the cloak of the 
Hungarian regiment whose code of honour 
drove him out of Europe. The diamond 
ring upon the finger was the very ring that 
little Ruth had given him on their wedding- 
day. The agony he had suffered was such 
as many a good seaman had endured since 
the wreckers came to Ken’s Island. And 
now the story was told: the man was 
dead. 

“ It must have been last night,” I said, at 
length, to Clair-de-Lune. “ His own men 
put him ashore and seized the ship. Fortune 
has strange chances, but who would have 
named such a chance as this? The rogues 
turned upon him at last, you can’t doubt it. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA. 


l 3 



man shook his head very 


And he died in his sleep -a merciful 
death/* 

The old 
solemnly, 

u I know not,” said he, slowly ; “ remem¬ 
ber how rare that the island give mercy ! 
We will not ask 
how he died, 
captain. I see 
something, but 
I forget it Let 
us leave him to 
the night.” 

He began to 
cover the body 
with branches 
and boughsj 
and anon, mark¬ 
ing the place, 
that we might 
return to it to¬ 
morrow, we 
went on again 
through the 
woods, as men 
in a reverie* 

Our schemes 
and plans, our 
hopes and fears, 
the terrible 
hours, the un¬ 
forgotten days, 
aye* if we could 
have seen that 
the end of them 
would have 
been this I—the 
gift of the ver¬ 
durous island. 


greeted 


' WK FOUND THE BODY Of EDMOND CZEhNY, COLD ANN DEAN. 


freshet bubbling over, every wood alive with 
the music of the birds, the meadows green 
and golden, the hills all capped with their 
summer glory, she proclaimed the reign of 
Nature’s God, No sight more splendid ever 
the eyes of shipwrecked men or 
welcomed them 
to a generous 
shore. Hand in 
hand with little 
Ruth I passed 
from thicket to 
thicket of the 
woods, and 
seemed to stand 
in Paradise 
itself! And she 
—ah, who shall 
read a woman’s 
thoughts at such 
an hour as that? 
Let me be con¬ 
tent to see her 
as she was : her 
face grown 
girlish in that 
great release, 
her eyes spark- 
ling in a new 
joy of being, her 
step so light 
that no blade ' 
of grass could* 
have been 
bruised thereby. 
Let me hear 
her voice again 
while she lifts 
her face to 


and the ripe 

green pastures, and the woods awakening and 
all the glory of the sun-time reborn ! For 
so the shadow was lifted from us that for a 
little while our eyes could not see the light ; 
and, unbelieving, we asked, “ Is this the 
truth ? ” 

I did not tell little Ruth the story of the 
woods ; but there were whispered words and 
looks aside, and she was clever enough to 
understand them* Before the day was out 
I think she knew ; but she would not speak 
of it, nor would J. For why should we call 
false sorrow upon that bright hour? Was 
not the world before us, the awakening glory 
of Ken's Island at our feet? Just as in the 
dark days all Nature had withered and bent 
before the death-giving vapours, so now did 
Nature answer the sun s appeal ; and every 


mine and asks 
me that question which even now l hear 
sometimes:— 

“Jasper, Jasper I is it real ? How can I 
believe it, Jasper ? Shall we see our home 
again—you and I ? Oh, tell me that it is 
true, Jasper—say it often, often, or 1 shall 
forget! ” 

We were in a high place of the woods just 
then, and we stood to look down upon the 
lower valley where the rocks showed their 
rare green mosses, and every crag lifted 
strange flowers to the sun, and little rivulets 
ran down with bubbling sounds. Away on 
the open veldt the doll-like houses were to be 
seen, and the ashes of her bungalow* And 
there, 1 say, all the scene enchanting me, and 
the memory of the bygone days blotted from 
my mind, and np.jpt^rp to be thought of but 
that ;he figKt 


4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


to befriend this little figure of my dreams, I 
said:— 

“It is true, little Ruth—God knows how 
true—that a man loves you with all his heart, 
and he has loved you all through these weary 
months. Just a simple fellow he is, with no 
fine ways and small knowledge of the world; 
but he waits for you to tell him that you will 
lift him up and make him worthy- n 

She silenced me with a quick, glad cry, 
and, winding both her arms about my neck, 
she hid her face from me. 


We were picked up by the American 
warship Hatteras ten days after the sleep¬ 
time passed. I left the island as I found 
it — its secrets hidden, its mysteries un¬ 
fathomed. What vapour rises up there— 
whether it be, as Doctor Gray would have 
it, from the marshy hog of decaying vege¬ 
tation, which breathes fever to the south ; 
whether it be this marsh fog steaming up 
when the plants die down ; or whether it 
be a subtler cloud given out by the very 
earth itself — this question, I say, let the 



"SIN-: SlLKNCPP MB WITH A yUtCK, <il-An C" 


“My friend! Jasper, dear Jasper, you 
shall not say that ! Ah* were you so blind 
that you have not known it from the first ? 

Her words were like the echo of some 
sweet music in my ears. Little Ruth, my 
beloved, had called me “friend,” To my 
life's end would I claim that name most 
precious. 


learned dispute, I have done with it for 
ever ; and never, to my life’s end, shall I 
see its heights and its valleys again. The 
world calls me; I go to my home. Ruth, 
little Ruth, whom l have loved, is at my 
side. For us it shall be sun-time always : 
the night and the dreadful sleep are no 
more. 


THE END, 


+ 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


I 







CalvS: Artist and Woman. 

By Kathleen Schlesinger* 

M 'I he perfection of art is to conceal art A —QUINTILIAN* 


HIEF among the enjoyments 
which Covent Garden afforded 
me last season was the oppor¬ 
tunity of seeing Calve in an 
entirely new light : Calv6 at 
work on a new impersonation. 
The role of Messaline was new to her, and 
her London admirers in front of the curtain 
thus had the delight of witnessing Calv^ 
under the influence of a fresh conception, 
oblivious of all else, living only in the new 
world created by her art* 

About M. de Lara's opera there was a 
diversity of opinion, but Calv£ was supreme. 
To watch this incomparable artist at work is 
a revelation. Before she learns a note of 
the music of a new part Calv£ studies the 
character thoroughly from every point of 
view, assiduously reading any books that can 
help her, until she has identified herself with 
her heroine ; then, while she is mastering the 
technical part, the impersonation grows upon 


the music he has to conduct. M* de I>ara 
presided at the piano. 

The principal scenes were gone through 
carefully with perseverance and enthusiasm. 
The composer always knew to a shade the 
tone-colour he wanted and the impression he 
wished produced* If the singer did not at 
once catch his meaning, the others often 
helped to make it clear* For instance, when 
Hares (M. Seveilhac, on the right in the 
photograph) had to sing the words, 11 Comme 
il fait nuit! ,! and did not at once seize the 
composers intention, it was Calve with her 
inimitable realism who prompted him and 
first imparted to the commonplace phrase its 
expression of pregnant horror and shuddering 
terror* All this is taken as a matter of 
course, and the give-and-take is accepted 
with perfect grace* 

The next rehearsal was of quite a different 
kind. M* Berge, a co-rffetitcur, presided at 
the piano, and Calve and M* Seveilhac 




MADAME CALVfe R R H EA RAI Nft " MESSALINE ' AT COVENT GARDEN* 
Fn?m (i Fftjitrt, h$ K. icWAfirtflaP. 


her—first a broad outline and later the 
details. She had reached this stage when 
the first concerted rehearsal took place in the 
foyer at Covent Garden ; ail the principals 
were present, and M* Flon, who never loses 
an opportunity of strengthening his grasp of 


studied their stage business with M. Almanz, 
who gave them a rough outline of their 
positions on the st^ge for the various scenes, 
in order to facilitate the scenic rehearsals 
later on and to render them less fatiguing. 

Calve entirttf with a radiant smile and 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











T 6 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



greeted her colleagues warmly with the 
charming grace which is natural to her, and 
was at once ready to begin work. 

After the first photograph, taken in the 
serious mood which work demands, 1 begged 
her to give me one of her smiles for the 
next* With a gleeful laugh, and her eyes 
twinkling with mischief, she said: U I will 
just tell M. Flon a merry little tale ! ” 

The scenic rehearsals are, of course, 
the most interesting; the conception of the 
role begins to crystallize. Before, the glow 
of Messaline's passion was in Calve’s voice, 
now it is embodied and living: her face 
throughout is a study. Things do not always 
go right from the first; the scenery, by no 
means complete, is only indicated here and 
there, much being left to the imagination ; 
sometimes some of the characters are per¬ 
force absent. 

Calve is all earnestness at these times, 
and throws herself so thoroughly 
into her work that she is 
quite exhausted when the re¬ 
hearsal is over. She frequently 
steps up to the footlights and 
pleads, with one of her bewitch¬ 
ing smiles : “ I should 
like to go over that 
again ! ” 

The composer, mean¬ 
while, is all activity and 
walks miles : one mo¬ 
ment he is standing at 
the back of the stalls 
critically listening 
and watching the 
effects he has 
planned — the 
next sees him 
wildly gesticulat¬ 
ing among the 
chorus up stage, 
or pointing out 
that the action 
must take place 
farther to the right 
or nearer the foot¬ 
lights. 

Except for the 
dress rehearsal, 
most of the 


which is worth a singer's ransom, would soon 
lose their freshness if worn at rehearsals. A 
long black cloak did duty on this occasion 
for the regal red mantle with which she con¬ 
ceals her horror-stricken face in the last act. 

Sometimes an ill-wind blows and the air 
becomes sultry. When Calvd is annoyed 
there is generally just cause for it, as, for 
instance, when she has to sing a duet or go 
through a tcfe-a-tete scene by herself because 
the other singer has not appeared : her face 
then becomes sombre; she sings, but her soul 
is not in her song, the divine fire no longer 
burns. Absence from rehearsal is a grave 
injustice, a great discourtesy to all who are 
collaborating, and doubly so when oppor¬ 
tunities for scenic rehearsals are necessarily 
limited ; such a thing would not be tolerated 
in Germany, where art is taken very seriously 

and opera-house 
regulations are 


singers wear 
morning dress. 

Calve’s exquisite Mes 
saline costumes of 
clinging crepe-de¬ 
chine, with borders of delicate 
designs painted by hasuij - a> li of 


CALVfi AS ** MESSAUNE." 

OrigfoalJfoMi v. * » 

HIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















CALVE: ARTIST AND WOMAN 


*7 


devoid of elasticity. There are no airs 
and graces about Calvd : she is absolutely 
natural and unaffected ; and it speaks 
highly for her as a woman that after re¬ 
ceiving ovations wherever she goes, and 
being the object of so much heroine-worship, 
she should remain quite unspoilt, simple, and 


14 1 really have no talent for music,” she 
said to me one day when talking of her work, 
“ I tried to learn the piano once, hut it an¬ 
noyed me and I gave it up. The mechanical 
means of expression act as a clog upon the 
interpretation. 

14 It is just the same in opera,” she con- 



From a Phaia. &|rl 


HAADAM& CALVtb, 




modest. One never discovers in Calve the 
least conceit or self-assertion, and she always 
speaks most humbly of tier musical per¬ 
formance. 

“ Dear friend, I was very bad last night, 
was f not?” she asked M, Flon, somewhat 
as a child might who expected to be rebuked, 
on one occasion when she had made some 
little slip and kept the orchestra waiting. 

Vol + ijsjv.—3, 


tinned, her expressive face reflecting her 
Teelings as she spoke ; “ the rhythm thwarts 
me and hedges me in. I should often like 
to dwell on a phrase or emphasize an action, 
but bars and beats keep me back or else 
hurry me on and interfere sadly with my 
conception of the role. 

u No. I do not care so much for rich 
harmonies vUfflsic. What I love 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


is the simple music of the people ; the songs 
—les plain chants —of my native Aveyroti; 
they stir me to my innermost soul, for they 
are the expression of the hardy race of 
mountaineers from which I am descended. 
As to the operas in which I sing, oh, yes, i 
am interested in all my roles; I love them, 
for they form part of my life, but I often feel 
a longing for something higher and better- 
something that would satisfy my mind. I 
should prefer to be an actress. Then there 
would be none of the restraint that music 
imposes ; 1 should be free to work out my 
conceptions, 

“ In fact”—and she insensibly lowered her 
voice—“if I were to lose my voice, as I have 
at times feared I might, I should really be 
rather glad, for then I could, without com¬ 
punction, leave the operatic stage for the 
legitimate drama. As long as people like to 
hear nie sing I feel bound to use the gift 
which has enabled me to help my family and 
relations for many years.” 

The truth is that C@lv£ is before all a 
born actress. 

The divine Sarah, when 
asked whom she con¬ 
sidered the finest actress 
in the world, replied, with¬ 
out a moment's hesitation, 

44 Calv<£ is the greatest artist 
of us all! ” 

“Sometimes my friends 
accuse me of being mer¬ 
cenary for accepting these 
brilliant engagements to 
America, instead of remain¬ 
ing in my own country. 

But 1 tell them that I want 
the money—it means com¬ 
fort and happiness to so 
many dear ones.” 

Calves voice is deeply 
moving ; the limpid, bdl- 
like upper register and 
the velvety, tender 
lower notes are used 
by her with con sum 
mate art in all sin¬ 
cerity ; but would a 
blind man listening to 
her Carmen or San- 
tuzza receive any ade¬ 
quate impression of her 
impersonation ? The £ p 

thing is impossible. 

Not one movement, one swift glance or 
fleeting expression of her beautiful fan 
can we afford to miss ; her movements 

Diailizedbv GoO^lC 


are not studied—nor is her Carmen always 
the same at every performance—they come 
naturally because Calve is Carmen for the 
time being. 

She enters, her lithe body swaying grace¬ 
fully as she walks, a flower between her lips, 
perfidious and provoking. The subtlety of 
her singing of “ L’amour est un oiseau re- 
belle 3 " known as the Habanera, and the 
ironical, menacing cynicism with which she 
emphasizes “I’amour” are wonderful. She 
reproduces to the life the typical Tsigana, 
the gipsy who pines for freedom, and is in 
turn sensuous, hard, cruel, passionate, be¬ 
witching, and perverse. From her first note 
she seizes upon the audience and holds it 
captive, spell-bound until the last. 

I had gone to Calves dressing - room 
between the acts, and found her slipping 
into the black and silver spangled dress she 
wears in the last act. She chatted away in 
her merriest mood while adding the finish¬ 
ing touches to the loose knot of blue- 
black hair, and fastening in the coquettish 


CALVE AS u SANTL’EZA." 

From o VhuUt. by Reitq Tarti. 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










CALVE: ARTIST AND WOMAN 


1 9 



flower which nestles in the nape of her 

neck, 

“Je suis une vraie gamine, n’est-ce pas, 
corn me Carmen ? C'est queje fais des polis- 
sonneries terribles ! J1 and her eyes sparkled 
with mischievous amusement* “ l quite 
enjoy it, I assure you ; it is great fun, and 
then, of course, it is Carmen !” 

The friend who was helping her dress 
asked whether she would wear any rings* 

“ Why, of course,” she replied ; u Madame 
Torreador is a person of importance now, 
you know. She is quite a rich 
woman and has plenty of jewels.” 

While speaking Calve absently put 


lions. There was a camp of Tsiganas in 
the neighbourhood of tlie village; they 
fascinated me, and I watched them eagerly 
and picked up some of their dances, Many 
years later, when I returned to Spain to 
study Carmen among the cigarette-makers 
of Seville and the Tsiganas, the steps came 
back readily to me and I learnt all their 
graceful dances* 

“I took Mtrrii life's hook with me and 
pondered over it day and night while living 
among the factory girls. I watched them 


on one or two rings, and then, looking criti- 
tally at her hands :— 

11 No,” she cried, a that will not do at all; 
they look too distinguL I must wear some¬ 
thing more showy.” 

When 1 asked her where she learnt 
the bewitching dances of the gipsies, she 
replied : — 

14 When I was a child of seven I was sent 
to Spain to visit some of my fathers rela- 


CALV£ AS '* HBLR0D1A&." 

JlVonl a Photo, by FomMi* P&rit, 


with their lovers; studied them in joy, 
sorrow, and anger. I noted how their love 
is a mixture of passion, jealousy, and 
brutality ; tenderness being exceedingly rare, 
and T remained among them until I could 
understand them thoroughly an(l fed as they 
did. Carmen is my most realistic study, and 
the next is Ophelia*” 

Calve's Ophelia is quite a new creation, 
as far removed from that consecrated by 
tradition as the East is from the West. In 
her madness she is masterful, wild, and 
violent, and this is how Calve accounts for 
her conception of Shakespeare’s heroine ;— 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


froiM a F'h vt-o. 

lUutlinotr, Pari i. 

























20 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



“Ophelia was passionately in love, and her 
love drove her mad. When I was in Milan 
I met a celebrated specialist in mental 
diseases, and as I was then studying Ophelia 
I asked him what he thought of her case, 
1 How do you picture this dreamy, love-sick 
girl?* I asked him. 

u He replied that it was 
the greatest mistake, in 


calv£ as " OPHPIJA." 

From a Ftufto. fry Pari j. 

his opinion, to picture her gentle, and he 
offered to take me then and there to an 
asylum in Milan where a case similar to that 
of Ophelia had come under his notice. 
There we found a pale, fair girl — like an 
English girl—who on being deserted by her 
lover had lost her reason. She was a prey 
to fits of violence and terrible anger, but 


it was her terror that most affected me ; it 
was pitiable, but intensely dramatic. She 
would offer visitors any object that she 
could get hold of, only to take it back 
suddenly in a fit of anguish, I left the 
mad house profoundly impressed, and could 
not forget the scene, nor 
dissociate it from Ophelia.” 

Calve does not know 
English well enough to read 
Shakespeare in the original, 
but she had “ Hamlet ** 
translated to her line by 
line, that she might know 
the play inde¬ 
pendently of the 
libretto. 

Calve first 
sang Hamlet in 
Italy during the 
eighties — in 
Rome, Naples, 
Mila n, and 
Florence — then 
later in Eng¬ 
land, America, 
St Petersburg, 
and Madrid ; 
and it was not 
until May, 1899 , 
that her Ophelia 
w a s m a d e 
known to Paris- 
ans at the 
Grand Qp£ra. 
The main facts 
of Calves 
career are 
familiar to 
her admirers 
all the world 
over, but 
what fol¬ 
lows, told as 
well as my 
memory 
serves me 
in OalvtTs own words, is 
not generally known : — 
u I was a lively, com¬ 
monplace little mortal, 
with plenty of spirits and a love of fun. I 
romped with my brother and sisters, frolicked 
in the fields with the lambs, chased the 
butterflies, watched the maids milk the cows, 
peeped into the dairy, and helped to make 
butter and cheese. 

Did I care for toys? Oh, yes. I used 
to skip and play at ball and fly kites with my 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





















CALVR: ARTIST AND WOMAN 


21 


brother, and run races. To this day I dearly 
love snow-balling, in which I still indulge in 
America sometimes. 

“ Then there was my doll; I loved her 
very dearly and remember her well. You 
must not imagine she was a great beauty— 
one of those elegant Paris creations with 
lovely curls, a faultless complexion, and little 
pearly teeth. No ; we were brought up like 
Spartans—our toys were of the simplest 
description and mostly home-made. 

“ Mine was a rag-doll, with a painted face 
and a red cotton handkerchief tied round her 
for a frock. I used to rock her to sleep, kiss 
and love her, and then sometimes, when I 
was in a naughty mood, I tossed her out of 
the window, only to run out immediately in 
an agony of remorse to pick up the poor 
darling tenderly and hug her passionately, 
vowing never to be unkind to her again. I 
went to a convent school at St. Affrique— 
in the great cheese district, you know—and 
there I used to sing with the other children, 
but I was no prodigy; my voice was in no 
way remarkable. 

“Sometimes when we were together in 
recreation time the girls would gather round 
me and say, * Do sing us something, Emma ! ’ 
Then, as the mood seized me, I would sing 
a song of passionate sadness and set all the 
girls crying, or else I stood up and sang 
some song I had heard in the village, un¬ 
consciously mimicking the rough gestures 
and action of the peasants and their fatoh^ 
or the drinking songs of the soldiers as they 
sat in the garden of the inn. I often got 
into trouble for this, for, of course, the good 
sisters were horrified at some of the ditties I 
repeated in my innocence. 

“ We sang romances and hymns, and acted 
little plays at the distribution of prizes, and 
my mother thought I had a pretty voice and 
a fine talent. 

“ When my father, who was an engineer, 
died and left very little money, I was 
fifteen, and there were many little mouths to 
feed. My mother, foreseeing the possibilities 
of a future for my voice, decided that I 
should go to Paris and study singing, but 
none of us had any thought of the theatre. 
As to me, I was very pious and mystic in my 
girlhood, and thought I had a vocation, and 
looked forward to taking the veil. However, 
I did not make any objection to go to Paris, 
for I was very docile, and was most anxious 
to help my family. If I had been told I 
was to be married I should have agreed to 
that just as readily. 

“ My mother’s family, of which I am very 


proud, is descended from the grand old race 
of the Albigenses, who fought with stern 
determination, not for wealth and posses¬ 
sions, but for a mere idea and for their 
religion. My aunts and grandmother were 
all fervently religious, and were very fine 
characters and noble women, whose memory 
I cherish with the deepest veneration. 

“ One of my aunts in particular I shall 
never forget. She lived at I^a Bastide, and 
I always spent my holidays with her. She 
was very dear to me—like a second mother, 
in fact—and was a very noble woman. After 
I had made my first success in the world I 
longed to get back to my village home in 
Aveyron ; my first visit was to have been to 
my aunt at la Bastide, but to my great grief 
only her grave remained and a life-long 
memory. 

“ My first real appearance in public was at 
Nice, at a charity concert. At the last 
moment the Vicomtesse de Vigier, the popular 
Mile. Crivelli of the Opera, failed the com¬ 
mittee, and I was called upon at a moment’s 
notice to take her place. Yes, of course I 
remember what I sang—‘ Etoile que j’aime.’ 
The praise and compliments I received 
decided me to study singing in earnest, and 
I went to Paris and studied under Puget 
and Mme. Marchesi, and later Mme. Rosina 
Laborde, who made me work very hard. I 
was far from being an artist then — I only had 
a pretty voice ; it was in Italy that the great 
awakening came, when I was thrown with 
great artists, and more especially with Duse. 
Just at that time I fell seriously ill, and 
during a long convalescence I suddenly 
understood the making of a real artist, and 
realized that in order to become one I must 
forget my voice, only to think of what I had 
to express. 

“ I felt a growing longing to stir in other 
people the emotion which possessed my own 
soul. I awoke at the same time to moral 
consciousness, and it seemed to me that I 
was born again for art and suffering.” 

One of Calves greatest embodiments 
of suffering is in the last act of “Sapho” 
(Massenet), when the heroine, convinced 
•that the good of the man she loves demands 
the sacrifice of her love, sits down and writes 
a farewell letter to him as he lies asleep on 
the sofa beside her; then putting on her 
cloak (as in the photograph reproduced on 
the next page) she takes a last, long look at 
him and leaves him for ever. 

Calves home in Aveyron, known as the 
Chateau de Cabrieres, but which she 
familiarly styles her “ farm,” is perched high 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


22 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



among the clouds on a precipitous rock in 
the heart of the C£vennes, and overlooks the 
valley of the Tarn and the thousand or more 
acres which form her estate. The old castle, 
built in the eleventh century, is an irregular 
pile of broad towers, flanked by a farm and 
many outbuildings. 

In the distance tower three mountains 
forming part of her domain, which she has 
named Carmen, Cavalleria, and Navarraise, 
the three operas which have enabled her to 
buy her mountain home. 

“ When I am weary or out of health," 
said Calv£, “ I 
hurry back to 
my home in the 
loveliest part of 
France. The 
crisp, invigorat¬ 
ing breezes 
wh i c h blow 
across the C6- 
vennes make me 
feel a different 
being after a 
short time. I 
spend my days 
roaming about, 
visiting the 
peasants who 
have known me 
all my life and 
talk to me sans 
gine. Oh, how 
happy 1 am in 
that wild, pictur¬ 
esque country, 
away from all 
the excitement 
and strain of my 
professional 
life!" 

The castle is 
furnished with 
simple elegance, 
the most striking 
feature in it 

being the fine 
music-room, 
which takes up 

house and has 

acoustics go. It might be called the Hall 

of Triumph, for all the souvenirs and 

tributes presented in homage to Calve’s art 
are treasured up there. 

On the estate Calv£ has built an orphanage 
in which forty little girls of the poorest class, 
who are sorely in need of care and good 
food, are received for a month 'or six weeks 


at a time and looked after with loving care 
by the kind sisters in charge, and by Calve 
herself when she is at home. The girls are 
taught to sew and knit, or to help m the 
garden and dairy, so as to fit them for a 
useful life. 

“ They are so happy there, ~oor little 
things,” said Calv6, “that they shed bitter 
tears when it is time for them to go home 
and make room for others," 

When I asked Calve whether she had sung 
in Germany she replied, “ No, not yet.” 

“ Do you, then, dislike Germany ? ” 

(i N o ” she 
cried, eagerly, 
“ no ! On the 
contrary, I 
greatly admire 
the intellect of 
the Germans, 1 
love their litera¬ 
ture and music. 
When I wa $ 
studying the rote 
of Marguerite I 
re-read Goethe’s 
masterpiece, 
endeavouring to 
pierce his mean¬ 
ing, and it is 
Goethe’s Gret- 
chen I aim at 
i m personating, 
not the tradi¬ 
tional Marguerite 
of the French 
opera. I went 
to Germany to 
see the burgher 
maidens in their 
home-life, and I 
studied the Gret- 
chens of the 
Middle Ages 
from books and 
pictures. I have 
tried to carry' out 

SAPHO.’* IKeiitlinprr, PariM j ^ m y 

dress; as white 
was only worn by queens and noble maidens 
in mediaeval times, I dress in colours, 
brown, grey, green, anything but white. 

“ 1 love Wagner’s music, because it is so 
full of thought and mysticism, hut to com¬ 
prehend him thoroughly one must know 
German first of all, and live for some time 
in the atmosphere of Ins works, which is so 
intensely German. 1 am very lazy at 
languages, andjhMlsrPPrfi r summoned up 


From d Photo, ftijfj CALvfj as 

two stories in the old 
few equals so far as 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










f 


CALVE : ARTIST AND WOMAN 


2 3 


courage to learn German. I should have to 
retire from the stage for two years aL least to 
learn the language and study one or two roles, 
and at present l am not prepared to make the 
sacrifice, it is the grand figures of Brtinn- 
hiide and Kundry which appeal to me most 
because they are so mystic and dramatic* 
Those ore the parts I should like to study, 
but I have not 
the physique for 
it. Took at the 
women who are 
great in those 
roles, like Brema: 
the muscles of 
the throat are 
strongly develop* 
ed and powerful* 

I am neither 
muscular nor 
physically strong. 

Once 1 had a 
great longing to 
sing Isolde, and 
I studied the first 
act in French ; 
but after a month 
I had to give it 
up : 1 was worn 
out and my 
throat ached* 

However, some 
day, perhaps, I 
shall begin again, 
and 1 may play 
some of Wagner’s 
heroines at the 
Gp<£ra Comique, 
perhaps Isolde ; 
who k now T s ? 17 

The last dis¬ 
cussion I had 
with Calve, one 
which was never 
finished, was on 
the respective merits of opera and drama. 
Calve had been telling me the delight 
which literature afforded her—the literature 
of all countries, but translated into French 
—Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe, Schiller, and 
all the mystics, spiritualism, theosophy, 
occultism, which she seriously studies and 
whose teaching she believes; in fret, she 
attributes her marvellous success to the aid 
of unseen forces. 

She reads many serious books and follows 
3 ll the scientific discoveries of our day with 
the deepest interest. 



“There is much more scope for art and 
intellect or. the dramatic stage than on the 
operatic/ 1 Calve urged, “ t he actress is more 
of a creator and puts more of her own obser¬ 
vation, invention, thoughts, and feelings into 
her work.” 

“That is so in the lyrical drama,” I con¬ 
tended, “but hardly in Wagner’s dramas/’ 

“Even there,” 
Calv^ rejoined, 
“ there is less 
left to the crea¬ 
tive genius of 
the actress, for 
the lines of inter¬ 
pretation are laid 
down in a great 
measure by the 
use of the leading 
motives, by the 
musical declama¬ 
tion, and by the 
comments and 
reflections of the 
orchestra ; where¬ 
as in the spoken 
drama there is 
nothing to guide 
the actress but 
the bare words.” 

“ Out, on the 
other hand,” I 
objected, “in the 
musical drama 
the singer is 
heavily handi¬ 
capped in one 
respect,” 

“How so?” 
asked Galvd 
“ Both actress 
and singer are 
great artists only 
when they lift the 
listener by their 
art out of his world into the imaginary world 

they have created on the stage. Music, 

although a powerful emotional adjunct, 

actually prevents the drama itself front 

appealing directly to the onlooker as a 
reality, as life, by interposing its own sen 
suous beauty or a tissue of subjective reflec¬ 
tions, Only a supreme artist can bring 
home to the audience the full force of the 
drama—I might say in spite of the music. ” 
Just then we were interrupted and the dis¬ 
cussion was put off till another day. I have 
not seen Calve again since. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
























VIEWED the house for the 
first time in the happiest and 
nvDst hopeful circumstances. 
The sun shone and the birds 
twittered, and the clinker- 
strewn road with the broken 
fence on the other side seemed rather 
picturesque than otherwise. My wife was 
greatly pleased with everything. Far be it 
from me to call my wife fickle, but it is 
a fact that she has since changed her mind. 

But on this occasion, when first my villa 
burst upon our gaze (if only it had never 
burst again in more surprising ways [), every¬ 
thing was seen at its best advantage* True, 
the “ five minutes from the station " of the 
advertisement seemed a very modest estimate 
after we had floundered a mile through the 
mud of roads that were not yet there ; but we 
told each other that our natural eagerness 
had made the way seem longer than it was* 
In this we did an injustice to the advertiser's 
imagination : a faculty which had leaped far 
beyond the present possibilities of a raging 
motor-car on a smooth road ; an imagination 
that pierced the veil of years and contem¬ 
plated the distant future when villa-tenants 
shall reach their railway-stations in flying- 

Digitized by Google 


machines every morning. Five minutes may 
not be out of the question then. 

The style of my villa's architecture was a 
style I have observed in many new suburbs. 
It has no very definite name, and 1 believe 
each speculative builder gives it a name in 
accordance with his own taste and fancy. 
As often as not he does not hesitate to call it 
the style of the late Queen Anne. The 
speculative builder is a prudent man, not 
desirous of getting into trouble, and he has 
probably ascertained that Queen Anne is 
dead. 

It is a gallant and tempestuous style of art, 
in which every detail does its best most 
valorously to outstare all the others. It is 
clever, too. You may fancy that the door¬ 
step is stone ; but, no—it is an ingenious sort 
of composition which crumbles steadily and 
quietly, and no doubt has the advantage of 
being softer for tender feet. A rash observer 
would tell you that the gable was half- 
timbered ; but in reality the “timbers" are 
just streaks of brown paint over the plaster— 
much more easy to renew than timber, 
and handier to carry up a ladder. There 
arc columns stuck about here and there, too, 
that you might suppose to be stone at least 
Original frdm 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
























THE HOUSE THAT JERRY BUILT 


2 5 


as solid as the doorstep; but you are sold 
again —they are not even that; they are wooden 
cylinders with iron bars up the centres, and 
no doubt there is some great advantage tn 
this device if only I had tune to think it out* 
As to the thin coat of plaster which makes 
the wall angles look also like stone, that has 
one very great advantage over the genuine 
material—from the speculative builder’s point 
of view. It is an advantage shared by all 
the other substitutions I have named ; but if 
you ask the speculative builder what this 
advantage is he will not tell you, though you 
may observe a twinkle 
in his eye* It is a 
trade secret. Every 
speculative builder is 
sworn not to betray 
trade secrets—sworn 
over a shovelful of 
real mortar, kept for 
the purpose. It is the 
only shovelful in the 
trade. 

The builder of my 
villa is the landlord, 
though at first he 
tried his utmost to 
induce me to take 
that honourable title 
on myself. He ex¬ 
pressed himself 
amazed to hear that 
J had no higher am¬ 
bition than to be a 
mere tenant. A man 
of my eminence, he 
said—he had made 
up his mind about 
my eminence before 
he heard my name— 
a man of my emi¬ 
nence, distinction, 
wealth, and — I am 
sure he meant to have 
added — personal 
loveliness, owed it to 
his own dignity and self-respect to be land¬ 
lord of his own house. Indeed, to do the 
thing properly and establish his credit beyond 
question, he ought also to be landlord of the 
house next door, And, by a singular coin- 
cidence, the house next door was for sale, 
too, the pair having been built together 

We “went over" the house in company 
with the builder; and here I must record a 
circumstance that fills me with admiration for 
that remarkable man* It is a fact that he 
opened every door in the house {including cup- 

Vcd. xxiv;—4. 

Digitized by CiOOgle 


board doors) and two of the windows, without 
breaking a single thing. Not one. Not a 
lock, a handle, a hinge, a frame, or a panel 
broke under the strain. In my foolish inex¬ 
perience I thought little of this at the time, 
but now I marvel how he did it. It must be 
another trade secret 

I did not buy the house, nor the one next 
door. But 1 took my villa on a lease—a 
repairing lease* The builder thought it would 
be almost an insult to offer me any bumbler 
tenancy than a repairing lease. And as to 
the liability—what repairs could a new house 
possibly require ? So 
I escaped the insult 
and had the repairs 
instead. 

The first repair was 
required the day we 
moved* The key 
broke in the front* 
door lock, and a 
man had to climb in 
at a window and un¬ 
screw the lock from 
the door* He un¬ 
screwed the lock t but 
first he nearly cut 
himself in two; for 
the sash - line chose 
the moment when he 
was climbing in at 
the window to break, 
and drop the sash 
on him. He said he 
was quite sure that 
several of his ribs 
were broken, and he 
strongly suspected 
that his spine was 
dislocated, at least; 
and he hinted that 
the remedy instantly 
needed was beer, 

I am afraid that 
none of the removal- 
men understood the 
builder's trade secrets ; they were not suffix 
ciently gentle with my villa. They pulled 
all the handles off the doors and some of the 
fasteners off the windows through rashness 
in opening and shutting them. And they 
did not think out possibilities beforehand. 
There was a wardrobe, for instance, for 
which my villa had a constitutional antipathy, 
and the ensuing warfare between the two 
objects was what first brought home to me 
the full responsibility of a repairing lease ; 
for the villa had altogether the worst of the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



k4 HE NEARLV CUT HIMSELF IN TWO.'* 



































26 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


battle, and got seriously wounded in every 
encounter. 

The wardrobe would go m at the front 
door well enough, but that was tactical 
deception—a sort of strategic retreat on the 
part of the villa to draw its enemy into a 
disastrous position. The real line of defence 
was the stairs. They had been constructed 
most skilfully with a single view to the ex- 
elusion of that wardrobe. Wherever the 
way looked so plain and simple that there 
was a temptation to take the position with a 
rush, there 
some corner 
or projection 
was lying m 
wait to attack 
the invader 
in flank and 
wedge it fast. 

The ward¬ 
robe didn’t 
seem to mind 
a bit, and at 
every fresh 
assault it took 
a piece out of 
its adversary 
somewhere, 
but it got 
“no f o r - 
rarder,” and 
at last it was 
taken pri¬ 
soner alto¬ 
gether, with 
three of its 
corners jani- 
me d into 
three differ¬ 
ent holes in 
the plaster, 
and its under 
edge gripped 
by a splintery 
gash in the 
handrail 

So it re* 

mained for several minutes ; and then the 
balusters gave way. The removal-man who 
was dragged from under the debris assured 
me that his skull was fractured, and that 
it would take quite a lot of beer to save his 
life. 

We abandoned the stairs and tried other 
points of attack. Hut my villa seemed in¬ 
vulnerable to this wardrobe, notwithstanding 
that the wardrobe was bv far the stronger 
article of the two* It left its mark on the 

Digitized by GoOfik 


house at every onslaught, and retired un¬ 
harmed and, I fancied, smiling—but it retired; 
whereas the villa, sadly mauled, and accumu¬ 
lating a horrible repair bill with every 
skirmish, still gallantly kept the assailant at 
bay. Till at last I began madly to wonder if 
it would not be cheaper, on the whole, to 
take the house down and build it up again 
round the wardrobe, 

f was considering this appalling alternative 
when the foreman suggested that we might 
try the bedroom window. If only the men's 

constitutions 
could be built 
up first — beer 

_ bdn S rwom- 

mended for 
the purpose 
—he thought 
they could 
manage to 
hoist the 
wardrobe up 
the slope of 
a ladder, and 
so shove it 
obliquely 
through the 
window, the 
sash having 
been first re¬ 
moved, 

I received 
the proposi¬ 
tion with joy, 
and pro¬ 
ceeded at 
once to build 
up the men's 
constitutions, 
which seemed 
to have run 
down very 
low indeed* 
We sent up a 
man, who had 
no difficulty 
in getting out 
the sash; indeed, it came out much sooner than 
he expected, bringing an assortment of fittings 
and fastenings with it, and subsiding on his 
head with a clamorous tinkle of broken glass; 
so that his constitution had to be taken in 
hand again and built up afresh. Hut the 
foreman's suggestion succeeded in the end, 
though, indeed, the wardrobe was a tight fit. 
It was shoved and hauled up the ladder with 
much labour and constitutional disturbance 
(beer again), and, hastening upstairs to meet 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



“ THE BALUSTKHA CAVE WAV.” 













27 


THE HOUSE THAT JERRY BUILT 


it, I had the felicity of observing the victorious 
object coming triumphantly into the bedroom, 
bringing the whole of the window-frame with 
it, like a collar. 

The wardrobe was all right, and there was 
a quiet twinkle about its keyholes that 
betokened complacent triumph. Fortunately 
it seemed a good-humoured piece of furni¬ 
ture ; if it had lost its* temper in the course 
of hostilities nothing could have saved my 
villa from total destruction. 

The wardrobe had hit the house pretty 
hard, but the effect of the carpets was alarm¬ 
ing, too; or, rather, not so much of the carpets 
as of the tacking of them 
down. For with the 
concussion the ceilings 
below began first to 
crack and then to sag 
gracefully like stretched 
curtains; so I had to 
stop the tacking and 
persuade the removal- 
men to put down the 
furniture very carefully 
and lightly. The ner¬ 
vous delicacy required 
to carry out these in¬ 
structions was obtained 
by the administration 
of more beer; and by 
the exercise on my own 
part ofi great care in 
walking about the 
rooms, and the use of 
list slippers, I was able 
to keep the ceilings at 
the original curve for 
several days. Then I 
rashly started to knock 
nails in the walls to 
hang pictures on, and 
as I knocked the ceil¬ 
ing dropped on my 
head in uneasy instal¬ 
ments. More, the jar 
shook other things 
loose, such as mantel¬ 
pieces and cupboard 
frames; and there was 
no balance of advantage after all, for the 
nails all came out when they felt the weight 
of the pictures, and brought down pieces of 
the wall with them. So I tried replacing 
them with longer nails, which made a con¬ 
siderable difference; the difference being that 
larger instalments of the ceiling fell more 
frequently on my head as I drove the nails 
in, and much bigger pieces of the wall 

Diqilized by GoOQ Ic 

* o 


accompanied them when they fell out again. 
I decided that the pictures would look better 
on the floor. 

The wear and tear of moving in had 
mellowed my villa considerably, and given it 
in most places a venerable air of antique 
dilapidation that compared favourably with 
that exhibited by the most genuinely ancient 
baronial hall I know. I tried to get as much 
consolation out of this reflection as I could, 
for I had a sort of presentiment that I should 
want some consolation when the bill came in. 

I found out many curious things, and 
altogether generally improved my education, 
in the first few days of 
my tenancy; and before 
long I was a deal wiser, 
and poorer, and wetter, 
and dustier, and angrier, 
and generally deterio¬ 
rated than before 1 
came to my villa, and 
had several entirely new 
experiences in rheu¬ 
matism, as well as an 
improved form of bron¬ 
chitis. It was not the 
bath that caused the 
bronchitis, however. I 
do not know the scien¬ 
tific name of what I 
suffered from that, but 
if you have ever sat 
down in a new bath 
full of hot water, and 
shortly afterward dis¬ 
covered that the hot 
water has made the 
enamel stick better than 
the most expensive sort 
of glue, you will under¬ 
stand what I mean. I 
cannot say precisely 
whether I tore more 
enamel off the bath or 
the bath tore more 
skin off me, but -I 
think we averaged it 
out fairly even, and 
honours were easy. 
But it was a long time before I was. 

For a long while the joinery saved us the 
cost of a cheap barometer. It bulged up 
and stuck and burst itself in wet weather, 
and shrunk and gaped wide in dry. I can 
just remember a little toy villa that stood in 
my grandmother’s breakfast-room, with two 
doors in it and two inhabitants, one of whom 
kept indoors in dry weather and the other in 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



‘AS I KNOCKED THE CEILING DROPPED ON 
MY HEAD ” 







28 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


wet My villa had a somewhat similar pro 
perty, with the important difference that 
everybody stayed in when the weather was 
inclined to dampness, because none of the 
doors would open to let us out* After a 
time, however, these violent changes in the 
woodwork abated, and it settled down to a 
more or less permanent shrinkage and gaping, 
which had the advantage of enabling one to 
inspect the adjoining room without opening 
the door, and entirely freed our servants 
from that troublesome backache and cold in 
the eye that are prevalent in households 
where observation is restricted to keyholes. 

The floor-boards shrunk, too, and let up 
such steady hurricanes from some subter¬ 
raneous cave of winds that the carpets rose 
and fell like the property sea in a theatre, 
and the lighter articles of furniture were 
blown out of window or up the chimneys, 
while persons of less than eighteen-stone 
weight—but, there, I must be careful to 
avoid any statement that unbelievers might 
be tempted to 
misrepresent as 
exaggerated. Let 
it suffice to say 
that the articles 
lost though the 
cracks — when 
the hurricanes 
were in abeyance 
— grew steadily 
in size day by 
day, beginning 
with such things 
as studs and cuff¬ 
links, and going 
on to property 
of a larger gauge 
each day, till, 
what with the 
w indows and 
chimneys on the 
windy days and 
the floor-chasms 
on the others, 
the household 
was gradually 
impoverished of 
everything 
smaller than a 
coal - scuttle. I 
bore it for long 
without taking 
up the boards, 
until at last the 
baby, unobserved 
for a moment, 


ventured too near an unusually large crack, 
and—but, steady again ; there are people so 
ignorant of the possibilities of a speculative 
builder's villa that they would not believe 
even that 

At any rate, I took up the boards then and 
recovered most of my missing property 
—to say nothing of the baby. Also I 
discovered that whatever ill-wishers might 
say of my landlord they could not justly 
liken him to the foolish man that built 
his house upon the sand ; for 1 saw nothing 
anywhere distantly approaching the appear¬ 
ance of sand, but more than one sense bore 
witness that my villa w T as established on a 
foundation of beef-tins and defunct cats. 
This striking fact no doubt accounted in 
some degree for the diversifications of the 
architecture of Queen Anne, which surprised 
me on mornings when I sun-eyed my villa 
from the road. Oblique zigzags and other 
lines of less definable shapes appeared upon 
the brickwork, and the window's began to 

change places. 
This, die land¬ 
lord assured me, 
was nothing but 
u a little settle¬ 
ment”—a state¬ 
ment that re¬ 
lieved me a great 
deal, for I had 
suspected a large 
earthquake. “A 
little settlement,” 
it appeared, was 
a sort of archi¬ 
tectural thrush, 
measles, teeth¬ 
ing, whooping- 
cough, or what¬ 
not, that every 
respectable house 
went through in 
its infancy. T 
was glad to find 
it was nothing 
worse than that ; 
but even an 
architectural 
whooping - cough 
can be discon¬ 
certing when it 
lets in a fresh 
expanse of land¬ 
scape almost 
daily into one 
room after 
another. 





k A LiTTl.lL SETTLE MS 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












































29 


THE HOUSE THAT JERRY BUILT 


Bat landscape was not the only thing that 
passed freely through the walls, inward 
and outward. Rain, hail, fog, wind, sleet, 
snow, smoke, and gas went to and fro re¬ 
gardless of bricks and mortar; the gas also 
went regardless of pipes ; and cats and dogs 
will not surprise me soon. As to ghosts— 
well, if I saw a weird human figure coming 
through the wall of my villa, I should know 
at once that the settlement was getting worse, 
and this was a tmrglar. A real ghost would 
disdain to pass through such a wall as mine ; 
the job would do him no credit at all. 

1 hear that settlement making extensions 
and improvements in the dead silence of 
night. A quiet, intermittent clicking and 
grinding is the sound, as a rule, only 
noticeable when the household is deep in 
slumber. But occasionally something par¬ 
ticular happens—some fundamental beef-tin 
buckles or some dead cat turns in its grave 
—and there is a sharp crack, and I know 
that in the morning I shall find an extra 
window somewhere, or another and a wider 
laceration across the fair face of Queen Anne. 
I am continually strengthening that front 
wall, too, with fresh thicknesses of wall¬ 
paper. 

I think it must be on such occasions as 
these that my chimneys grow crookeder. 
They were not very straight in the beginning; 
but now their sinuosities would break an eel’s 
back. Sweeps’ brooms get lost in them and 
have to be paid for and left there. And then 
they catch fire and attract fire-engines— 
which also have to be paid for. When I 
look back upon my tenancy—not a long 

one, either it often seems to me that 

it would have been really cheaper on the 
whole to have adopted the builder’s sugges¬ 
tion, bought my villa—and instantly pulled 

it down. , 

There is a sort of democratic quality 
about the house—an equal distribution of 
advantages among the deserving rooms, so to 
spgafc Thus, when onions are being cooked, 
the drawing-room gets as much of the smell 
as the kitchen ; and when the dining room 
fire is lit the smoke comes out of the wrong 
of all the other chimneys. When the 
water-pipes burst, too-and they often do 
things of that sort— there is a very general 
and impartial distribution of the water; and 
as to gag while the leaks and explosions take 
their turns very systematically in the different 
rooms, the smell is always so generally 
diffused that it has become indissolubly 
associated with the tenderest tids of home 
life; and never again can I experience the 

Diqilized by CiOOQ Ec 
' o 


full flavour of domestic felicity without a 
good gas escape close under my nose. 

Now, I wonder why it is that the mere 
mention of my nose should instantly remind 
me of the drains at my villa? Extraordinary, 
isn’t it ? Well, the drains were most con¬ 
veniently laid, nice and close to the surface, 
and rising gradually as they led away from 
the house. There was never any difficulty 
about finding them. The gardener often 
finds them still with a spade or a rake—once 
he found one with a broom. No difficulty 
about knowing where to put them back, 
either, if you happened to fetch any up in 
digging—anywhere would do. It wasn’t as 
though they’d been cemented at the joints, 
or led anywhere in particular. They had 
been put in in compliance with the pre¬ 
valent superstition in favour of having drains 
of some sort, and such was the perfection of 
the system that if you pulled up a drain-pipe 
here and there and used it for a chimney¬ 
pot or anything of that sort it made no differ¬ 
ence whatever. 

I have left off having dinner-parties, not 
being a lawyer, and having some doubts as 
to the precise legal liability attaching to a 
tenant with a repairing lease whose guest 
gets killed in carrying out a dinner engage¬ 
ment. I had a little dinner once, by way of 
house-warming, soon after we came in, but I 
am not persevering. I was not so much 
disturbed by the tile that shot off the roof 
and laid a friend low in the front garden— 
not so much as he was, at any rate—because 
that is a thing that might happen to anybody, 
and people ought to look out for things like 
that, and, after all, he had not actually arrived. 
And although it was a little inconvenient to 
have the drawing-room hearth suddenly sink 
at the front and pitch the fireplace, with the 
fire in it, face downward on the hearth-rug, 
still that is the sort of thing that does happen 
when a young house catches a settlement; 
and. we were going into the dining-room 
presently, in any case. But I had made a 
rather serious mistake in the dining-room. 
For fear of accidents I had knocked 
down the looser parts of the sagging ceil¬ 
ing with a broom, ignorant that I was 
weakening the main support of the floor 
above; for in my house the floors and ceilings 
were devised and constructed on a new and 
ingenious principle: the floor held up the 
ceiling from above, while the ceiling sup¬ 
ported the floor from below. So that when 
the well-meaning but incautious nurse walked 
across the bedroom floor to inspect the 
sleeping baby, first a large piece of ceiling fell 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


30 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


into the soup, and then the nurse followed it, 
in a tempestuous tangle of legs and arms 
and boards and plaster* And somehow I 
sort of got discouraged at last. 

We went to bed somewhat discontented 
that night, and we took our umbrellas with 
us \ for the tile that had cancelled the invi¬ 


tation of one of our guests was not the only 
one gone from the roof* 

I am now having the house painted all over 
just to hold it together temporarily till I have 
had an interview with the builder* I am, in 
fact, anticipating another settlement—a final 
one* I have bought a large pole-axe. 



11 thk\ the kukse roLLtnvEiV 


Goool 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







A childless widow with a large 
income ought certainly to do 
more for those in need than she 


FTER enjoying the best of 
health for fifty years, Mrs, 
Vigogne had found it neces¬ 
sary to summon medical 
assistance, and this just as she 
was in the midst of her various 
predations for Christmas and the New 
Year, 

“Nothing serious—no cause for anxiety. 
All that is required are complete rest, avoid¬ 
ance of physical and mental strain, and a 
course of tonic treatment,” had been the 
verdict of the astute doctor, not unaccus¬ 
tomed to deal with wealthy patients and like 
ailments, “ Over-exerted yourself when a 
little below par, most probably, Mrs. Vigogne,” 
She had gracefully acknowledged to having 
perhaps overtaxed her strength in the way of 
shopping and what not during the late severe 
weather. 

“There are so many demands upon one 
at this season, and one is glad to make it the 
occasion of reminding one's friends that they 
are kept in remembrance,” 

“Oh, yes, of course, very right and 
proper,” had replied Dr, Warner, glancing 
from the faded face, with its stereotyped 
smile and expressionless eyes, towards a side 
table upon which was ranged a row of parcels 
large and small. Was she, after all, more 
liberal than she had the credit for being — 
one cf those who do good by stealth ? 

Digitized by Google 


was supposed to do, and ugly 
rumours had reached his ears of poor rela¬ 
tions neglected and great people cultivated. 

Mrs. Vigogne considered herself in society, 
and to this her late husband's name and 
wealth gave her some claim. Nor was there 
anything on her ow r n side to be ashamed of, 
could she have looked over the non-success 
in life of some of her relatives. 

Unaccustomed to illness of any kind, she 
had been not a little alarmed by the sudden 
development of symptoms that reminded her 
she was mortal. She was unaware that it 
was but an ordinary attack of dyspepsia and 
that the remedy was summarily confided to 
the doctor's note - book in one expressive 
word. 

More than ready to carry out his instruc¬ 
tions in the matter of taking precautions, 
she installed herself in a boudoir adjoining 
her bedroom, giving orders for the house to 
be kept very quiet and no callers to he 
admitted. Moreover, in her anxiety to 
avoid again overtaxing her strength, she had 
engaged a young girl to act as secretary in 
the matter of attending to her somewhat 
extensive correspondence, and otherwise as a 
useful help—permanently should her services 
prove satisfactory. 

This young lady was later than usual, and 
Mrs. Vigogne was becoming impatient at the 
delay, her eyes turning frequently from the 
clock on the mantelshelf to the door. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









3* 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


Miss Blake must be given to understand 
that punctuality was very essential if she wished 
to keep her situation, she was telling herself. 
Yes, she must certainly receive a hint about 
that, as well as two or three other matters in 
which she was remiss* Mrs. Vigogne was 
not sure that she was all that her testimonial 
had ascribed to her. She had noticed a 
doubtful, questioning look in the young girl’s 
eyes when a letter was being dictated to her, 
and she had occasionally repeated the words 
in an interrogative tone, which was objection¬ 
able in a subordinate. Moreover, she did 
not appear amenable to reproof at such times, 
a quick flush coming into her cheeks and a 
set expression to her lips, which looked very 
like temper, although she could not be said 
to be overtly rebellious. 

14 Nearly half an hour late. 

Miss Blake,” she said, when 
presently the door opened and 
the young girl entered the 
somewhat overheated and 
perfumed room, its French 
windows opening to a balcony 
filled with plants* The house 
was situated in a short, some¬ 
what dull, but eminently select 
street, leading to a square of 
such aristocratic supremacy as 
to confer a distinction upon 
its immediate neighbourhood. 

tl I am sorry, Mrs. Vigogne; 

I left home in good time, but 
it was raining so heavily, and 
the omnibuses were all so full, 
that I had to wait,” a little 
nervously replied the young 
girl Although too pale and 
anxious-looking for her years, 
she gave promise of being a 
beautiful woman in the future, 
and her earnest, reflective eyes 
and well-cut mouth and chin 
indicated that she was not with¬ 
out character and individuality. 

11 1 hope your clothes are 
not damp,” said Mrs* Vigogne, 
drawing her soft warm wrap about her and 


11 Be good enough to commence by 
separating the business letters—tradesmen s 
accounts and so forth, to be examined later 
—and pass me the rest one at a time, Miss 
Blake,” said Mrs. Vigogne, with an expectant 
smile* The contents of some of them, at 
least, would be pleasant reading, she was 
thinking. 

The young girl sorted the letters, put those 
which were evidently on business aside, arid 
passed the first of the others that came to 
hand to Mrs. Vigogne, 

She took the letter from its envelope and 
glanced at it, murmuring to herself, “Only 
from Harriet, I think. Yes, I see.” 

But as she proceeded to gather the con¬ 
tents a look of surprise came into her face. 





HDt'E Vm’K CLOTH KS AKfc iSQT SAID MBS, VIGOOSE. 


My Dear Marian,— How can I suffi- 


wheeling her chair nearer to the fire. 

A hot flush rose to the young girl’s cheeks, 
in her guilty consciousness that she did not 
possess a waterproof, as she replied 

“ I had an umbrella.” 

“ Had you not better sit nearer the 
window ? ” 

Miss Blake drew her chair to the end of 
the table near the window and quietly waited 
for further instructions. 


ciently thank you for the very beautiful and 
valuable present you have sent me? It is so 
much more than I could possibly have hoped 
for. To speak of it as a trifle, too ! It will 
be of the greatest assistance to me and my 
child ; and it is all the more valued because 
it is given spontaneously, without any appeal 
to your kindness. Knowing, as you do, what 
my circumstances are, you will, I feel sure, 
not object to my disposing of your beautiful 


gilized by OOOQ lc 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS. 


33 


gift Indeed, I have no doubt that this was 
in your mind when sending it to me. Hoping 
that the thought of the many comforts your 
kindness will purchase for me and my child 
in the hour of need will bring happiness 
to you in the New Year, and with my heart¬ 
felt gratitude, believe me, dear Marian, your 
affectionate cousin,— Harriet.” 

“Beautiful and valuable present—valuable? 
What in the world did it mean ? Gratitude 
for favours to come?” Mrs. Vigogne was 
asking herself, her thoughts reverting to the 
contents of the parcel she had sent to her 
widowed cousin. “Sell the trumpery chiffon 
fichu, which had only cost two and eleven¬ 
pence three-farthings at one of the summer 
sales? Is she laughing at me? Oh, no, 
gratitude for favours to come, of course,” 
putting the letter on to the little table by her 
side, with a half-derisive smile. 

“ The next, Miss Blake. Stay ”—with a 
sudden foreboding. “Is there a letter bear¬ 
ing the Hants postmark ? ” 

The young girl turned over the letters. 
“Yes, here is one.” 

“ Give it to me.” 

Mrs. Vigogne hurriedly tore open the 
envelope and looked through the letter, her 
face paling as she read :— 

“Dear Mrs. Vigogne, —Some mistake 
must have arisen, I think—at least, I hope it 
is only that—with regard to the packet I 
received from you. I do not like to believe 
that you could have so far forgotten what is 
due to me as to present me with a half- 
soiled chiffon fichu — one of those we 
together purchased at the July sale. Nor is 
the jest, as I suppose it was intended to be, 
about my admiration for such things in 
better taste. I must hope you will be able 
to explain what at present appears an un¬ 
called-for affront, by return of post. I should 
be sorry, indeed, if our friendship is to be 
ended in this way, as it most certainly 
must unless I receive a satisfactory explana¬ 
tion and apology.—Yours, etc., Aurelia 
Dumond.” 

M L^dy Dumond ! Good gracious, send a 
half-soiled fichu to her!” mentally ejaculated 
Mrs. Vigogne, with the remembrance of their 
confidences about “ picking up ” such little 
bargains to come in useful by-and-by for 
presentation—to poor friends and dependents 
understood. The fichu must have been put 
into Lady Dumond’s parcel by mistake; and 
the brooch and pendant it had cost her so 
much to part with ! Mrs. Vigogne sank 
back in her chair, catching in her breath 
with a gasp of dismay as the truth suddenly 

Vot Mxiv. — S, 


broke upon her. Yes, it had been sent to 
her cousin Harriet, in such straits since the 
sudden death of her husband, and the fichu 
intended for her had gone to Lady Dumond, 
one of the proudest women in the three 
kingdoms ! 

The brooch and pendant had been one 
amongst a valuable collection of jewels which 
was bequeathed to her by her late husband 
with the rest of his property. There had 
been some question about these jewels, it 
being considered they were heirlooms that 
ought to go to his brother’s son. The latter 
had, however, been advised that he might 
find it difficult to enforce his claim, since 
there was no authentic inventory; and the 
late Mr. Vigogne had been a connoisseur and 
collector, frequently adding to and exchang¬ 
ing the jewels. By making a stir in the 
matter his nephew might deprive himself of 
the rest of the property that the widow could 
dispose of as she pleased, and she had given 
him reason for hoping this would eventually 
be his. 

The brooch and pendant were of excep¬ 
tionally fine brilliants and sapphires, and had 
been intended as a graceful recognition of 
many a past hospitality and investment for 
many a future visit to the Dumonds. The 
value of the gift had been carefully calculated, 
and it had been sent with many a sigh of 
regret that nothing less would suffice. 

The jewel would fetch at least eight or 
nine hundred pounds, and it might be 
already sold for less than half its value if her 
cousin had taken it to some jeweller who did 
not know its worth, or was inclined to trade 
upon her ignorance. Yes, it was too late ! 
There was nothing to be done now beyond 
explaining the mistake to Lady Dumond 
and sending another jewel of equal value, 
which she could not bear to think of. 

She silently held out her hand for another 
letter. “ What next ? ” she was thinking. 
Surely there could be nothing much worse 
than what she had already received. In this 
she was a little premature. 

“ Dear Mrs. Vigogne” (“Aunt Marian” 
scored through),—“ I am reluctant indeed to 
break off all further communication with 
you, but this you yourself oblige me to do 
by the extraordinary pains you have taken to 
bring it about. It was quite open to you to 
send me nothing, as my previous experience 
had taught me to expect, but the New Year’s 
present of a sixpenny tie was quite an un¬ 
necessary piece of munificence. You might, 
at least, have spared yourself the expense of 
registering the precious gift. If this were all 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


34 


THE STEAND MAGAZINE,. 


I could have passed it over, but the un¬ 
warrantable insult—there is no other word 
for it—offered to the lady I am about to 
make my wife, whom you have not seen and 
who has given not the slightest cause for 
offence, I cannot and will not look over. 
I return your letter to her, which you had 
the impertinence to enclose with mine, with 
the contempt it deserves, and must decline 
any further correspondence with one capable 
of writing it.—J ames Arbuthnot.” 

An insult! A cheque for fifty guineas, 
enclosed in a prettily worded letter of 
congratulation upon the approaching event; 
hoping that her nephew’s fiancee would pur¬ 
chase some little souvenir of the occasion in 
his aunt’s name, and expressing the desire to 
very soon know more of one she had heard 
so highly spoken of. Moreover, in this she 
had been quite sincere. The marriage would 
be one of which she entirely approved. Her 
husband’s nephew was clever, amb ; tious, 
already representing his county in the House, 
and giving promise of making some mark in 
the political world. The lady he was about 
to marry was the only child and heiress of a 
county magnate, and, if a few years older 
than her fiance , was, in other respects, all 
that could be desired. 

With trembling fingers Mrs. Vigogne un¬ 
folded the letter, torn contemptuously across, 
that her nephew had enclosed in his own. 
Yes, as she had feared, another mistake, and 
a still more serious one ! 

This was a letter she had written to a 
young girl engaged to a nephew of her own, 
and written in a different spirit from that in¬ 
tended for the bride-elect of James Arbuthnot. 
Edward Norman was a clerk in a solicitor’s 
office, beginning upon a pittance and with 
very little prospect of rising to any eminence. 
Marriage for him meant ruin, decided Mrs. 
Vigogne. In very plain language she had 
written to the young lady, giving her opinion 
of the ill-advised, not to say disastrous, step 
they were about to take. She had even gone 
so far as to more than hint that she considered 
her nephew Edward was being drawn into a 
marriage by one more clever than scrupulous, 
ending with the warning that when the in¬ 
evitable consequences came they must not 
look to her for help of any kind. 

Worse than all, there was an allusion to 
the young girl’s age being in itself an obstacle, 
and this would hardly be understood, as she 
had meant it, by James Arbuthnot’s fiancee 
as referring to her other nephew’s engage¬ 
ment. No, she felt there could be no ex¬ 
plaining away an affront such as this. 

Diqilized by C iOOQ lc 
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And what had become of the shares she 
had sent to her nephew? That cheque for 
fifty guineas had represented but a fourth 
part of the value of the present she had sent 
to James Arbuthnot—the shares which, the 
last time they had met, he had told her might, 
if carefully manipulated, still be worth from two 
to three hundred in the market. Indeed, he 
had offered to give her a couple of hundred 
or so and take them off her hands ; and, as he 
was a careful man who might be expected to 
have private information on the matter, she 
considered she was, in fact, presenting him 
with that sum. Instead of these shares he 
had received a sixpenny necktie ! 

Mrs. Vigogne turned towards Miss Blake 
and, not a little angrily, said :— 

“ There has been a senes of mistakes 
respecting those letters and parcels sent off 
a few days ago, Miss Blake: mistakes that 
will place me in a position of great difficulty 
with some of my friends, and for which you 
are entirely to blame.” 

“ How could that be, Mrs. Vigogne ? I 
carefully carried out all your instructions.” 

“ The letters must have been put into the 
wrong parcels. I particularly explained that 
they were to be numbered consecutively in 
the order I had placed them, beginning at 
the right hand, and that as you finished each 
letter I dictated it was to be enclosed in 
rotation.” 

“ I did that, and marked those that were 
to be registered.” 

“ Then how do you account for the 
mistakes that have arisen ? ” 

“I cannot. Unless”—after a moment’s 

hesitation—“you had removed the first 

parcel before I began, and, I think- Yes, 

I remember now/ There was a packet on the 
table by your side, and I afterwards saw you 
put it last in the row. If it was removed 
from the end on the right it must have 
thrown them all out in the numbering.” 

Mrs. Vigogne did remember. She had, 
in fact, been so reluctant to part with that 
brooch and pendant that she had put the 
parcel containing the case on the table by 
her side to take another look at it, and had 
forgotten to replace it until too late. She 
was obliged to acknowledge that she herself 
had made the mistake, although she did so 
a little grudgingly. 

“ Had you reminded me of that at the 
time it would have spared me a great deal of 
trouble and annoyance, Miss Blake. It was 
being an invalid which rendered it necessary 
for me to engage an assistant, and one 
naturally expects that a certain amount of 
I fl - 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



A CHAPTER OP ACCIDENTS. 


35 



“ HOW DO VOU ACCOUNT FOR THE MISTAKES THAT HAVE ARISEN? 


interest will be shown in work that is under¬ 
taken.” 

41 1 am very sorry.” 

“I have most reason to be sorry, I think*” 

Not only was the thought of the brooch 
and pendant rankling in her mind, but she 
was disturbed by some new feeling which she 
could not account for. Was it the con¬ 
sciousness that the letter returned to her 
ought not to have been written, and that 
Miss Blake had shown her at the time it 
ought not ? If so, if she felt that in her 
disapproval of what she considered to be a 
misalliance she had shown the lack of certain 
qualities she was desirous of having the 
credit for possessing, she was not the less 
annoyed at the young girl for perceiving it 
Twice had Miss Blake repeated those words, 
“more clever than scrupulous,” as though to 
ask if she really meant them. 

M I fear you are not sufficiently experienced 
for the work you have undertaken. Miss 
Blake.” 

“ l told you I had no previous experience, 
Mrs. Vigogne, but I am very desirous of 
doing my best,” replied the young girl, 
whitening to the lips with the fear she was 
about to be dismissed. 

There was a tap at the door and a servant 
looked in. 

“ Mr. Craig hopes you will be able to see 

Digitized by Google 


him, ma'am* I 
told him that 
you did not see 
visitors, but he 
says it is very 
important he 
should see you, 
and he will only 
remain a few 
minutes*” 

The curate! 
Was he, too, 
mixed up in the 
complications — 
had that five 
shillingsworih of 
stamps gone to 
the wrong per¬ 
son ? 

“Oh, I cannot. 
Wait a moment, 
Susan ; say I am 
not able to re 
ceive visitors 
just now, but I 
will make an 
exception in Mr* 
Craig's favour.” 

“ Better know the worst,” she was thinking. 

A young man of about seven or eight and 
twenty, his genial face wearing just now a 
somewhat perplexed expression, entered the 
room. 

“ I am sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Vigogne, 
but the vicar asked me to call. He does not 
quite know what to do with regard to the 
cheque you have sent him.” 

It was not for Mr. Craig to explain the 
reason why the vicar had begged him to 
undertake the task. In fact, Mr* Selborne a 
little shrank from going to her himself, 
although he did not hesitate to speak his 
mind when they did meet. He had indeed 
expressed himself rather strongly with regard 
to the little she did in the parish, where there 
were very many poor as well as rich, and 
she had quite as strongly resented what he 
said. 

“ In your letter you speak of enclosing 
your usual subscription, which has invariably 
been five shillings, and the vicar found a 
cheque for fifty guineas. I need hardly tell 
you how great would be the help of that sum 
to us just now. It warms one's heart to 
think of the blankets and coals and many a 
good dinner it would purchase,” his face 
brightening with a smile* 44 But the cheque 
is made out for Miss Letitia Somers and not 
endorsed by her*” 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


“ It was intended for Miss Letitia Somers, 
Mr, Craig,” 

u In that case there is nothing left me but 
to return it, I suppose* The vicar feared 
there might be some mistake,” a little ruefully 
taking out his pocket-book, 

Mrs. Vigogne was gazing reflectively down 
at her jewelled Angers. What if she were to 
give him the fifty guineas after all ? The 
sum was large, but little enough in com¬ 
parison with the rapidly accumulating capital 
saved from her large income, and her inten¬ 
tion of enriching her already rich nephew 
had been not a little weakened by his 
impertinent letter. Moreover, although she 
was hardly conscious of this, there was the 
feeling that the vicar's approbation would be 
welcome to her at this crisis. There was a 
not unpleasant little stir in her mind from 
another cause 
which she did not 
at that moment 
attempt to analyze. 

“ Here is the 
cheque, Mrs. Vi¬ 
gogne,” 

Again she hesi- 
t at e d, Then, 
hurriedly, as 
though afraid of 
altering her mind 
if she delayed, 
and half- 
surprised, 
half-proud 
ofhergene- 
rosity, she 
said, glanc- 
i n g, she 
knew not 
why, to¬ 
wards the 
young girl 
bending 
over the 
accounts : 

“ I will not 
disappoint 
you, Mr. 

Craig. You 
shall have 
another 

cheque for the same amount. And with 
what was intended for a little side-blow at 
the vicar : a reminder of many a little speech 
of his that had annoyed her — u you must 
tell Mr. Sdborne that you have succeeded 
where he might have failed.” 

“Oh, he won't in the least mind who 


succeeded, so that his poor get the benefit,” 
cheerfully replied Mr. Craig. 

“ Be good enough to make out a cheque 
and give it me to sign, Miss Blake,” 

Mr. Craig’s thanks as he took leave 
sounded very agreeably to Mrs. Vigogne’s 
ears. It was a kind of pleasure to which 
she was unaccustomed, “ He appears quite 
as elated as though I had given the fifty 
guineas to Aim” thought Mrs, Vigogne, 

She sat silent awhile, glancing now and 
again towards the young girl, still engaged m 
making a list of the accounts, then presently 
said, perhaps with the desire to show what 
another besides Mr. Craig thought of her 
generosity :■— 

“ Read this letter from my cousin, Miss 
Blake. I will ask you presently to reply to 
it for me.” 

She was not a 
little surprised as 
she read the evi¬ 
dently sincere 
expressions of 
gratitude. Had 
she judged Mrs, 
Vigogne un¬ 
fairly ? 

“ There was no 
mistake made 
about this letter, 
was there, Mrs. 
Vigogne ? ” 

The latter was a 
little nonplussed ; 
if she acknow¬ 
ledged there had 
been, the gratitude 
would also be a 
mistake. 

“Well—no, on 
the whole — per¬ 
haps not.” 

41 It must be so 
delightful to have 
the power to help 
people.” 

u If what one 
does is appre¬ 
ciated," 

“ Appreciated ? 
Oh, that matters 
so little in comparison, does it not?” 

“You do not care for appreciation, Miss 
Blnke ? ” 

“ I am afraid I do more than I ought, since 
one has so often to do without it; but,” with 
a little half-smile to herself, “ I shall learn in 

lime not to want the unattainable, I suppose.” 

Originarfrom r 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



" MR. CKAiCS THANKS AS ME TOOK LEAVE SOUHEjED VERY AGREEABLY ’* 










A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS . 


37 


“ Which means that you have had some 
disappointment ? ” 

“ Not exactly that, Mrs. Vigogne. Am I 
to write the letter now ? ” 

“ It would be as well, perhaps. Just a few 
lines to Mrs. Langly, at that address, stating 
that I am much gratified by her letter, and 
am hoping to see her here as soon as I am 
convalescent” 

The young girl’s pen travelled quickly over 
the paper, then, as she turned to take up an 
envelope, her eyes fell upon a letter she had 
not previously seen. 

“This has not been opened, and it is not 
a business letter, Mrs. Vigogne,” she said, 
noticing the crest on the envelope. 

The latter took it a little doubtfully. “ Not 
another mistake. Not that five shillings- 
worth of stamps returned with contempt, I 
hope,” said Mrs. Vigogne, inclined to regard 
the straying of those stamps as almost a jest 
in comparison with other things that had lost 
their way. 

“ Dear Madam,— I have been advised 
that you may perhaps be able to assist me 
with regard to a difficulty in which I find 
myself placed, and this will, I trust, excuse 
my applying to you.” 

“ Someone else wanting assistance ! ” she 
ejaculated. “There really seems to be no 
end to the appeals one gets of that kind ! ” 
She was about to throw the letter aside when 
her attention was caught by the next line, 
and she read on, a very different expression 
coming into her face. 

“I have been given to understand that 
Miss Norman, who a short time since resided 
near Falmouth, is a niece of yours, and, as 
she has left the place and I am unable to 
discover her present address, I am hoping 
you may be able to give me some clue to it. 
I ought to explain that I am very desirous of 
winning her for my wife, and that it is her 
knowledge of this which causes her to keep 
out of the way, she having been led to 
believe that my people strongly object to the 
marriage. We know now by whom the 
mischief was made and the end that was 
in view. I will not trouble you by going 
farther into this. It is sufficient to say 
that Miss Norman was induced to think 
that if the marriage took place I 
should be disinherited by my father of 
all but a barren title. He has, in fact, 
neither the will nor the power to do anything 
of the kind. On the contrary, he is very 
desirous of welcoming the woman I love. I 
am quite as determined to find her as she 
is to keep out of the way, venturing as I do 

Digitized by C iOOQ I C 
* o 


to think she returns my love, and it is this 
which has led her to prefer what she believes 
to be my welfare to her own. 

“ Immediately after her father’s death she 
disappeared, and has, so far, baffled all 
attempts to find her. The vicar there gave 
me your address, and I have thought that 
perhaps Miss Norman might have com¬ 
municated with you. More he would not 
say, being, I fancy, bound to secrecy in the 
matter. 

“ Can you assist me ? I have called two 
or three times, but have been given to under¬ 
stand that you see no one just now. I did 
not leave a card in case Miss Norman should 
be with you, and if she saw my name she 
might take wing before I had time to give 
an explanation. Could you send me a line 
or, better still, grant me an interview, I 
should be grateful beyond words. Mean¬ 
time, believe me, dear Mrs. Vigogne, truly 
yours, Severan.” 

“ Severan ! Severan ! Could he really 
be-? ” 

Mrs. Vigogne took up the book generally 
kept near at hand, and more interesting to 
her than any other. 

“Yes, ‘fifth earl—only son—Gloucester¬ 
shire—Warwickshire—Berkeley Square.’ ” 

She put the book on the low table by her 
side and sat gazing straight before her, 
dazzled and bewildered by the wonderful 
prospect opening out to her mental vision. 

Her niece — the daughter of a poor 
lieutenant in the Navy—to be sought after 
in this fashion by one upon whom a duke 
would be proud to bestow his daughter !* 
The Normans could boast of good blood, to 
be sure, but really ! Lady Severan ! Why, 
she would take precedence of a Dumond ! 
Dear Mabel! Yes, of course she must be 
found as quickly as possible; in her heart of 
hearts having no doubt that she would be 
found when the right time came. 

Mrs. Vigogne had been too long accus¬ 
tomed to study the weaker side of human 
nature to have much knowledge of the 
stronger. That any girl could possibly give 
up such a prospect for the motives her niece 
had the credit for she did not l>elieve, 
although she might think it necessary to 
keep up the fiction, since this wonderful 
lover admired it so much. 

To give some vent to her feelings, which 
she found it somewhat difficult to control in 
her pride and excitement, she turned towards 
Miss Blake, and said, endeavouring to speak 
in a matter-of-course tone :— 

“ This is a letter which I must make an 

1 f 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




3& 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


effort to reply to myself, Miss Blake, When 
a peer of the realm addresses me, I suppose 
T ought to reply to him personally, especially 
when it is written upon a question of im¬ 
portance to me and my family. But I have 
no objection—I think I should like you to 
see the letter." 

The young girl read it slowly through, 
more slowly than was necessary, Mrs. 
Vigogne thought, a little impatiently. 

“Quite a romance in real life, is it not, 
Miss Blake ? ” 
u It seems so.” 

“ Such a match for 
her ; I am really quite 
proud of my niece ! ” 

“ She, too, has reason 
for being proud and — 
h u m b le — a nd — hi 1 
sorts of things to have 
won such love as that, 
has she not ? ” 

** I have not Seen 
her since she was a 
little child, but it was 
said she was growing 
up quite pretty/* mus¬ 
ingly went on Mrs. 

Vigogne, “ I really 
had no idea — she must 
be more than ordinarily 
beautiful ! ” 

“She may be am¬ 
bitious, perhaps, and 
would not lie satisfied 
even with being beau¬ 
tiful ! One of those 
girls who want to be 
loved for—oh, 
something or other, 
that goes to make 
us ourselves.” 

"I do not quite 
understand you, 

Miss Blake.” 

“ I do not under¬ 
stand myself some¬ 
times, Mrs. Vigogne. I was only thinking 
that your niece might not care to be a lady¬ 
ship, and, in that case, would wish he were 
not a lord ”—w 
half a sob. 

“ No girl would be so foolish as that, I 
think.” 

u But if all girls wanted to marry lords 
there would not be enough to go round, and 
they would have to be fought for, or raffled 
for, or something of that sort, you know.” 
Mrs. Vigogne looked a little curious as 

Digitized by Google 



MR, Sl-jRMAS: AMD Miss 1VEST tVTSIT TO SEE YOU, MA'AM. 


th a little laugh that sounded 


well as surprised. She had not before seen 
the young girl in this mood. That Miss 
Blake had a mind of her own she knew; but 
she generally gave the impression of keeping 
a tight rein over her feelings, and she seemed 
suddenly to have become emotional, tears 
and smiles in her face at the same time. 
Her whole bearing was different 1 She pre¬ 
sently remembered a little half-admission, as 
it had seemed to her. 1( Ah, yes, she had 
judged correctly. There had been a dis¬ 
appoint ment T and it 
was too much to ex¬ 
pect her to rejoice over 
another's good fortune, 

_ \ perhaps.” 

The door was opened 
again and a servant 
looked in. 

“ Mr. Norman and 
M iss West wish to see 
you, ma’am.” 

“Really, Susan, 

when you know- 

" It’s not a bit of 
use my saying you can't 
see them, for they are 
like the gentleman 
that’s just gone, and 
won't be said ‘no 1 to,” 
a little crossly replied 
Susan, not choosing to 
take the blame. 

“Tell them -” 

Mrs, Vigogne paused, 
suddenly remembering 
that Edward Norman 
could certainly not 
have come to revile 
her for sending him a 
sixpenny necktie. Nor 
could Miss West have 
received the letter in* 
tended for James 
Arbuthnot's fiancee. 
Instead of saying what 
she had meant to say, 
she added, “ I will see them, Susan,” 

Her eyes turned curiously towards the 
door, when it was presently opened again 
to admit a tall, well-built, pleasant-looking 
young man and a fair, graceful girl of 
between seventeen and eighteen years of age. 

“We felt we must come to thank you 
personally for your great kindness, Aunt 
Marian. A letter would not half explain the 
gratitude we feel. To begin with, this is my 
Helen, whom your goodness will enable me 

very soon to call my wife.” 

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A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS. 


39 


Mrs. Vigogne was equal to the occasion 
now, and welcomed them graciously enough. 
They took the seats she indicated and, 
noticing that they glanced towards the young 
girl bending over her work at the writing- 
table, she said : “ This young lady has been 
acting as confidential secretary for me during 
my illness/* 

Both bowed smilingly to her, and the 
courtesy was gracefully acknowledged, Miss 
Blake bowing as smilingly in return. 

Understanding now that the letter — the 
writing of which had somewhat puzzled him 
—had been written by the young secretary, 
Edward Norman saw that he might speak 
freely. 

“ You have given us both the happiness 
we had almost given up hoping for, Aunt 
Marian; such generosity I did not expect, and 
had not the slightest grounds for expecting.” 

“You mean—that is, you are alluding to 
the shares ? ” seeing now that they must have 
gone to him. “ You received them ? ” 

“Yes, thank you a thousand times; they 
amved safely, but, if you will excuse my say¬ 
ing so, they should have been registered, as 
some protection against loss. Your letter to 
Helen, too, so large-hearted in its kindness. 

I assure you she thinks it no less valuable/* 

“I do, indeed,” said the young girl. “ It 
was more than good of you to write to me in 
that way, Mrs. Vigogne/* 

“I feel that I know you as I have not 
before known you, Aunt Marian,** said the 
young man, reddening a little with the con¬ 
sciousness of many a contemptuous thought 
of her meanness. 

She, too, was looking a little conscious and 
confused by all this warmth of gratitude for 
what she had not intended to give, as she 
said:— 

“ The shares were for-** She glanced at 

the two happy faces, and had not the heart to 
add, “ James Arbuthnot/* 

“They were worth a thousand pounds 
when you sent them, but they would realize 
six or seven times as much as that now.*’ 

A thousand! James Arbuthnot had offered 
to give her a couple of hundred pounds, 
as though out of kindness—just to take them 
off her hands! 

“They are going up by leaps and bounds, 
and already represent quite a little fortune. 
Did you not know they were likely to do this, 
Aunt Marian ? ** beginning to look a little 
anxious. 

She returned his gaze for a moment or 
two, then quietly replied :— 

“ I gave them to you for what they may 

Diqili/ndbvV iOOQ C 
f o 


be worth, Edward, and,** speaking more 
decidedly as she went on, “ I shall be glad to 
know they have increased in value in your 
hands.” 

“ They are a fortune now, and my 
governor, who knows what he is talking 
about, says they will soon be worth a very 
large one. He is in earnest, too, for he 
suggested that there will presently be a 
partnership vacant m the firm, and I might 
do worse than employ my capital that way, if 
I do not wish to be an idle man. You may 
guess what that means to me. Instead of 
grinding my life out for thirty shillings a 
week, I shall be a man of means with 
a nice place of my own to return 
to after business; and in time ** — he 
broke off with a little laugh that rang 
pleasantly through the room—“well, there 
is no knowing where it will stop; for I like 
work, and am not the fellow to let the grass 
grow under my feet. You will see me at the 
top of the tree in no time, and have the 
pleasure of knowing that it is you I have to 
thank for it all. Be quick to get well and 
let us come again soon, then you will see. 
We must not stay any longer now. Indeed, 
we had the greatest difficulty in persuading 
your servant to let us in, but I felt sure it 
would not hurt you to listen to a few words 
of gratitude and to know how much good 
you have done for us, so I fought it out with 
her.** 

“ Come and dine with me on Thursday— 
just a friendly little dinner to meet my cousin 
Harriet and, it may be, one other.” After a 
moment or two’s reflection she added: “ Can 
you tell me anything about your Unche 
William’s daughter ? Do you know where 
she is now, Edward ? I have heard nothing 
from her since her father’s death, but I believe 
she has left Cornwall.” 

“No, I have not seen her since she was 
quite a little child. You see, uncle lived so 
far off, and he was a little stand-offish, I 
fancy, for he only occasionally sent a line 
in reply to my letters, and I could never get 
to hear much of my cousin. I suppose the 
truth was—oh, well, one can pretty well 
guess. Poor people as well as rich ones 
have their defects, and are apt to be a little 
over-sensitive and meet pride with pride. 
I’m afraid they were very poor.” 

“I made my brother an allowance,” said 
Mrs. Vigogne, less satisfied with the thought 
that it was but thirty pounds a year than 
she would have been a few days previously. 
What if some of her superfluous capital, the 
investing of which gave her so much trouble, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



40 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


might have prolonged his life or, at any rate, 
have enabled him to obtain the comforts 
that are so much needed in illness ! “ Had 

I known more was required, of course it 
would have been forthcoming. As to Mabel, 
I am very desirous she should be found as 
quickly as possible, for reasons I will explain 
to you more fully on Thursday.” 

“ I shall find her, never fear. I made up 
my mind about that as soon as good fortune 
came to me. I shall make it my business to 
go to Cornwall and hunt her up. We mean 
to induce her to come and live with us and 
share the best we have. She won’t be able 
to withstand Helen and me together, and 
she’ll soon find we are in earnest.” 

“I am very desirous she should be found,” 
repeated Mrs. Vigogne; “ I hope you will 
be able to bring me some news of her when 
you come again. Good-bye.” 

They shook hands, and were about to pass 
the young girl sitting at the writing-table, 
with a smile and a bow, when she rose and 
put out her hand with a murmured “Good¬ 
bye,” looking agitated, and as though she had 
some difficulty in keeping back the tears in 
her eyes. 

Mrs. Vigogne looked curiously on, and as 
soon as the door closed the young girl said, 
with a somewhat nervous little laugh :— 

“ One forgets the conventionalities some¬ 
times, and it is as well one should.” 

“ You think so ? ” 

“ With some, yes, and—they seem so— 
everything that is kind.” 

“ They are that, I believe, and they certainly 
make an attractive-looking young couple. 
But you are tired, cold, Miss Blake ? Come 
nearer to the fire, child, you are so pale,” 
said Mrs. Vigogne, in a tone and manner 
that would have surprised those who thought 
they knew her best and certainly surprised 
herself. 

“ No, thank you, I do not feel cold,” 
hesitatingly. 

“ You are not thinking of what I said this 
morning, are you ? I was a little annoyed, 
and spoke too decidedly under the impres¬ 
sion that you were to blame for the mistakes 
that occurred. As I told you, I afterwards 
saw that I myself was to blame, and I do not 
now regret it, therefore you need give no 
more thought to the matter.” 

“ It is not that. There is something I 
ought to tell you ; it would have been better 
to do so at first; 1 see that now, but I was 
afraid. The truth is, I thought you so 
different from what you really are, and I did 
not want to appeal to you in any way.” 

Diqitized by Goodie 

* O 


“ Appeal—you ? ” 

“ As things were, it might have appeared 
that. Now everything is changed for me.” 

A letter was brought in and presented to 
Mrs. Vigogne. 

“ Read it to me, Miss Blake; I am getting 
tired of letter-reading,” she said, feeling that 
there could be nothing to come now which 
the young girl might not see. 

As she opened it the five dozen stamps fell 
out. 

“ The stamps ! ” thought Mrs. Vigogne. 

“ Now, where do they come from ? ” 

“ Dear Mrs. Vigogne, —My husband and 
I feel that we must not accept the enclosed 
for our boys’ visit to the pantomime. Indeed, 
their uncle took them to Drury Lane last 
night, after they had dined with him at the 
Cecil—you know how nicely he does these 
little kindnesses—and therefore we must not 
let them go again this vacation. Hoping you 
have now recovered your cold,—Yours truly, 
Amy Marchmont.” 

“ That those stamps should go there ! As 
you know, I had written to engage a five- 
guinea box for those boys.” 

“ Yes, here is the voucher,” said the young 
girl, looking through the papers. 

“ Then the box must have remained 
empty while they were paying for another. 
Had they been inclined to give me credit for 
good intentions they might have supposed it 
was a mistake, especially since I have given 
them a box for the last three years. I shall 
not take the trouble to explain, at any rate for 
the present,” telling herself it would only be 
the loss of a couple of dinners during the 
season. 

“And now for your revelation, Miss Blake. 
Am I right in the supposition that it relates 
to a love quarrel and^n reconciliation ? ” 

“No, not a quarrel. It is-” 

The door was opened once more and 
Susan looked in, a smile—brought by a 
golden argument that had been used— 
broadening over her face. 

“ Lord Severan begs to know if you can 
see him for a few minutes, ma’am.” 

“ Lord Severan ! Oh, yes, show him here, 
Susan,” promptly. 

A young man of about seven or eight and 
twenty, who, if not handsome, had a strong 
and kindly face, presently entered the room. 

“ I trust you will excuse my pertinacity, 
Mrs. Vigogne. The servant thought you 
might not be able to see me; but, as my 
errand is of great importance to me, I in¬ 
duced her to ask you. You received my 
letter ? ” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS. 


4t 



plain* child. But why did you not take me 
into your confidence before ? 11 

11 I did not know you as I do now, and I 
did not want to talk about things.” 

“ But how was it you came here ?” 

4£ The rector of our place is a friend of the 
vicar here, and wrote to ask him to recom¬ 
mend me in case he beard of any work 
that I could undertake. Mr. Selborne 
heard that you were seeking for someone to 
write for you, and I came.” To Lord 
Severnn she said i 44 I took the name of 
Blake, tny mother’s maiden name, in the 
hope of concealing my 
identity. Of course, I did 
not foresee your coming 
here,” 

“ Don’t you think Fm 


“Yes”—adding to the young girl, as 
though to draw his attention to the presence 
of a stranger, “I will not detain you longer, 
Miss Blake, Indeed, you have done quite 
enough for to-day, I think,” 

Why, what in the world had come to 
her ? Instead of quitting the room the 
young girl came blushing and smiling 
forwards. 

He looked round and sprang towards her, 
holding out both hands. 

“ Mabel! You ! This is good fortune 
indeed l ” 


41 MAHEL t VOU ! THIS IS GOOD FtfkTUNE INDEED ! " 


She looked at him a moment, then put 
her hands into his. 

“ Gerald ! " 

Mrs. Vigogne sank back in her chair. All 
that had gone before seemed as nothing in 
comparison with this ! 

44 I have been reading your letter,” said 
Mabel to him, in a low, tremulous voice. 44 1 
know now that I need not have kept out of 
the way,” Then her eyes filled with tears of 
happiness; she turned to Mrs. Vigogne: 4i l 
was just about to tell you when Gerald came 
in, Aunt Marian.” 

11 Of course* I can see what is so very 


a lucky fellow, Mrs. Vigogne? As I told 
Miss Mabel, I was bound to get my way,” 

“ I want my way,” said the happy girl, 
with gay defiance, 44 and I think I shall get it 
as long as I live,” 

44 Because it will be mine. You see we 
understand each other* Aunt Marian ?” 

44 Aunt has just seen as much love-making 
as she can bear for the present. Two have 
already been here.” 

Mrs. Vigogne looked at the two with 
proud eyes. She would have to act up to 
the character of the benevolent aunt to the 
end of her days now. 


Vol " w - 8 - 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






By E. D. Cuming and J. A, Shepherd, 



HE cuckoo has passed from the 
stage of hoarseness to that of 
silence and is heard no more. 
The Live-long day Popular Con¬ 
certs are practically over now, 
for many of the singers are moulting, and 
they do not feel very well. Individuals who 
have not begun to change their clothes, the 
chaffinch, skylark, robin, and others, con¬ 
tinue, but it is the aftermath of the concert 
season, a'nd most of the birds sit about in 
the shade and gape for air in the stillness of 
noontide. .The snake, either because he 


feels the heat or because it is time to do so, 
strips off his coat, now an overcoat, and 
leaves it lying under some hush, a limp and 
pallid thing like the ghost of its owner. The 
snake disrobes very thoroughly, taking off 


even the old spectacles which are attached to 
his hood. The viper, who has hatched her 
eggs in her own body, has her brood round 
her: very young vipers cannot protect them¬ 
selves, and there is much reliable evidence 
to support the belief that, when danger 
threatens, their mother accommodates them 
with sanctuary in her own interior, welcoming 
the giddy young things with open mouth, 
and imploring them to come in one at a 
time lest they stick by the way* When she 
has got the whole dozen on board she writhes 
away into safety, and calls them up again to 
inquire how they liked it. 

The moorhen looks round on her family, 
two broods and about fifteen all told, with 
pardonable pride* Well she may, for the 
elder children had helped her build the 



■'THE WlLUOW-WjBliN HAJL$EM HfcJ* J'kUUl* UUT 10 PACK _XHE \VOF iU>/' 

fVv On g i n al f i 

Digitized by LjOOQ lC UNIVERSITY OF I 


rom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR . 


43 


second nest she wanted, and 
astsoon as their younger 
brothers and sisters chipped 
out they helped feed and look 
after them. No doubt they 
also tub and put them to bed 
and give them swimming 
lessons. The moorhen’s wisdom 
is not confined to her method 
of bringing up children ; when 
floods threaten she and her 
mate have been known to build 
higher the nest of sedge and 
flags on the water’s edge that 
the eggs may not get wet. 

Their besetting sin is love of 
quarrelling. Moorhens are 
never on terms of common 
civility with their neighbours, 
and forget themselves so far as 
to kill and eat other people’s 
children. 

The swan, who has been 
sitting for five weeks on her 
eggs, now appears in public 
with her ugly children. Swans 
are jealous parents, and show 
fight if man or dog come near 
the brood; the young married swan has 
only three or four cygnets when, at the age 
of two or three years, she establishes her 
first nursery ; as she grows older she faces 
family responsibility more boldly and thinks 


little of rearing ten or a dozen 
babies. 

The long-tailed tit’s children 
are sitting in a row on some 
handy twig, gaping for more 
like so many fluffy Oliver 
Twists. 1 f consulted, they 
would probably have preferred 
to stay longer in the nest, but 
that was wanted for the second 
family, and they had to turn 
out. The willow-wren has sent 
her second brood out to face 
the world, from the little domed 
nest on the ground. She is 
nervous and indiscreet when 
her children are big enough to 
wander about by themselves, 
and often tells you where they 
are by the way she screams to 
them to come to her for pro¬ 
tection. The goldfinch is sitting 
on her second clutch, and is 
trying to induce her mate to 
sing; but he is beginning to 
tire of singing, as he is apt to 
do about this time, and will 
only open his beak when the 
spirit moves him. Also, the thistles are seed¬ 
ing, and if there is one thing the restless gold¬ 
finch enjoys more than another it is to swing 
on a thistle-top and pick the downy seeds. 
The sparrow-hawk has got her four, five, 

































44 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 


or six children out of the nest at last. 
Her nursery duties are particularly tedious, 
for the eggs take nearly seven weeks to 
hatch, whereas other birds of her size 
manage the business in half the time or 
less. The hungry family perch on the 
branches and worry their parents, who 
grow perfectly reckless as to how they 
fill the larder. They steal chickens 
from the poultry yard under the lien wife's 
nose and defy the gamekeeper among his 
pheasant coops when lawful prey, wood- 
pigeons and the like, is scarce. So bad is 


You dojYt imprison Brown or Jones if Thomson 
ileal a hat, 

And when your little dog does wrong you do not Ive-a.t 
the cat, 

I seldom kill a bird at all ; and, faith, I cannol set? 
Why, when the sparrow-hawL kills chicks, you come 
and murdeT me ! 

Occasionally a kestrel contracts the evil 
habit of raiding poultry yard or pheasant 
field ; but the normal life of this St Kestrel 
is more than blameless, if the slaughter of 
vermin be meritorious. 

Mrs. Swift, in the church tower, is educat¬ 
ing her children : one of the first things young 



"the STAG-BEETLE, GULLIVER AMP TNF, LILIPUTIAN AMI'S." 


the character of the sparrow-hawk that other 
birds bearing the faintest resemblance to 
him, or to a hawk at all, pay for his sins with 
their lives. The nearly harmless kestrel, 
who hangs in mid-air as though suspended 
from a thread tied to a cloud, is always 
getting into trouble for the sparrow-hawk's 
misdeeds 

A mouse for breakfast, mouse for lunch, for dinner 
yet a third, 

Surely what's virtue in a cat h virtue in a bird ? 

When mice are scarce we + re all at pains your fields ol 
rats to rid, 

And yet you shoot ns down at sight for things we 
never did l 

Digitized by k^OOglC 


swifts learn is to fire themselves at a velocity 
of about 500ft. per second into a jin. hole : 
this difficult accomplishment, one would 
think, cannot he acquired without many 
bumps and bruises. There are stir and bustle 
down by the horse pond : the place is over- 
populated, and young frogs must emigrate 
and start life somewhere else. It is hard on 
frogs not out of pinafores and no bigger than 
a sixpence; but the emigration season is 
held glorious by ducks and other fowl, who 
snap up the little travellers in scores as they 
toil painfully across the rough and trackless 
desert—whi^ to ^ appears to be the high 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













THE A kCADI AN CALENDAR, 


45 



" >IE MET A FOX*' 


road —in search of the damp ditch which, 
rumour sajth, is on the farther side* The 
stag-beetle digs his way out of the ground at 
the root of the oak in the warm evening and 
sails ponderously off into the world : the 
cockchafer and little beetles get out of his 
way and the caterpillars lie still as death, 
hoping to escape notice, for the stag-beetle 
is hungry. That lordly creature apparently 
expects twigs as well as cockchafers to get 
out of his way, for he is always coming to 
grief in the lanes : you may find him on his 
back in the road any morning. 

It seems to be a point of honour with the 
stag-beetle that when he falls he shall fall on 
his hack, and an inverted stag-beetle is as 
helpless as a 11 turned turtle.” There he lies 
feebly clawing the air until the ants find 
him out—which they are sure to do soon— 
and when that happens his moments are 
numbered* Surrounding him in crowds, as the 
hiliputians swarmed round and over Gulliver, 
they treat the Fallen beetle less considerately 
than the little folk treated that hero ; in brief, 
they set to work and take him to pieces 
without waiting for him to die. 

The hedgehog's children are abroad now, 
peering furtively about into the dusk* The 
young hedgehog is defenceless, for his spines 
are merely stiff hairs, and lie can trot about 
and enjoy himself long before he can roll into 
a ball, tie learns to perform ibis indispens¬ 


able feat in time, but, as you 
can well suppose* it requires 
long practice before it can be 
accomplished at the lightning 
speed the experienced hedge¬ 
hog displays when pounced 
upon by a fox or when fight¬ 
ing a viper A.state of reple¬ 
tion probably does not make 
for activity, so this is not 
altogether a fancy picture : — 

The hedgehog’s boy diturd with a 
friend one clay, 

And dined too well—not wisely: 
people say. 

Young hedgehogs are a 
little prone that way. 
Well, coming home 
across the field that 
night 

He met a fox and tried 
to roll up tight, 

That prickly spines 
should baffle cun' 
ning might. 

The hapless hedgehog ! for the nonce too stout, 

He couldn’t roll up quick enough: no doubt 
The fo* saw promptly what he'd been about 
And turned him upside down and inside out* 

The squirrels have begun their children’s 



OriginafTfem 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











46 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



y a \ 

“quiet meditation." 

education, which includes athletics, birds’- 
nesting, and scolding in all their respective 
brandies. The squirrel is an unprincipled 
fellow: he thinks 
nothing of stealing 
the eggs of birds 
as big as the wood- 
pigeon, and occa¬ 
sionally adds insult 
to injury by eating 
them in the nest 
and omitting to 
clean the place up 
afterwards. He 
has been known to 
stoop to the worse 
depravity of catch¬ 
ing young birds 
and eating them ; 
but this conduct, 
be it said for the 
credit of the 
species, is not 
usual. Concerning 
trespassers he and 
his wife hold strong 
opinions, which 
they express with 
enviable fluency 
when their children 
are about. The 

S' 


squirrel’s vocabulary of abuse is ex¬ 
tensive, and, when roused, a mere 
boy squirrel can put a bargeman to 
shame. The young badgers are 
allowed to go out in the evening now 
and romp, somewhat ponderously, 
with their indulgent parents. Romp¬ 
ing is not much in the middle aged 
badgers line; he prefers quiet 
meditation, and meditates at great 
length when leisure permits. Neither 
he nor his wife has much time for 
it just at present : new beds have to 
be made, and the badger’s bed is no 
trifle. He has a singularly ungrace¬ 
ful way of carrying in litter : he col¬ 
lects a heap of dry bracken and 
grass, or straw if available; throws 
himself over it and^ba£k$* home¬ 
wards, hugging the stufif tinder him 
with his arms. It is an undignified 
proceeding for the scion of an old 
county family, but he works at night, 
careless what the fox, owls, and 
bats think of him. 

The storm petrel, a bird whose 
name is known to everybody if her 
person be familiar to few, has now 
hatched out her single egg. Sometimes the 
storm petrel, who assembles in a colony for 
breeding, makes a sketchy sort of nest in a 



’A poor caterer. 


GooqI 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


47 


burrow, but she is often quite satisfied with 
the bare ground and rears her only child in 
Spartan simplicity. The bird has a morbid 
passion for anything fat. A storm petrel has 
been kept alive for three weeks on a satisfying 
diet of oil; presum- 
ably a young one 
would accept a 
tallow candle in 
the spirit of fervid 
gratitude a child 
displays towards a 
stick of sugar- 
candy. The guille¬ 
mot's children are 
by this time old 
enough to be 
launched—literally 
speaking — and 
their parents bring 
them down from 
the rock-ledges on their backs. Sometimes the 
old bird brings down the infant by the scruff of 
the neck, but probably she adopts this drastic 
treatment only if he refuse to climb on her 
back. It must be said, in justification of the 
young guillemot, that the descent from rock- 
ledge to sea on the 
maternal back is a 
trip fraught with 
peril, as the most 
careful parent can¬ 
not help dropping 
her child occasion¬ 
ally. The gannet's 
egg has yielded a 
naked, black, un¬ 
lovely monster with 
an insatiable appe¬ 
tite for fish. An 
author afflicted 
with statistical 
tastes calculated 
that the garmets on 
St. Kilda, estimated 
at 200,000 birds, 
ate 214,000,000 
herrings in seven 
months. He allowed 
each bird five hea¬ 
rings a day — an 
allowance which in 
practical applica¬ 
tion would certainly 
have secured hts 
summary dismissal 
as caterer. Gannets 
are enormous 
eaters, and when a 


shoal of herrings 
offers opportunity 
gorge themselves 
till they cannot rise 
from the water. 

The young 
grouse can fly well 
now ; family affec¬ 
tion or self-interest 
keeps the ■ brood 
together, as it does 
in the case of some 
other birds: a beautiful 
provision of Nature, a 
thoughtful sportsman said, 
to give you a nice “right 
and left.” Pheasant chicks are 
strong on the leg if still mere 
apprentices in the art of flying; 
they prefer to hide rather than 
try and escape by running. The 
young pheasant labours under the delusion 
that if it squat down and stretch out its 
neck it becomes invisible; amid favourable 
surroundings it may be overlooked, but a 
chick doing this in the open field looks 
foolish. The rabbit, by the way, cheiishes 
the same mistaken 
theory in his inno¬ 
cent youth, and 
does not always out¬ 
grow ii + The young 
partridges can fly, 
too, and thus relieve 
their affectionate 
parents of the 
necessity — doubt¬ 
less painful to con¬ 
scientious birds— 
of shamming lame¬ 
ness to draw off 
man or other enemy 
who may venture 
near the covey. 
The partridge is a 
child in artifice com¬ 
pared to the wild 
duck, who is a past- 
master in the arts 
of deception. 
Father and mother 
sham broken legs 
and wings as though 
the tricks were just 
patented, instead of 
having been prac¬ 
tised ever since 
wild duck's enemies 
were created. 





** DISCHARGED WITH A CAUTION. 1 ' 



"HEW CI.OTMFSi" 

r. Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





4 8 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



it* 


** NOT ON SQUEAKING TERMS.'* 

There are plenty of infant salmon abroad 
—far more than any trout fisherman wants— 
for the parr’s curiosity concerning trout-flies 
is insatiable, and he takes flies not meant for 
him with the recklessness of a creature who 
knows he will be discharged* under the First 
Offenders* Act, with a pricked lip by way of 
caution. Salmon ova hatch out in from 
thirty five to 148 days, according to the 
temperature of the water: cold means delay 
anti warmth expedition. That is a lucky 
parr wh o reaches full-blown sal monhood: it 
is reckoned that four or five fish reach 


The toad changes 
his clothes; he does 
not, like the snake, 
risk outraging the 
sense of propriety 
of chance passers- 
by stripping in the 
open: he retires to 
the privacy of his 
underground dress¬ 
ing-room and dis¬ 
robes there, hirst 
he rubs his sides 
down with his 
elbows till his coat 
splits down the 
back ; then, wish¬ 
ing no doubt it 
was made to un¬ 
button in front, he 
rubs it into folds on his sides* when with 
his right hand he draws the left side clear, 
and vice versa, so that it hangs like a 
bib. He draws off his pants, leg by leg, 
exactly as a man would do, and strips off 
his sleeves—eating each garment as lie takes 
it off—and stands up newly dad from top to 
toe, perfectly happy and pleased with himself, 
as why should he not be ? 

Give me ihc do's a fellow grows 
With Nr lure’s kindly aid* 

Ko tailor woes; one always knows 
They will be nicely made. 



salmon’s estate out of every 30,000 eggs laid. 
The salmon rejoices in a wealth of names 
applicable lo stage of growth, condition* and 
se\ ; I have counted forty-two without in¬ 
cluding any of those names you call him 
when he won’t rise. 

Digitized by CiGGgle 


However uet your things may gel* 

Their shape they never lose ; 

No fellow yet I ever met 

Lacked smartness in his shoes. 

Dytiscus, passed through the various stages 
of existence, egg, larva, and pupa, lias 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR . 


49 


emerged from the underground cell wherein 
he underwent his final transformation, a fully 
equipped water-beetle. Dytiscus is one of 
the champion oarsmen of the insect world ; 
he rows with his hind legs, which are flattened 
and furnished along the lower edge with 
stiff hairs, and a neat arrangement of joints 
enables him to “feather” his oars in the 
fashion approved by rowing men. Hydro- 
philus, the great water-beetle, is a very poor 
oarsman compared with his smaller cousin : 
he does not even attempt to keep time; feed¬ 
ing as he does chiefly on vegetable matter, it 
is less necessary for him to excel. Dytiscus 
catches other insects, some of which require 
chasing, so necessity has made him a pro¬ 
fessional, while hydrophilus remains a con¬ 
tented and indifferent amateur. 

The wood-pigeons are nursing their second 
pair of twins, and so are the turtle-doves, if 
tl>ey have decided to rear two families this 
season, which is not always the case. Some 
young birds, the robins for instance, are trying 
to sing—to the gratification of their proud 
parents, who do not, so far as human know¬ 
ledge goes, give them any education in 
harmony : imagine a hedge-sparrow trying to 
teach a young cuckoo his notes! Young 
field-mice, field-voles, and shrews of all ages 
of indiscretion from a month upwards are 
abroad in numbers. These animals are not 
on squeaking terms with one another: a pity, 
as the youthful mice and voles are fond 
of play, and in every field there are 
enough of them to get 
op games which might 
distract - their atten¬ 
tion from the farmer’s 
com and grass, to 
both of which mice 
and voles do great 
harm. There is a par¬ 


ticularly big black mark in the agriculturist’s 
calendar against the field*vole; from time 
to time he arises in the might of numbers, 
multiplying with incredible rapidity, and 
bringing ruin to whole parishes. The Rox¬ 
burghshire farmers will not soon forget the 
“vole plague” of 1892-3, when a succession 
of dry springs and summers induced every 
vole in the country to marry young, bring 
up one family after another, and marry 
their sons and daughters off in feverish 
haste. Over a district of 90,000 acres 
or more, grazing and crops in turn were 
destroyed. 

The wild cat’s young family, reared largely 
on stolen game, is out on the trail. The 
study of the wild cat is fraught with vexation 
to the scientific man ; that noble animal (the 
cat, I mean), for his sins, has been as nearly 
exterminated as game preservation can 
accomplish it; but the bond between the 
true wild cat and frail domestic cat is close. 
If the home-bred cat go to the woods she 
remains there, lending willing ear to the 
addresses of a cat with wild blood in his 
veins, or to those of an outlaw like herself. 
Her progeny, in a generation or two, take 
upon them the outward and inward sem¬ 
blance of the wild cat; and of such a forest- 
bred cat no man may say her grandmother 
was of blameless antecedents or was born 
and bred a proscribed bandit. 

The late Duke of Westminster, a naturalist 
at heart, preserved the few true wild cats left 

on Reay Forest, 
thinking it a pity 
so interesting an 
animal should be 
exterminated. 
What his Grace’s 
keepers thought is 
not recorded. 




V«l mar .— 7 


“ FREE OF THE FOREST. 

Google 

o 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











AI LOR MEN are not good 
'ands at saving money ns a 
rule, said the night-watchman, 
as be wistfully toyed with a 
bad shilling on his watch- 
chain, though to "ear 'em 
talk of saving when they"re at sea and there 
isn’t a pub within a thousand miles of ’em, 
you might think different. 

It ain't for the want of trying either with 
some of 'em, and Eve known men do all 
sorts o" things as soon as they was paid off, 
with a view to saving. I knew one man as 
used to keep all but a shilling or two in a 
belt next to 'is skin so that he couldn't get at 
it easy, but it was all no good. Me was 
always running short in the most inconvenient 
places, IVe seen 'im wriggle for five minutes 
right off, with a tramcar conductor standing 
over "ini and the other people in the tram 
reading their papers with one eye and watch¬ 
ing him with the other. 

Ginger Dick and Peter Russet—two men 
I"ve spoke of to you afore—tried to save 
their money once. They’d got so sick and 
tired of spending it all in p’raps a week or 
ten days arter coming ashore, and 'aving to 
go to sea agin sooner than they "ad intended, 
that they determined some way or other to 
"ave things different. 

They was homeward bound on a steamer 
from Melbourne when they made their 
minds up; and Isaac Limn, the oldest fire¬ 
man aboard — a very steady old teetotaler 

Diqilized by GoOQ Ic 
o 


— gave them a lot of good advice about it. 
They all wanted to rejoin the ship when she 
sailed agin, and "e offered to take a room 
ashore with them and mind their money, 
giving ’em what "e called a moderate amount 
each day. 

They would ha" laughed at any other man, 
but they knew that old Isaac was as honest 
as could be and that their money would be 
safe wdth "im, and at last, after a lot of 
palaver, they wrote out a paper saying as 
they were willing for "im to "ave their money 
and give it to 'em bit by bit, till they went to 
sea agin. 

Anybody but Ginger Dick and Peter 
Russet or a fool would ha' known better than 
to do such a thing, but old Isaac 'ad got such 
a oily tongue and seemed so fair-minded 
about wot e called moderate drinking that 
they never thought wot they was letting them¬ 
selves in for, and when they took their pay- 
close on sixteen pounds each—they put the 
odd change in their pockets and ’anded the 
rest over to him* 

The first day they was as pleased as 
Punch, Old Isaac got a nice, respectable 
bedroom for them all, and arter they'd ’ad 
a few drinks they humored "im by .aving a 
nice ? ut cup o" tea, and then goin" off with 
'mi to see a magic-lantern performance. 

It was called “ She Drunkards Downfall,” 
and it begun with a young man going into a 
nicedooking pub and being served by a 
nice-looking barmaid with a glass of ale* 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












the Money-box. 


51 


Then it got on to ’arf pints and pints in the 
next picture, and arter Ginger ’ad seen the 
lost young man put away six pints in about 
’arf a minute, ’e got such a raging thirst on 
’im that ’e couldn’t sit still, and ’e whispered 
to Peter Russet to go out with ’im. 

“ You’ll lose the best of it if you go now,” 
ses old Isaac, in a whisper; “ in the next 
picture there's little frogs and devils sitting 
on the edge of the pot as ’e goes to drink.” 

Ginger Dick got up and nodded to Peter. 

“ Arter that ’e kills ’is mother with a razor,” 
ses old Isaac, pleading with ’im and ’olding 
on to ’is coat. 

Ginger Dick sat down agin, and when 
the murder was over ’e said it made ’im feel 
faint, and ’im and Peter Russet went out for 
a breath of fresh air. They ’ad three at the 
first place, and then they moved on to 
another and forgot all about Isaac and the 
dissolving views until ten o’clock, when 
Ginger, who ’ad been very liberal to some 
friends ’e’d made in a pub, found ’e’d spent 
’is last penny. 

“This comes o’ listening to a parcel o’ 
teetotalers,” ’e ses, very cross, when ’e found 
iliat Peter ’ad spent all ’is money too. 
“Here we are just beginning the evening 
and not a farthing in our pockets.” 

They went off ’ome in a very bad temper. 
Old Isaac was asleep in ’is bed, and when 
they woke ’im up and said that they was 
going to take charge of their money them¬ 
selves ’e kept dropping off to sleep agin 
and snoring that ’ard they could scarcely 
hear themselves speak. Then Peter tipped 
Ginger a wink and pointed to Isaac’s 
trousers, which were ’anging over the foot of 
the bed. 

Ginger Dick smiled and took ’em up softly, 
and Peter Russet smiled too; but ’e wasn’t 
best pleased to see old Isaac a-smiling in 
’is sleep, as though ’e was ’aving amusing 
dreams. All Ginger found was a ha’penny, 
a bunch o’ keys, and a cough lozenge. In 
the coat and waistcoat ’e found a few tracks 
folded up, a broken pen-knife, a ball of string, 
and some other rubbish. Then ’e set down 
on the foot o’ their bed and made eyes over 
at Peter. 

“ Wake ’im up agin,” ses Peter, in a temper. 

Ginger Dick got up and, leaning over the 
bed, took old Isaac by the shoulders and 
shook ’im as if ’e’d been a bottle o’ medicine. 

“Time to get up, lads?” ses old Isaac, 
putting one leg out o’ bed. 

“No, it ain’t,” ses Ginger, very rough ; 
“we ain’t been to bed yet. We want our 
money back.” 

Digitized by C*OOQ lc 

* o 


Isaac drew ’is leg back into bed agin. 
“Goo’ night,” he ses, and fell fast asleep. 

“ He’s shamming, that’s wot ’e is,” ses 
Peter Russet. “ Let’s look for it. It must 
be in the room somewhere.” 

They turned the room upside down pretty 
near, and then Ginger Dick struck a match 
and looked up the chimney, but all ’e found 
was that it ’adn’t been swept for about twenty 
years, and wot with temper and soot ’e 
looked so frightful that Peter was arf afraid 
of ’im. 

“ I’ve ’ad enough of this,” ses Ginger, 
running up to the bed and ’olding his sooty 
fist under old Isaac’s nose. “ Now, then, 
where’s that money ? If you don’t give us 
our money, our ’ard-earned money, inside o’ 
two minutes, I’ll break every bone in your 
body.” 

“ This is wot comes o’ trying to do you a 
favour, Ginger,” ses the old man, reproach¬ 
fully. 

“ Don’t talk to me,” ses Ginger, “ cos I 
won’t have it. Come on ; where is it ? ” 

Old Isaac looked at ’im, and then he gave 
a sigh and got up and put on ’is boots and 
’is trousers. 

“ I thought I should ’ave a little trouble 
with you,” he ses, slowly, “ but I was pre¬ 
pared for that.” 

“ You’ll ’ave more if you don’t hurry up,” 
ses Ginger, glaring at ’im. 

“ We don’t want to ’urt you, Isaac,” ses 
Peter Russet, “ we on’y want our money.” 

“ I know that,” ses Isaac ; “you keep still, 
Peter and see fair-play, and I’ll knock you 
silly arterwards.” 

He pushed some o’ the things into a corner 
and then ’e spat on ’is ’ands, and began to 
prance up and down, and duck ’is ’ead aboht 
and hit the air in a way that surprised ’em. 

“ I ain’t hit a man for five years,” ’e sts, 
still dancing up and down—“ fighting’s sinful 
except in a good cause—but afore I got a 
new ’art, Ginger, I’d lick three men like you 
afore breakfast, just to git up a appetite.” 

“ Look ’ere,” ses Ginger; “you’re an old 
man and I don’t want to ’urt you ; tell us 
where our money is, our ’ard-earned money, 
and I won’t lay a finger on you.” 

“ I’m taking care of it for you,” ses the 
old man. 

Ginger Dick gave a howl and rushed at 
him, and the next moment Isaac’s fist shot 
out and give ’im a drive that sent ’im 
spinning across the room until ’e fell in a 
heap in the fireplace. It was like a kick 
from a ’orse, and Peter looked very serious 
as ’e picked ’im up and dusted ’im down 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


5* 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE , 



You should keep your eye on ’is fist/* he 
ses, sharply. 

It was a silly thing to say, seeing that that 
was just wot ’ad ’appeoed, and Ginger told 
1 m wot Vd do for Im when Vd finished 
with Isaac. He went at the old man agin, 
but ’e never 'ad a chance, and in about three 
minutes ’e was very glad to let Peter ’dp ’ini 
into bed. 

44 It’s your turn to fight him now, Peter/' 
he ses. “Just move this piller so as 1 can 
see.” 

44 Come on, lad,” ses the old man. 

Peter shook Is ’ead. “ I have no wish 
to ? urt you, Isaac,” he ses, kindly; 44 excite¬ 
ment like fighting is dangerous for an old 
man. Give us our money and we’ll say no 
more about it.” 

4i No, my lads,” ses Isaac. 44 I've under¬ 
took to take charge o’ this money and I’m 
going to do it; and I ’ope that when we all 
sign on aboard the Planet there’ll be a 
matter o’ twelve pounds each left. Now, 
1 don’t want to be ’arsh with you, but Pm 
going back to bed, and if I ’ave to get up 
and dress agin you'll wish yourselves dead.” 

He went back to brd agin, and Peter, 
taking no notice of Ginger Dick, who kept 
calling Im a coward, got into bed alongside 
of Ginger and fell fast asleep. 

y Google 


They all ’ad break¬ 
fast in a coffee-shop 
next morning, and 
arter it was over 
Ginger, who 'adn’t 
spoke a word till then, 
said that ’e and Peter 
Russet wanted a little 
money to go on with. 
He said they preferred 
to get their meals 
alone, as Isaac’s face 
took their appetite 
away. 

“ V ery good,” ses 
the old mart. 14 1 
don’t want to force 
my company on no¬ 
body,” and after think¬ 
ing 'ard for a minute or 
two he put ’is ’and in 
Is trouser pocket and 
gave them eighteen- 
pence each. 

“ WoPs this for?”ses 
Ginger, staring at the 
money, 44 Matches ? ” 
“That’s your day’s 
allowance,” ses Isaac, 
44 and it’s plenty, There’s ninepence for your 
dinner, fourpence for your tea, and twopence 
for a crust o’ bread and cheese for supper. 
And if you must go and drown yourselves in 
beer, that leaves threepence each to go and 
do it with.” 

Ginger tried to speak to 1 m, but Is feelings 
was too much for ’im, and 'e couldn’t, Then 
Peter Russet swallered something ’e was 
going to say and asked old Isaac very perlite 
to make it a quid for Yw because he was 
going down to Colchester to see % mother, 
and 'e didn’t want to go empty-’anded. 

14 You're a good son, Peter/ 1 ses old Isaac, 
u and I wish there was more like you. I’ll 
come down with you, if you like ; I’ve gut 
nothing to do.” 

Peter said it was very kind of Im, but Vd 
sooner go alone, owing to his mother being 
very shy afore strangers. 

4t Well, I II conic down to the station and 
take a ticket for you/’ ses Isaac, 

Then Peter lost Is temper altogether, and 
banged ’is fist on the table and smashed arf 
the crockery. Hl: asked Isaac whether ’e 
thought Im and Ginger Dick was a couple o’ 
children, and e said if ’e didn’t give ’em all 
their money right away Vd give im in 
charge to the first policeman they met. 

“ I’m afraid you didn’t intend for to go 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











THE MONEY-BOX. 


53 



M * woi h s this rot?' ses cixgeh/' 


and see your mother, Peter,” ses the old 
man. 

“ Look "ere/' set- Peter, “ are you going to 
give us that money ? ” 

14 Not if you went down on your bended 
knees,” ses the old man. 

“Very good,” says Peter, getting up and 
walking outside ; i4 then come along o’ me to 
find a policeman.” 

“I'm agreeable,” ses Isaac, u but I’ve got 
the paper you signed.” 

Peter said ’e didn’t care twopence if Vd 
got fifty papers, and they walked along look¬ 
ing tor a policeman, which was a very unusual 
thing for them to do. 

“ I s ope for your sakes it won't he the same 
policeman that you and Ginger Dick set on 
in Gun Alley the night afore you shipped on 
the Planet ** ses Isaac, pursing up ’is lips. 

“Tain't likely to be,” ses Peter, beginning 
to wish 7 e ’adn’t been so free with 'is tongue, 
lf Still, if I tell ’im, I dessay hell soon find 
Im,” ses Isaac : 14 there's one coming along 
now, Peter ; shall I stop im ? ” 

Peter Russet looked at ’im and then he 
looked at (linger, and they walked by grind¬ 
ing their teeth. They stuck to Isaac all day, 
trying to get their money out of "im, ami the 
names they called 'im was a surprise even to 

Digitized by Google 


themselves. And at night they turned the 
room topsy-turvy agin looking for their money 
and 'ad more unpleasantness when they 
wanted Isaac to get up and let ’em search 
the bed. 

They 'ad breakfast together agin next 
morning and Ginger tried another tack. 
He spoke quite nice to Isaac, and ’ad three 
large cups o' tea to show ’im 'ow *e was 
beginning to Like it* and when the old man 
gave 'em their eighteen-pences 'e smiled and 
said 'e’d like a few shillings extra that day. 

“ It’ll be all right, Isaac,” he ses. “ I 
wouldn’t 'ave a drink if you asked me to. 
Don't seem to care for it now. I was saying 
so to you on’y last night, wasn't !, Peter ? " 
u You was,” ses Peter ; 41 so was L” 

44 Then I've done you good, Ginger,” ses 
Isaac, clapping 'im on the back. 

44 You ’ave f " ses Ginger, speaki ig between 
his teeth, 44 and 1 thank you for it. I don’t 
want drink ; but I thought o' going to a 
music-'all this evening.” 

4< Going to a wot ? ” ses old Isaac, drawing 
’imself up and looking very shocked, 

U A music-'all,” ses Ginger, trying to keep 
'is temper. 

44 A music-all?” ses Isaac; 44 why, it's worse 
than a pub, Ginger, I should be a very poor 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















54 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


friend o' yours if I let you go there “I 
couldn't think of it/* 

“ Wot’s it got to do with you, you grey- 
whiskered serpent ?” screams Ginger, arf mad 
with rage, “Why don't you leave us alone? 
Why don't you mind your own business? 
Ids our money.” 

Isaac tried to talk to ’im, hut 'e wouldn't 
listen, and he made such a fuss that at last 
the coffee-shop keeper told 'im to go outside, 
Peter follered 'im out, and being very upset 
they went and spent their day's allowance in 
the first hour, and then they walked about 
the streets quarrelling as to the death they’d 
hke old Isaac to 
'ave when 'is time 
came, 

Th e y went 
back to their 
lodgings at 
dinner-time; but 
there was no sign 
of the old man, 
and, being ’ungry 
and thirsty, they 
took ail their 
spare clothes to a 
pawnbroker and 
got enough 
money to go on 
with. Just to 
show their inde¬ 
pendence they 
went to t w o 
music-'alls, and 
with a sort of 
idea that they 
was doing Isaac 
a bad turn they 
spent every far¬ 
thing afore they 
got *ome, and sat 
up in bed telling 
'iru about the 
spree they'd 'ad. 

At five o'clock 
in the morning 
Peter woke up 
and saw, to ’is 
surprise, that Ginger Dick was dressed and 
carefully folding up old Isaac’s clothes. At 
first ’e thought that Ginger 'ad gone mad, 
taking care of the old man's things like 
that, but afore 'e could speak Ginger 
noticed that p e was awake, and stepped 
over to 'im and whispered to 'im to dress 
without making a noise. Peter did as 'e 
was told, and, more puzzled than ever, 
saw Ginger make tip all the old man’s 

Digitized' by Google 


clothes in a bundle and creep out of the 
room on tiptoe. 

“ Going to 'ide 'is clothes ? ” 'e ses. 

“Yes,'' ses Ginger, leading the way down¬ 
stairs; “in a pawnshop. We’ll make the old 
man pay for to-day’s amusements." 

Then Peter see the joke and 'e begun to 
laugh so 'ard that Ginger 'ad to threaten to 
knock ’is head off to quiet km. Ginger 
laughed ’imself when they got outside, and at 
last, arter walking about till the shops opened, 
they got into a pawnbroker's and put old 
Isaac's clothes up for fifteen shillings. 

First thing they did was to 'ave a good 

breakfast, and 
after that they 
came out smiling 
all over and 
began to spend a 
’appyday. Ginger 
was in tip-top 
spirits and so was 
Peter* and the 
idea that old 
Isaac was in bed 
while they was 
drinking 'is 
clothes pleased 
them more than 
anything. Twice 
that evening 
policemen spoke 
to Ginger for 
dancing on the 
pavement, and 
by the time the 
money was spent 
it took Peter all 
'is time to get ’im 
‘ome. 

Old Isaac was 
in bed when they 
got there, and the temper 'e was 
in was shocking ; hut Ginger sat 
on ’is bed and smiled at 'im as if 
'e was saying compliments to 'im. 

“Where’s my clothes?" ses 
the old man, shaking ’is fist at 
the two of ’em. 

Ginger smiled at im ; then 'e shut 'is eyes 
and dropped off to sleep, 

“ Where’s my clothes ? " ses Isaac, turning 
to Peter. 

“ Closhe ? ” ses Peter, staring at ’im. 

“ Where are they ? " ses Isaac. 

It was a long time afore Peter could under¬ 
stand wot 'e meant, but as soon as ’e did ’e 
started to look for ’em. Drink takes people 
in different ways, and the way it always look 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THEY PUT OLD ISAAC'S CLOTHES UP FOK FIFTEEN 
SHILLINGS," 









THE MONEY-BOX.\ 


55 


Peter was to make 'im one o' the most 
obliging men that ever lived. He spent arf 
the night crawling about on alf fours looking 
Cor the clothes, and four or five times old 
Isaac woke up from dreams of earthquakes 
to find Peter 'ad got jammed under 'is bed, 
and was wondering what 'ad 'appened to 'im. 

None of 'em was in the best o' tempers 
when they woke up next morning, and Ginger 
’ad 'ardly got 'is eyes open before Isaac was 
asking 'im about 'is clothes agin. 

“ Don't bother me about your clothes," ses 
Ginger; “talk about something else for a 
change." 

“ Where are they ? ” ses Isaac, sitting on 
the edge of 'is bed. 

Ginger yawned and felt in 'is waistcoat 
pocket—for neither of 'em 'ad undressed— 
and then 'e took the pawn-ticket out and 
threw it on the floor. Isaac picked it up, 
and then 'e began to dance about the room 
as if 'e'd gone mad. 

“ Do you mean to tell me you’ve pawned 
my clothes ? " he shouts. 

“ Me and Peter did,” ses Ginger, sitting up 
in bed and getting ready for a row. 

Isaac dropped on the bed agin all of a 
’eap. “ And wot am I to do?” he ses. 

“ If you be’ave yourself,"ses Ginger, “and 
give us our money, me and Peter'll go and 
«ct 'em out agin. When we've 'ad breakfast, 
that is. There's no hurry.” 

“ But I ’aven’t got the money,” ses Isaac; 
u it was all sewn up in the lining of the coat. 
I’ve on'y got about five shillings. You've 
made a nice mess of it, Ginger, you ’ave.” 

“You're a silly fool, Ginger, that's wot 
you are," ses Peter. 

44 Sewn up in the lining of the coat 1 " ses 
Ginger, staring. 

“The bank-notes was," ses Isaac, “and 
three pounds in gold 'idden in the cap. 
Did you pawn that too ? ” 

Ginger got up in 'is excitement and walked 
wp and down the room. “ We must go and 
g<* 'em out at once," he ses. 

“ And where's the money to do it with ? ” 
ses Peter. 

Ginger 'adn’t thought of that, and it struck 
’im ail of a heap. None of 'em seemed to be 
able to think of a way of getting the other 
ten shillings wot was wanted, and Ginger was 
so upset that 'e took no notice of the things 
Peter kept saying to 'im. 

“ Let’s go and ask to see ’em, and say 
we left a railway-ticket in the pocket," ses 
Peter. 

Isaac shook ’is ’ead. “ There’s on’y one 
way to do it," he ses. “ We shall 'ave to 

Digitized by CiOOqIc 

* o 


pawn your clothes, Ginger, to get mine out 
with." 

“ That's the on'y way, Ginger,” ses Peter, 
brightening up. “Now, wot’s the good o' 
carrying on like that? It's no worse for you 
to be without your clothes for a little while 
than it was for pore old Isaac.” 

It took 'em quite arf an hour afore they 
could get Ginger to see it. First of all 'e 
wanted Peter's clothes to be took instead of 
'is, and when Peter pointed out that they was 
too shabby to fetch ten shillings 'e 'ad a lot o' 
nasty things to say about wearing such old 
rags, and at last, in a terrible temper, 'e took 
'is clothes off and pitched ’em in a 'eap on 
the floor. 

“ If you ain’t back in arf an hour, Peter," 

'e ses, scowling at 'im, “ you'll 'ear from me, 

I can tell you.” 

“Don’t you worry about that,” ses Isaac, 
with a smile. “ Tm going to take 'em." 

“ You ? " ses Ginger; “ but you can't. You 
ain’t got no clothes.” 

“ I'm going to wear Peter's,” ses Isaac, 
with a smile. 

Peter asked 'im to listen to reason, but it 
was all no good. He'd got the pawn-ticket, 
and at last Peter, forgetting all he'd said to 
Ginger Dick about using bad langwidge, took 
'is clothes off, one by one, and dashed 'em 
on the floor, and told Isaac some of the 
things 'e thought of 'im. 

The old man didn't take any notice of 'im. 
He dressed 'imself up very slow and careful 
in Peter’s clothes, and then 'e drove 'em 
nearly crazy by wasting time making 'is bed. 

“ Be as quick as you can, Isaac," ses 
Ginger, at last; “ think of us two a-sitting 
'ere waiting for you." 

“ I sha’n’t forget it," ses Isaac, and 'e 
came back to the door after ’e’d gone arf- 
way down the stairs to ask 'em not to go out 
on the drink while 'e was away. 

It was nine o'clock when he went, and at • 
ha’-past nine Ginger began to get impatient 
and wondered wot 'ad 'appened to 'im, and 
when ten o’clock came and no Isaac they 
was both leaning out of the winder with 
blankets over their shoulders looking up the 
road. By eleven o’clock Peter was in very 
low spirits and Ginger was so mad ’e was 
afraid to speak to 'im. 

They spent the rest o’ that day 'anging out 
of the winder, but it was not till ha’-past four 
in the afternoon that Isaac, still wearing 
Peter’s clothes and carrying a couple of large 
green plants under ’is arm, turned into the 
road, and from the way ’e was smiling they 
thought it must be all right. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


56. 

44 Wot 'ave you been such a long time for ? ” 
ses Ginger, in a low, fierce voice, as Isaac 
stopped underneath the winder and nodded 
up to 'em. 

44 I met a old friend,” ses Isaac. 

44 Met a old friend ? ” ses Ginger, in a 
passion. 44 Wot d'ye mean, wasting time 
like that while we was sitting up 'ere waiting 
and starving ? ” 

44 I 'adn't seen 'im for years,'' ses Isaac, 
41 and time slipped away afore I noticed it” 

44 1 dessay,” ses Ginger, in 
a bitter voice. 44 Well, is the. . 
money all right ? ” 

44 1 don’t know,” ses Isaac; 

44 1 ain't got the clotnes.” 

44 WotV ' ses Ginger, 
nearly falling out of the 
winder. 44 Well,wet 
’ave you done with 
mine, then ? Where 
are they? Come 
upstairs.” 

44 1 won't come 
upstairs, Ginger,” 
ses Isaac, 44 because 
I'm not quite sure 
whether I’ve, done 
right But I'm not 
used to going into 
pawnshops, and I 
walked about trying 
to make up my 
mind to go in and 
couldn't” 

“Well, wot did 
you do then ? ” ses 
Ginger, 'ardly able 
to contain hisself. 

“While I was 
trying to make up 
my mind,” ses old 
Isaac , 44 1 see a man 
> with a barrer of 
lovely plants. 'E 
wasn t asking money for 'em, only old clothes.” 

“ O/d clothes? ” ses Ginger, in a voice as if 
'e was being suffocated. 

44 1 thought they’d be a bit o' green for you 
to look at,” ses the old man, 'olding the 
plants up; 44 there's no knowing 'ow long 
you’ll be up there. The big one is yours, 
Ginger, and the other is for Peter.” 


. 44 'Ave you gone mad, Isaac ?" ses Peter, in 
a trembling voice, arter Ginger 'ad tried to 
speak and couldn’t. 

Isaac shook 'is 'ead and smiled up at 'em, 
and then, arter telling Peter to put Ginger’s 
blanket a little more round 'is shoulders, for 
fear 'e should catch cold, 'e said 'e'd ask 
the landlady to send 'em up some bread and 
butter and a cup o' tea. 

They 'eard 'im talking to the landlady at 
the door, and then 'e went off in a hurry 
without looking be- 
hind 'im, and the 
landlady walked up 
and down on the 
other side of the 
road with 'er apron 
stuffed in 'er mouth, 
pretending to be 
looking at 'er chim¬ 
ney-pots. 

Isaac didn't turn 
up at all that night, 
and by 
next morn- 
ing those 
two unfor¬ 
tunate men 
see ' o w 
they'd been 
done. It 
was quite 
plain to 
them that 
Isaac 'ad 
been de¬ 
ceiving 
them, and 
Peter was 
pretty cer¬ 
tain that 
'e took the 
money out 
of the bed 
while 'e 

was fussing about making it. Old Isaac 
kept 'em there for three days, sending 'em in 
their clothes bit by bit and two shillings a 
day to live on ; but they didn’t set eyes on 
'im agin until they all signed on aboard the 
Planet\ and they didn’t set eyes on their 
money until tney was two miles below 
Gravesend. 



“OLD ISAAC KEPT 'P.M THERE FOR THREE DAYS. - 


U 


uzetj u’v 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










By IVay of Autobiography. 

Bv C B. Fry, 


[The following article has l>eeu written “by special request.” Mr. Fry’s reluctance to talk about the 
great part w hich he has taken in cricket, football* and athletics was difficult to overcome, but our 
readers will be delighted that he has yielded to persuasion.] 


Y earliest recollections of 
athletics have to do with 
high jumping. At the age of 
about six, learning that an 
uncle of mine could jump 
nearly 6ft. and could certainly 
dear with case the big gate at the bottom of 
the carriage-drive, I was fired with a spirit 
of emulation, and constructed a high-jumping 
apparatus with some long canes, which I 
prigged out of the greenhouse. I practised 
a lot, but the only thing I can remember 
about it is that I dis¬ 
covered 1 could jump 
much higher with bare 
feet than with my boots 
on. Somewhere about 
this time I won the 
open high jump for 
boys at a Sunday- 
school treat at Orping¬ 
ton, in Kent, where we 
then lived. The prize 
was withheld from me 
because 1 did not be¬ 
long to the Sunday- 
school ; in fact, I had 
no right whatever to 
compete. N eveUhe- 

less, I won the event. 

I can remember taking 
the same sort of run 
and jumping in exactly 
the same kind of way 
as I did many years 
afterwards at Oxford, 

About then I made my 
first acquaintance with 
cricket. Next door to us 
at Orpington lived a gentleman named Mr. 
Oliver Evans, brother of Sir Francis Evans, 
M.P, He had turned his tennis-lawn into a 
cricket pitch, with high netting all round it, 
and there he used to practise with Mr, 
Allen, son of the well-known publisher of 
Ruskm’s books, who was our neighbour on 
the other side. These two gentlemen were 
the* principal players of the local dubs at 
Orpington and St. Mary Cray, and I had an 
intense admiration for their prowess* I used 
to watch them at their practice over a thick 
quick - set hedge. One day after they had 
finished they invited me to come and have a 

Ypl. jeju*.—& 


few balls. My heart bounded to the skies, 
and I crept through a very small hole at the 
bottom of the hedge and enjoyed my first 
practice. After that, whenever they prac¬ 
tised* I went to look over the hedge to cadge 
an invitation, I always got it* for they were 
very kind. Where my intense keenness for 
cricket came from I cannot imagine, for I 
had never played before. My defensive 
play at this period of my career was 
very stubborn, but I had no strokes; 
in fact, my concept ton of the game con¬ 
sisted chiefly in not 
getting out and in mov¬ 
ing my bat as little as 
possible. However, my 
enjoyment was intense, 
I became a devotee of 
the game, and never 
missed a local cricket 
match. My great hero, 
besides my two patrons, 
was a left-hand bowler 
named Hawes, who 
played for St. Mary 
Cray, He was a won¬ 
derful field to his own 
bowling, and a dead 
shot at throwing down 
the wicket when the 
batsman played the 
ball back to him and 
backed up out of his 
ground. Hawes was a 
good bat and a local 
oracle on the game. 
I used to hang about 
to hear what he had 
to say on the theory of 
cricket; be said a good deal, but his great 
dictum, especially when he was bowled out 
with a small score, was, “Forward play's the 
thing," Acting on this dictum, much to the 
detriment of my success, I thought that the 
whole art of cricket consisted in playing for¬ 
ward, I mention this as a warning to youth, 
for it was not till twenty years afterwards, 
when I met Ranjit Sinhji, whose advice is* 
t£ Back play is the thing/ 1 that I began to get 
really up sides with first-class bowling. At 
present my batting is a tnixture of Hawes 
and Ranjit Sinhji ; the more the latter 
element p redo ill nates 'ite more runs I get, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




C* G. FRY, A GRP 15 MONTHS. 
fVom a /’fcofo. fry //mraaA «iwi JiEmt, Brighton. 








THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


5* 

At the age of nine I went to a school at 
Chislehurst. It was a mixed sort of old- 
fashioned dame school; the boys varied in 
age from nine to nineteen. Our games were 
rather curious. Here I began football. We 
played rules of our own, somewhat resem¬ 
bling those of the Harrow game. If you 
caught the ball on the full volley you made 
your mark and had a free kick; if you 
mulled your catch it was “hands,” and the 
other side had a free kick. But the rules of 
our game varied according to the captain’s 
caprice. We only played one out-match that 
I remember: against a school from Bromley. 
As our opponents played the proper Asso¬ 
ciation rules and we played our own, and the 
umpire was an indecisive sort of fellow, we 
did not get very far with the match. My first 
cricket match was against the same school. 
I made seven runs—a four- and a three, both 
to leg. Curiously enough, seven has always 
been my unlucky number at cricket; my lucky 
number is thirteen. We used to play on the 
West Kent ground. There I saw the best 
catch made I have ever seen. West Kent 
were playing some match, and a man in a 
deerstalkers cap came out to field as a 
substitute. He was sent to field long on. 
The batsman hit a tremendous balloon up in 
the air, the substitute ran back with all his 
might to get under it, jumped a stiff iron rail 
that encircles the ground, and caught the ball 
in the middle of his jump. Technically it 
ought not to have been out, but the batsman 
was a sportsman and retired. 

Our practice games were not well organized. 
One in particular I remember. It lasted 
one ball. Our best bowler chanced to be 
an Australian. He and I blacked one 
another’s eyes more than once over the rival 
merits of “W. G.”and Murdoch. Well, having 
picked up sides, the Australian started to 
bowl, but instead of bowling his usual over- 
arm, he fired in an underhand daisy-clipper, 
and a fatal. The victim was an obstinate 
Scotchman who refused to go out for “a 
sneak.” There was some argument. The 
Scotchman collared the ball, the only one 
we had, and a stump, and edged off across 
the field. We followed, protesting. We tried 
to collar him, but he eluded us and made off 
across country. He headed down a very 
long hill towards Chislehurst Station and up 
the opposite hill right away to Bickley, with 
ten or more of us in full cry. We cornered 
him once or twice, but he kept us off with a 
pocket-knife in one hand and a stump in the 
other, and broke bay. Eventually, after 
about six miles run, we nailed him in a swing 


gate by stratagem and the aid of a postman, 
somewhere over near Bromley. We drove 
home in a four : wheeler, four of us and the 
captive inside, the rest on top, creating a 
great sensation all the way. The measles 
took me off next day, but when I came back, 
weeks afterwards, pear-drops were still being 
doled out after tea as a reward for catching 
the runaway. I did not learn much cricket 
at that school. Not long afterwards it 
changed hands, and was organized into a 
modern private school. We played proper 
Association football and proper cricket. I 
was centre forward, and had the honour at 
the age of twelve of playing for the West Kent 
Football Club, owing to one of their men not 
turning up. I touched the ball three times 
in that match. We played some small 
cricket matches against other schools. I 
was the spot batsman of our team, but had a 
great failing: I could never get runs in the 
first innings. 

One holiday, about this time, it was 
revealed to me that I could really jump a 
bit. I owned an ugly, one-eyed fox-terrier 
called Dan. One evening, up in the meadow 
above our garden, he came out of a hedge 
walking sideways, looking more evil than 
ever and foaming at the mouth. I took two 
steps, cleared a ditch and a highish hedge, 
dropped 10ft. into our garden, and was up 
a slim plum-tree before you could say “ knife.’ 
Dan came slowly after and squatted at the 
bottom, but he brought a toad in his mouth, 
and I perceived he was not mad beyond the 
degree of trying to eat the toad. So I came 
down, got a saucer of water to make sure 
about the dog, and then went to look at what 
I had jumped over. It was much higher than 
my head ; not to mention the ditch. It was 
many years before I jumped as high again. 

The first race I ever won was a steeple¬ 
chase at a regatta at Charmouth, in Dorset¬ 
shire. The field was a mixed one, including 
a policeman, two coastguards, a fisherman, 
a gatdener, and several boys. The course 
was about half a mile ; the first obstacle a 
big agricultural roller, through the upright 
shafts of which we had to climb. As no 
one after that knew .the course, and each one 
waited on the other to see where to go, the 
race was run very slowly till we got near the 
straight, which was a stretch of turf very 
much on the incline ; down this my legs Van 
away with me and I won very easily. A 
bob-tailed sheep-dog ran in the race and 
came in first, but was disqualified for not 
having paid any entrance-fee. The prize 
was half a sovereign^ which was paid me 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


BY WAY OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


59 


across the grocer's counter. So I have been 
a professional under A. A. rules all my time. 
I remember experiencing for the first time 
in that race the delicious feeling of speed 
and the thrill of forging ahead at the finish. 
That was a lucky day: in the evening I 
caught my first trout of decent size ; I lured 
hinj with a black gnat, and he weighed just 
ueider a pound. 

In 1SS5 I went to Repton School, where I 
had a splendid chance in cricket, football, 
and athletics. I began my football there as 
a centre forward. We used to play two 
centre forwards and only two half-backs. 
Bui I never did much good at forward. My 
second year 1 played a few times at half¬ 
back, but eventually went full-back to fit into 
a House team. U'e used to have compulsory 
fooiball on half holidays, but the best fun 
for all those outside the school team were 
the cup ties, junior and senior, for the House 
challenge cup. My word, what matches we 
had ! English Cup lies against Tottenham 
Hotspurs and Sheffield United are nothing to 
them. I got into the school team as right 
back, and played for three years. We had 
very strong teams then, I can remember 
one terrific match in which we played a 
draw with the Derby County League team, 
and another in which 
we drew with Cam¬ 
bridge University, I 
believe I should have 
got into the school 
team a year earlier 
than I did had l not 
in a practice game 
taken upon myself 
to try to charge Mr, 

Harry Vassal!, the 
great Rugby forward, 
who was, and still is, 
a master at Repton, 

Mr. Vassall weighed 
about 1 and when 
he played Associa¬ 
tion with us maim 
tained his Rugby 
traditions by running 
as straight as a die, 
and woe h e t i d e 
obstacles. Electing 
to make myself an 
obstacle, I passed 
away into space, and 
did not recover my 
equilibrium for a 
year; lack of judg¬ 
ment on my part. 


Although, like most other footballers, I im¬ 
proved in value in some respects after I left 
school, and became heavier and stronger, I have 
never since been able to kick as neatly and 
accurately as I could then. I put this down 
partly to the constant practice we used to 
have at school in kicking a football about at 
odd hours, dozens of us at a time, on a piece 
of ground called the paddock, and partly to 
the constant playing of what we called 
“yard football, 31 We used to play this game 
in the asphalt yards attached to our houses, 
wearing tennis shoes and using an india- 
rubber ball about a third the size of a foot¬ 
ball. This game made one very accurate 
and quick with one*s feet. I have often 
wished since I could get the same sort of 
practice, especially before English Cup ties, 
for it is far less strain on the legs than ball 
practice with a real football. 

When I went to Repton the captain of 
cricket was Mr. F. G. J. Ford, the great 
Middlesex batsman. He was a magnificent 
school cricketer, and I can remember watch¬ 
ing him from the paddock bank in distant 
reverence. Mr. L. C. H. Pa la i ret got into 
the Repton team in my first summer; lie was 
quite a small boy, but played in beautiful 
style. My first sphere of action was the 
fourth ground, where 
we played pick-up 
matches on ha If-holi¬ 
days, and had net 
practice on the prin¬ 
ciple of “ you batted 
if you bowled the 
man out.” In my 
third year, when Mr. 
DC. H. Palairctwas 
captain, I got my 
cricket colours. My 
chief merit was being 
able to stick in, for I 
was a marvellously 
stiff player and could 
not hit a bit except 
on the leg side. This 
stiffness was due, I 
believe, to the mis¬ 
conception that the 
art of batting con¬ 
sisted entirely in play¬ 
ing forward ; 1 used 
to tie myself up into 
extraordinary knots 
trying to play forward 
at unsuitable balls, 
and I played forward 
with stiff 



TUB HEX, A. F. £. TURKMAN, WHO TAUGHT €. B. KKY MOST OF 

HIS POOTHAU- ANTJ cmCKF-T, „11 

Prom a Photo H \V, W . Winter, Derby. fl TH " ron b» 

! by CiOOgK UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



6 o 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE,. 


arms and wrists and no swing. However, 
after getting into the eleven I received 
some excellent coaching from the Rev. 
A. F. E. Foreman. He was an inspiring 
and encouraging coach, and had a way of 
making one play better without saying any¬ 
thing. The chief lesson he taught was to 
play your strokes hard, to put your bat up 
against the ball. He left you to develop 
your own style and make the most of your 
natural strokes. He succeeded in teaching 
me a certain amount of freedom ; and he is 
the only coach, except Alfred Shaw, in 1899, 
from whom I have ever learnt anything. In 
fact, any success I have had in cricket I owe 
greatly to Mr. Foreman. Our school pro¬ 
fessional was a good practice bowler, medium 
pace, right hand, but his only lesson was 
“ Come forward to her,” no matter w'here the 
ball pitched. The great defect of school 
coaching is that boys are taught to play 
forward and nothing else. Boys are not 
taught to play back or to use their feet 
properly, either in turning to place the ball 
or in running out to drive; nor are they 
taught to alter their play according to the 
state of the wicket. By the end of my 
school time I could hit over-pitched and 
pull short bowling, but good length bowling 
gave me a good deal of trouble. I remem¬ 
ber one of the masters said he did not see 
how I was ever to make runs against 
first-class bowling. Still, I recollect once 
making twenty-eight against Mr. F. R. 
Spofforth, on a sticky wicket; Spofforth’s 
balls broke so much from the off that when 
I played forward at him the ball hit my bat 
and went away to leg. I have since made a 
useful and intentional stroke of that—which 
shows how you learn things at cricket. The 
most exciting cricket match I remember at 
Repton was a House final. We had about 
120 runs to get to win, but overnight a fellow 
in our house gave a “ leaving grub,” a sort of 
evening cricket lunch, in his study ; there was 
a defective pie, and seven of our men were 
poisoned. I escaped because I was carving 
salmon at the time the pie went round. 
Next day we went in to bat with four men. 
I was missed at slip in the first over, but 
afterwards made seventy-three, and we scraped 
home with the last of our four men in. 

In athletic sports a good many prizes came 
my way at school. I believe I first showed 
promise as a half-miler, but never did much 
good afterwards on the fiat except in the 
100 yards. My chief events were the hurdles 
and the two jumps. My best high jump at 
school was 5ft. 6^4in., and my best long 


jump 21 ft., which is still, I think, the record 
at Repton. School long jumping is usually 
very poor, partly because the jumping-place 
is generally very bad, but chiefly because 
boys jump too low. Mr. Foreman first taught 
me to go high in long jumping. He found 
me practising one rainy day, took off a big 
black mackintosh he was wearing, made a 
heap of it in front of the mark, and dared me 
to jump anywhere near it; so I jumped high 
in the air and put about 3ft. on to my 
previous best. After that I took a great 
interest in long jumping. My hurdling 
method at school was rather peculiar. As 
a small boy I used to take five steps in 
between and then jump the hurdle. After¬ 
wards I set about learning the three-stride 
method. Now, the proper method, of course, 
is to take three strides in between and fly the 
hurdle in your fourth, coming down on the 
other foot from that with which you took off. 
But I fancied the method consisted in taking 
two strides in between and over in the third 
—an almost impossible feat; though I had a 
good try at it, and after much practice 
succeeded in clearing two hurdles in that 
style. Needless to say, I found it no go, 
and gave it up. Then I tried four strides in 
between. This necessitates changing at 
each successive hurdle the foot you take 
off from if you fly the obstacle. I did not 
like changing my feet, so evolved a most 
peculiar way of clearing the hurdles. I used 
to take off with my right foot, shoot my 
left leg right out in front of me over the 
hurdle, and come down again on the same foot 
I took off from. I found I could go fairly 
fast that way, but our hurdles were several 
inches low; over those of full height I 
found the method defective. It is a great 
pity that hurdling in proper style is not 
taught at school with the hurdles, and the 
distances in between proportionately reduced 
to suit smaller boys. Done in proper style 
hurdling is the best of all athletic events, but 
in school sports it is the exception rather than 
the rule to see any competitor run with the 
three-stride method. 

Before going up to Oxford I got some 
experience of first-class football in playing for 
the Casuals on their northern tours. We 
played against Everton and Sunderland, and 
other of the League teams. I also played 
my first county cricket match before going 
up. It was for Surrey against Warwickshire 
at the Oval, the only time I played for Surrey. 
I made 1 and o not out. W. A. J. West, the 
famous umpire, who then played for Warwick¬ 
shire, bowled me out first innings with a 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


BY WAV OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


6 r 


yorker. The second innings we had only five 
to get to win, and Brock well obtained them 
before I had a hit When I got a telegram 
asking me to play at the Oval, I was playing 
in a match at Minehead against Lynton ; I 
iras so delighted that I went in for free 
hitting, and nearly killed Sir George Newnes, 
who was playing on the other side, with a 
skimmer to square-leg. 

At Oxford I played all four years 1 was up 
rn the Association football team. I was 
left back my First year, but changed to the 
right in my second, when Mr, W* J* Oakley 
came up. The main difference 1 noticed 


match in our season, but* unfortunately 
that match was the one against Cam¬ 
bridge. When we got to Queen’s Club we 
found the ground frost-bound and crinkled 
with ice, The Cambridge captain was 
willing to play although the ground was unfit* 
I did not want to play, but as Oakley and 
myself were both engaged in the sports and 
stood to win three events between us, and as 
I thought our team was too good to lose 
under any circumstances, 1 consented* The 
Cambridge team was heavier than ours, and 
beat us by their rushing tactics* It was a 
sad day, Mr. L. V* Lodge played a mar¬ 


J. WAlker. F* II Alexander, Q. B, RfriW W> *1 Onkloy. 



0. 9-miH.lL E, 0. BH*s. 0, B Fry (CapU. <?, !>, R F. Buuitni 

F. W. uertion. BN. Bfwnrth Smith. 

From, a jp&afo, C* p, frv as captain of the oxfobp football team, 1893 4* [Gtfkn™, OxfanL 


between school and first-class football was 
that in the ordinary run of school matches 
the forwards opposed to one rarely had the 
ball in much control, and so the back could 
rush in and get a fairly easy kick, whereas 
against first-class forwards, who kept the ball 
do^e, I found the difficulty was to get to the 
bill at all. We had npt much of a team 
my first year, but the other three were good 
ones, especially the third, of which I was 
captain. We had Mr, G* O* Smith as centre 
forward, Mr. \\\ J. Oakley at back, and Mr. 
G. B. Kaikes in goal, all of whom played 
against Scotland for England. In fact, that 
team was one of the best there has been 
a either University* We lost only one 


vellous game at back for Cambridge. None 
of the inter-Tarsity matches I played in 
were very good ones, and I did not enjoy 
them much. In my first year at Oxford I 
played for England against the Canadians at 
the Oval. The English team was chiefly 
made up of amateurs, but was a strong one, 
and w T on easily* The Canadian team was 
not very good. 

For some reason or other Association, is 
not nearly so popular at Oxford as Rugby* 
In my time, if a Rugby and an Association 
match were going on at the same time in 
the Parks, scarcely anyone would look on at 
the latter, while the ropes round the Rugby 
enclosure #d'C thrbngM with hundreds of 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










62 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


spectators. This was rather discouraging. 
1 used to play three-quarter back in my 
college Rugby team, and very nearly got my 
Rugby Blue in my fourth year; in fact, I 
played for the ’Varsity fifteen in all matches 
till a fortnight before the match with Cam¬ 
bridge, when I had the ill-luck to crock my 
thigh. As a Rugby player I was a pure 
sprinter, I never learnt the art of falling on 
the ball to stop a rush, nor the art of collar¬ 
ing people round the ankles. My tackling 
was of a very scrambling order, and consisted 
chiefly in jumping on my opponent's back 
and embracing his neck. But I believe 1 
was chosen as reserve three-quarter for the 
South against the North that year. The 
Rugby game at Oxford, where they played 
the Welsh three-quarter game to perfection, 
suited me well, and I enjoyed it immensely, 
more, in fact, than Association ; but when, 
after coming down, I played for Rlackheatb 
and the Barbarians, I did not get on so well 
and returned to the 
other game. On the 
whole, I think that 
Rugby is a more exciting 
game than Association 
when the play is open 
and the three-quarters 
have plenty of running, 
but not when the play 
is close and consists of 
incessant scrimmaging* 

There is nothing in 
Association equal in 
excitement to a good 
combined run by Rugby three-quarters* On 
the other hand, I think the average Associa¬ 
tion game is quicker and more interesting 
than the average Rugby game. 

The most amusing Rugby game I ever 
played in was for the Corinthians against the 
Barbarians, before I played for Oxford. The 
Corinthians held a competition with the 
Barbarians, playing them at Rugby, Associa¬ 
tion, and cricket, and also meeting them 
at athletic sports on in ter-University lines* 
We won easily at Association, and, funnily 
enough, beat our opponents also at their 
own game by two goals and two tries to two 
goals and one try. The Barbarian fifteen 
included seven or eight internationals, while 
only two or three of us had ever played 
Rugby before. The truth of it was, the 
ground was too hard for Rugby, and when 
the Barbarian phalanx rushed through our 
very amateur attempts at a scrum, they could 
not keep control of the ball. Our forwards 
made wonderful work of dribbling the, egg¬ 


shaped ball. Mr* P. M. Walters performed 
admirably for us at back. His brother, AM, 
scored several tries ; when he got hold of the 
ball and an opponent tried to collar him, 
A*M. t instead of trying to dodge, rushed 
at and charged him with his shoulder, 
Our methods were very unorthodox, and 
took the Barbarians by surprise* But, after 
all, it was an extraordinary performance for 
fifteen Association players to defeat fifteen 
Rugby players, and those very good ones at 
the Rugby game. 

Since my ’Varsity days I have played 
chiefly for the Corinthians* We have had 
some most enjoyable football on our 
northern tours at Christmas time, especially 
against our old-time opponents, Queen's 
Park, at Glasgow* But perhaps the best 
matches in which I have played for the 
Corinthians were those against Aston Villa 
and Sheffield United for the Sheriffs Shield. 
We found these two dubs most sporting 
opponents* 

Two seasons ago, 
when I came to live 
near Southampton, 1 
was invited to play in 
the Southampton Club 
in their Southern League 
matches* Southampton 
were beaten in the first 
round of the Cup that 
year, but they won the 
Southern League cham¬ 
pionship. 'This year E 
had the uncommon 
pleasure for an amateur of getting into the 
final of the Cup. 1 have never enjoyed 
any football more than that I have played 
for Southampton* Cup tics are hard work, 
but they are fine sport. 

My experiences of track athletics belong 
entirely to my Oxford days* In the O.U.A.C* 
sports in my Freshman’s year I astonished 
myself by jumping 22ft* 7m* For this I got 
my Blue, and also a second string in the 
high jump* At Queen's Club that year, 
against Cambridge, I further astonished 
myself by jumping 23ft. 5111. I cannot re¬ 
member anything particular about that jump, 
except that I got a beautiful take-off from the 
board and a splendid lift up, and felt very 
neat in the air. It was a beautiful day for 
jumping, warm and fresh; iveather has a 
great effect on jumpers. My second year I 
won at Queen’s Club with 23ft. oj^ifi*, but in 
the trial sports at Oxford I did 23ft. 6f/£in,, 
which was the best I ever did* It was a 
curious jump ^^ad only practised 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




BY WAY OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 


63 



three times, and had spiked tny big toe in 
landing in the pit, and I very nearly did not 
jump in the sports at all. I did not take off 
accurately on the board, but 9111. behind it, so 
the actual distance I covered was 24ft, 3/4in. 
My last stride before taking off was much 
shorter than usual, and I seemed to stop 
dead while you might count one before I 
took off; however, for some reason or other 
1 seemed to develop more spring than usual, 
and went very high in the air* When I 
landed in the pit, instead of, as usual having 
to struggle for my balance not to fall back, I 
simply bounced clean out of the pit, and 
landed about 6ft* away on the track. The 
success of that jump is still a mystery to me. 
My third year I jumped 23ft* at Oxford, 
but before the inter* Varsity sports bruised 
my heel badly, and though I won against 
Cambridge with 22ft* 4m., I was never able 
to jump properly again* I wonder I did 
not hurt my heel before, as my way of 
taking off was very hard on 
it* In tny run up to the 
jump the marks of my 
spikes were in a dead 
straight line one behind 
the other, but in my last 
stride I used to make a 
complete quarter turn to¬ 
wards the left, and slue my 
right foot a good lain, or 
more across to the left of 
the line of my run ; the out¬ 
side edge of my heel was 
planked to the ground with 
great force, the flat of my ■ 
foot coming down after¬ 
wards. It always felt to 
me as if I got my spring 
from the small of my back 
and my hips* That sum¬ 
mer, in the sports between 
Oxford and Yale, I jumped 
without any practice, and was beaten by 
Mr. L. I\ Sheldon, of Yale, with 22ft, nin* 
In the Inst of my four tries I got dead 
an the board and felt I was going to 
make a good jump, but the board split 
under my spikes, [and 1 went a terrific 
header into the sawdust. After that 1 was 
no good, as my heel bruised worse than ever* 
I never liked practising for long jumping, 
and never did well \in practice—only once 
or twice over 22ft*’ Long jumping is a 
great strain, and it is difficult to screw oneself 
up to the effort of will required for a big 
jump without the excitement of competition. I 
practised for long jumping chiefly by sprinting 


one day and high jumping the next; but 
I believe what did me more good than any¬ 
thing else was doing standing jumps regularly 
every morning over a big arm-chair in my room* 
Of the three times I ran for Oxford against 
Cambridge in the 100 yards my only win, to 
be Irish, was a dead-heat* Curiously enough, 
I ran a dead-heat with the same man, Mr. A* 
Ram shot ham, three weeks before in the trial 
sports. My version of the race is that I won 
exclusively; Mr. Ramsbotham is as equally 
dead sure he won* So the chances are that 
the judges were right in their decision* The 
reason I thought I won was that I did not 
see Ramsbotham until after we were past the 


post. It is a curious thing that in sprint racing 
the moment a competitor is the least bit in 
front of you he appears to you to be ivefl 
ahead; of course, you don’t look at him 
unless you wish to lose a yard, but you can 
see him out of the corner of your eye without 
looking his way. If a man is running dead 
level with you, you cannot see him at all 
But the worsted was broken nearer to him than 
to me, and an instantaneous photo, taken at the 
finish and reproduced on the next page appears 
a trifle in his favour** 1 knew in the last ten 


p Most readers think, on in^pectin^ the photograph will 
csjnic |[J the concluiiiprv !o break the 

worsted*—Ep. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


MAKING THE kfcCQRP I.ONG-JUMP OF SJET. 5I N. AGAINST C A M11 Ft I1X1 F , I&92* 
From a Pht4f*. by Steam, 










64 


THE STRAAD MAGAZINE. 



C. P, FRY RUNNING A DEAD-HEAT WITH A. RAMSROTHAM IN THE T 0 OYPS. RACE AGAINST CA M U HI DCE, 1B93, 

^Vcm a J’hota ^ SYeartt, Cmubridg^, 


yards of that race that 
someone was gaining 
011 me. It is a very 
curious thing that, if 
a man is running be¬ 
hind you but not 
gaining on you, you 
are not conscious of 
his presence, but the 
moment he is coining 
up to you, you feel 
him at once by in¬ 
stinct. The last year 
I ran a very curious 
thing happened to 
me. 1 got a big lead 
at the start, and two- 
thirds through the 
race I held so good a 
lead that I think I 
must have won ; un¬ 
fortunately, it occur¬ 
red to me to wonder 
where my comrade, 
Mr. G. Jordan, was, 
and in that brief flash 
of inattention, though 
I did not look round 
or consciously relax 
my pace, the whole 
field passed me and 
I finished last. A 
man to sj'rint his 
fastest must glue his 
mind to the effort of 



OSt'ORD ATHLETICS, 

By FWT-iuUiitfn H ‘ VanUjr 


reaching the tape ; if 
he relaxes his will for 
a moment he auto¬ 
matically slackens his 
pace ; at any Tate, this 
holds good for run¬ 
ners who do not race 
sufficiently often to 
make full speed a 
habit. Once at 
Oxford, in n heat of 
a strangers 1 race, I 
ran the ioo yards in 
ioset, by the aid of a 
slight wind. In the 
final heat, which was 
also timed at losec,, 

I was beaten by a 
fraction of an inch. 
One of the judges 
gave me the race, the 
other gave it a dead- 
heat, but the referee 
decided that the other 
man had won by half 
an inch* The prize 1 
got for second in this 
race, a cigarette-case, 
had a curious adven¬ 
ture, It was stolen 
out of my pocket at a 
cricket match one 
year, and when J 
played at the same 
„ In ^l | ,: place the next year 

lJ ER5ITY OF MICHIGAN 












jn HAY OT AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


6 S 


it came back by post with an apology. The 
first time Oxford met Vale I got so good 
a start in the too yards that I won; it was 
rather a surprise, as I had been playing 
cricket during the previous month or so, and 
had only had four days' training. 

Being fortunate enough to make a century 
rn the Freshmen's cricket match at Oxford, I 
was at once given a trial in the eleven, and 
in course of time got my Blue, At one time 
1 feared I should be left out, so I trained for 
a week, and whether by reason of this or 
of a good wicket I made 115 runs against 
Somersetshire and re-established myself. 
Upon my Oxford cricket, though I enjoyed 


I cut past third man harder than my hardest 
drive. After that I recovered myself and 
played a stocky, quiet innings of forty-four. 
As Mr, M. K. Jardine made 140 and Mr. 
V. T. Hill t 14, we realized a winning total. 
Cambridge had to follow on, and made a big 
score in their second innings, but we won 
easily. I made twenty-seven second innings. 
Next year we had a weak side, and as no 
miracle intervened to save us we got horribly 
beaten. 1 made seven and thirty-one, I 
tliink. My third year I was captain, and 
delighted myself by making too not out. 
It was not a brilliant innings, but it was 
satisfactory to me. I had made scarcely any 


R, P, LfTrU G, R Eaikra. fl. R, RmkweLL The tot* I>. 1C Forhe*. 



G, Jf. SlonldOfit. It a V. Etathum. 0. R Fry (OapCJ. K. a. N. Fklnlret. 1L I>, G r Leveum-Gower. 

F, A. Phillip*. II. K. Fo*tor_ 

PrwcLu Ptu,Ui. bg\ C- P, ¥KY as CAPTAIN OF THE OXFORD CRICKET ELEVEN, PS94. \GiUman. Oxford. 


it intensely, I do not look back with much 
approval I was a stiff, shoulder-tied sort of 
batsman, unless the bowling happened to suit 
me exactly, and a laborious sort of bowler. 
The inter-'Varsity cricket match or my first 
year ended in a glorious and unexpected 
triumph for Oxford. My chief recollection 
tf the match is that I felt abjectly nervous 
ttini I went in. Nervousness, as a rule, made 
me suffer a nd*s1ower than ever; but on that 
occasion the effect was exactly the reverse, 
tt'e won the toss, went in first, and lost two 
tickets for o. Then I went in. Now, I am 
not and never w r as a cutter, but the first ball 
I received, a fastish good-length one on the 
middle stump, bowled by Mr. F. S, Jackson, 

Val xjuy . —S, 


runs all the season; in fact, my average 
previous to the Lord's match was only seven, 
and the critics said I ought to have turned 
myself out of the team. The strange part 
of it was I was in first-rate form and could 
play splendid innings at the nets. How¬ 
ever, nothing went right in matches, and I 
was very sick I could not get a bat I liked; 
you never can when you are not making runs. 
Just before we started from Oxford to play 
our out matches, old Petty, the head of the 
ground staff, gave me a bat which he declared 
was a beauty* It was a Warsopp, of good 
grain, but much too heavy for me, and was 
handed to me in an old-fashioned green-baize 

bat-cover* The first time I tried it I made a 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







66 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


century at Hove against Sussex, and I used 
it in the inter-*'Varsity match, My innings 
was slow and - scratchy till I got eighty-three, 
and the last man came in. This was Mr, 
R. P. Lewis, a first-rate wicket-keeper, but a 
batsman who often 
failed to stay in. He 
came in looking 
pale, but assured 
me, in a husky 
voice, “IPs all right, 

Charles; I won’t 
get out" He played 
part of an over ; 
then I had a go. I 
hit a lofty fourer on 
the off and two on 
the on-side, and 
finally ran out with 
a most audacious 
pull, a curious finish 
to the sort of 
innings I had been 
playing* My part¬ 
ner was bowled the 
very next ball The 
Cambridge bowling 
was not very good 
that year. In my 
last inter - ’Varsity 
match I narrowly 
escaped “a pair of 
spectacles/’ We 
began our first 
innings in a light so 
bad that the gas was 
lighted in the tele¬ 
graph-rooms; but 
the umpires were 
obdurate. Under the circumstances I fail to 
understand why I tried to hook a straight 
good-length ball, especially as the pitch was 
very fast Anyway, I was caught and bowled 
by Mr. C E* M. Wilson for o, The second 
innings, after snicking one run, I was both 
l.b.w, and bowled* 

The first century I ever made in a county 
match was 
for Sussex 
against 
(tIouc ester- 
shire at Bris¬ 
tol* That 
was the first 
time 1 saw 
“W.G. 
wicket was a 
sticky one. 


and I made some strange strokes off J. J. 
Ferris and Roberts, besides being morally 
bowled about half-a-dozen tmies by C. L 
Townsend’s leg breaks, which 1 had no notion 
of playing. But 1 made iog. Next day I 
missed four dolly 
catches at mid-off, 
and nearly lost the 
match. 

The first day of 
that match we had 
adventures* It was 
August Bank Holi¬ 
day, and the ground 
was so saturated 
with rain that we 
could not play; but 
as it was fine over¬ 
head the crowd 
rebelled* They in¬ 
vaded the ground 
to cut up the pitch, 
but Spry, the ground 
man, nipped out 
and roped off a 
piece of turf some 
thirty yards away 
from the pitch, and 
into this the mob 
dug its heels and 
umbrellas, We 
were then besieged 
in the pavilion* 
4t \V, G/ tried to 
smooth the crisis 
by organizing a 
football match, but 
the crowd would 
not let us out to 
play* Then he and Mr, W. L, Mur¬ 
doch made speeches without effect* 
Finally, quite late, we escaped by back¬ 
doors. 

After Ranjit Sinhji began to play for 
Sussex I had an opportunity of observing 
how cricket ought really to he played* 
Although I have never been able to play in 

the least like 
him, 1 have 
certainly 
always made 
many more 
runs from 
the time I 
bega n to 
study the 
way he uses 
his bat* 



C. k. FRY PHAcraSJMr; in his cakukn. 

From H photo- frjf tA-C Globe FhvtQ. {?(*,. Southampton. 



THE EAT WITH WHICH C E* FRY MADE ALL HIS RUNS VAST YEAR, 
f'rum n Photo, by thr Globa I'toto. Go., Soyittfwptfm, 

bylaOpgie UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




Fighting the Sea. 

By Nicholas Everitt, 

11 Auf IVtnd u mi Mcer gehantes G 7 itch ist St k wanhettd . TT —G U TZ K 0w . 



JBYWHti LOWESTOFT PIEIt Dl KINti A GALE. O'Afhffl. 


EW people, perhaps, realize the 
enormous power exerted by 
great waves driven upon a 
shore before a gnle, Only 
those who have seen the 
extreme ruin and devastation 
created upon defences apparently as solid as 
the living rock can obtain any idea of what 
this power really is, and what are the difa¬ 
culties to be confronted by those whose duty 
it is to construct sea-barriers against the 
terrific battery of the waters. Next to actual 
experience, how¬ 
ever, there is no¬ 
thing which can 
convey so power¬ 
ful an impression 
as such a series 
of photographs as 
those here repro¬ 
duced. The tre¬ 
mendous force 
exerted by the 
crash of a big 
wave is shown in 
the most impres¬ 
sive manner pos¬ 
sible to imagine. 

Whenever such a 
wave as that which 
appears in the 
photograph above 
reproduced en¬ 
counters such an 


obstacle as that 
depicted in our 
second illustra¬ 
tion, repeating its 
terrific blow' with 
rhythmical pre¬ 
cision, the result, 
ns shown in the 
photographs which 
follow, is striking 
beyond words. 
This power of the 
waters may be 
s t u d i e d w i t h 
advantage at 
Lowestoft, where 
these photographs 
were taken. But 
fully to realize the 
special danger to 
which the whole 
o f L h e E a s t 
Anglian coast is subject from the wash or 
scour of the sea, it is necessary to under¬ 
stand what is called the ^ set 51 of the tides 
in the North Sea—an extremely interesting 
study. 

Now, the great Atlantic tide wave with its 
enormous swell sweeps up along the west 
coast of Ireland and the Hebrides, and follow¬ 
ing a rule common to tides in general bears to 
the right round the north coast of Scotland 
an<l the Orkney and Shetland Isles, and there 
meeting the North Sea forces it southwards 



AW ASSUMED IMPREGNABLE RAMrART AGAINST THE WAVES, NEWLY FINISHEP—COM FA RK 
Frtrrri □] WITH THE NEET ILLUSTRATION. L^Mo, 

( Original from 

2ed by h > v i l UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


























63 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



through the narrow Straits of Dover, where, 
following the rule before mentioned, the main 
portion bears to the right along the French 
and Dutch coasts. The western fringe of it, 
however, runs, though at less height, round 
the Kentish Foreland to the estuary of the 
Thames, where it meets the North Sea 
tide, which, nevertheless, is of 
somewhat different force, being 
exactly twelve hours older from 
the Atlantic than the Channel 
tide, which it meets. 

Owing to this meeting of 
the two tides off the Thames 
estuary, and to the fact that 
northward of this the one tide 
is flowing when the other is 
ebbing, the average rise at the 
former place is very consider¬ 
ably greater than it is farther 
north—more than twice as high, 
for instance, as is the average 
rise at Lowestoft, where, indeed, 


TUB EFFECT ftP A TWO DAYS' GALE OK THE 
DEFENCES shown in tiie precedcnc; FHGTOl 
From, a PkttUh 

between the coast of the British Isles 
and that of Norway. On reaching 
the great Dogger Bank its progress 
is to a large extent diverted south¬ 
eastward towards the English coast. 
South of the Dogger Bank, and even 
nearer to our coast, is the Wells 
Bank. These great banks, forming 
a more or less continuous line 
(though, of course, with an opening 
between), force the sea into the com 
paratively narrow channel lying be¬ 
tween their western edge and the 
English coast as far as the mouth of 
the Thames. 

The ebbing tide follows* of course, 
the opposite direction, and it will 
thus be seen that the tides of the 
North Sea, though apparently (to 
the uninitiated visitor to the east 
coast) ebbing and flowing directly 
from and on to the shore eastwards 
and westwards, in reality run or 
11 set n up and down the coasts 

It is not, however, with the 
North Sea tide only that we have to 
deal Some part of the Atlantic 
tide is diverted by the south-west 
promontory of England and flows up 
the English Channel, where it be¬ 
comes known as the Channel tide, 
and rushes with increasing force 



A SKA lirKH VIEW OP THIS SHOWING HOW Til R 501.1© CONCRBTF 

WAS ISKOKEN, WORN SMOOTH„ ANU ROLLED ARi^UT, AND THE ENORMOUS 
MAPS of CLIFF eaten away UT THE WAVES, 
ftoni a Photo, 

\ p Original from 

lt UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















FIGHTING THE SEA. 


69 




THE EFFECT OP A MODERATE NORTH-WESTER IN ABOUT 
Fro** a | ESPLANADE. 

it is practically high tide at the same time as it 
is low water on the opposite coast of Holland* 
When, however, we follow the English coast 
still farther north we discover that, owing 
to the jutting out of the Norfolk promontory 
right into the wake of the North Sea tide, 
that part of the coast -1 ine that actually faces 
north is subjected to a rise nearly equal to 
that at the mouth of the Thames, whilst 
shen we get round to the Wash vve find, as 
^ 0 uld be expected 
from its peculiar 
formation and 
u a t ion, t h e 
highest tide of all. 

Though, as we 
have seen, the rise 
at Lowestoft is 
com pa r a t i ve 1 y 
small, averaging, 
perhaps, about 5 ft., 
still the tide in the 
roadstead there 
runs quite as 

strongly as the 

higher rising tides 
farther north and 

south, if not 
stronger. This is 
accounted for by 
the channel caused 
by the Dogger and 
^’ells banks, which 
finds its narrowest 


part approximately 
at this section of 
the coast. 

It will be noticed 
that the channel 
formed between 
these great banks 
and the main¬ 
land is some¬ 
what of the bottle 
shape, and this 
also is that of the 
North Sea itself. 
It is evident, there¬ 
fore, that the in¬ 
coming or flood 
tide will be of 
greater force off 
that part of the 
coast now under 
consideration, and 
will hence cause a 
greater “scour" 
of the beach than 
will the outgoing 
or ebb tide* Consequently, the tendency 
is for the sand and shingle to move south¬ 
wards. 

That this is so is very evident from the 
fact that wherever you have a projection into 
the sea on this coast, there, with hardly an 
exception, you will find the beach makes up 
on the north of it, as witness the accumula¬ 
tion north of the harbour mouth at Great 
Yarmouth and, to a less extent, north of 


TWO HOURS on a concrete 

[Photo, 


FJLAVED BATTLEDORE AND 5HUTTLKCDCK WITH ITS MASSIVE CONCRETE SLABS. 
From a Photo. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















7 ° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


the north pier at lowest oft- This explains 
at once the consequences of building out a 
solid pier on this part of the coast and of 
the principle of the various sea groins, 'Hie 
action of both the pier and the groin is the 
same, but the former (being of much greater 
magnitude and projection), whilst it causes an 
accumulation or making up of the head) to 
the northward,denudes the beach immediately 
to the south of the shifting sand and shingle 
that would naturally have been brought there 
by the flowing tide without correspondingly 
protecting it from the force of that tide ; 
hence the damage tothe coast indirectly caused 
by large solid piers is often very considerable. 
The small groins, on the other hand, are often 
found of very great service, for their very 
smallness prevents them from interfering with 
each otheris action, and when placed at fre^, 
quent intervals they cause a number of small 
accumulations near enough together to 
protect the whole line or coast. 

We have so far only glanced at the effects of 
ordinary tides unaffected by the influence of 
the wind, and to what extent the force of an 
incoming tide is increased by a gale duly those 
who hav e watched the effects of one can realize. 

Curious as it may s^ern, the wind which 
has the greatest tendency to increase the rise 
of the tide at Lowestoft is one blowing, to 
some extent, off the land—we mean a north' 
west wind. To understand the reason of 
this we have again to examine our two tides, 
A glance at the map will show that the flow 
of the North Sea tide as far as Lowestoft 


Ness is in the main south-east, whilst that of 
the Channel tide is easterly, with, as we have 
seen, a tendency to lean to the right south¬ 
ward on the coast of France. When, then, 
we get a gale from the north-west across the 
Atlantic coincident with an incoming tide, 
the North Sea, with the huge volume of the 
main ocean behind, is driven with increased 
force and fury down our eastern coast, whilst 
at the same time and from the same cause 
the Channel tide, which ought then to be 
receding, is backed up by the excessive swell 
of the Atlantic, and this meeting the North 
Sea tide causes an enormous increase of 
water along the eastern coast. 

The rise of neap tides at Lowestoft is 
about 3ft., and of springtides, on an average 
under normal conditions, about 6 }£fL; but 
the latter, under the influence of a big north- 
west gale, is sometimes increased to ns much 
as 12ft. When it is remembered that the 
pressure of a body of water at rest is pro¬ 
portionate to its depth, and that the rate at 
which waves travel under the impetus of a 
gale may amount to anything from twenty to 
forty miles an hour, the force with which the 
sea breaks on to an obstruction as a cliff or 
sea-wall may to some extent be imagined. 

This is perhaps not the place to inquire 
whether the authorities of Lowestoft have so 
far erected their defences on the soundest 
principles of engineering- But what the diffi¬ 
culties are which have to be encountered may 
be readily imagined by anyone who studies 
the illustrations of this article. 



A U'ATJtH-LOGGED COLUffft JZ'LJ NN1NG A&llOKE UU HI NG A CA1-F, THE CHEW HAVING TAKEN TO THE KICKING. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN' 














1 




I. 

T was the height of the summer 
season, and on the crowded 
pier a little girl in a lace 
frock, who had frolicked with 
greater vigour than any of her 
kindred spirits on the threshold 
of life's day' paused for breath, tossing back 
her elaborate sun-bonnet, with its over¬ 
powering strings of broad white satin ribbon, 

A sigh of relief escaped her as the wind 
jrtade merry with her curls. 

“Take care your bonnet doesn't blow 
away,* 1 said a voice at her elbow, while a 
kindly hand, small and fragile, saved the 
frilled headgear from falling to the ground. 

Victorine, of the lace and curls, looked up 
'nth a quick Thank you/* 

She saw beside her a little girl of her own 
height and size, but the stranger could boast 
no dimples or wayward curls, no chiffons and 
laces. 

Her sharp face had a pinched, unchildish 
bob, which bespoke suffering. 

A keen observer would have known at 
once the stern hand of the oppressor, either 
poverty or ill health, played some part in the 
life of that thin little morsel of humanity* 
She was dressed in serviceable blue serge, 
her straw hat had seen better days, and yet 
ttery detail of her attire, every movement of 
the emaciated frame, every word and feature, 
^tamped her as well bred. 

“What is your name?” asked Victorine. 

This was a question by which the little 
girl in the lace frock always manifested her 
interest in the unknown. 

Digitized by GoO^lc 


“ Herminie Tempest,* 1 replied the child, 
leaning up against the rail dividing them 
from die musicians. 

She looked curiously at Victorine, her eyes 
glowing suddenly at the sight of her turquoise 
necklace and the tiny gold bangles clasping 
the plump little arms. A miniature chain 
dotted with charms hung from her waist, and 
she wore a wee brooch with her name in 
pearls. 

The children hardly knew why, but the 
delights of dancing round the bandstand 
faded to insignificance, and instead they 
lingered talking. Victorine discovered that 
Herminie had been ill ; she was here for 
her health, and not simply because her 
people were tired out by the London 
season. 

t( j|What is it like to be ill ? " asked 
Victorine, curiously. 

“ Oh, you lie in bed, and it*s horrid ! ” 
Herminie declared. 

At last the chiming of a great dock on the 
pavilion warned them they must part. 

“ Miss Maybourn, my governess, is beckon¬ 
ing me,” whispered Victorine. “Can’t we 
walk back together ? Who is looking after 
you ? ” 

Herminie [minted to an insignificant little 
maid. 

“She is the servant at our lodgings; she 
likes coming on the pier. 1 will tell her I 
want to go home now.” 

The children trotting in front of their 
attendants managed to keep together. 

“That is where I am staying,” said 
Herminie, pointing across the road. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













72 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


“Oh, what a nasty little house 1 " cried 
Victorine, expressing her thoughts aloud. 

“ Yes, it is rather stuffy indoors," 
Herminie confessed, “ but I go out a great 
deal, and then I don't smell the dinner cook¬ 
ing. It’s always like that when you go away 
from home, but I did not mind it before I 
was ill* Is your place very stuffy, too?” 
Victorine's big, round eyes opened widely* 
“Oh, no! We are staying at the Hotel 
Imperial, and 
it's ever so big ! ” 

She pointed 
to a palatial 
building on the 
esplanade, with 
gold balconies 
full of flowers* 

Miss May- 
bourn drew 
nearer and Her- 
minie darted 
away, rejoining 
the breathless 
little maid,pant¬ 
ing after her 
under the shade 
of a dirty white 
cotton parasol. 

“ I hope you 
haven't been 
dull," said Vic¬ 
tor! ne, with one 
of her coaxing 
smiles, as she 
took Miss May- 
bourn's hand \ 

“ but, you see, 

I made friends 
with that little 
girl. When you 
make friends 
with a person, 
you like to talk 
to them, don't 
you?" 

“I thought 
she looked a 
very nice child," 
replied Miss 
May bourn, who 
had noticed the inborn air of distinction 
which Her minie unconsciously possessed. 

II, 

The following day being Sunday, Victorine, 
in a still more elaborate frock of exquisite 
lace, accompanied her mother to church* 

Mrs. Ambieton made a truly remarkable 

Digitized by GoOglfi 


figure, for she knew no moderation in dress 
and advertised her gTeat wealth by displaying 
the fabulous fancies of fashion to a daring 
extent* She look with her to church an ivory 
prayer-book, a jewelled scent-bottle, and an 
extremely pretty child, toying with each in 
turn, and rustling out before the sermon, well 
aware she had attracted the attention of many 
curious eyes* 

Her husband, a stout man with a red 

beard, joined 
her on the es¬ 
planade, where, 
by mutual con¬ 
sent, the com¬ 
munity paraded 
either to criti¬ 
cise their neigh¬ 
bours, exercise 
their limbs, ur 
inhale the salt 
sea breezes. 

Victorine 
looked eagerly 
for h er ne w 
friend, but des¬ 
paired of find¬ 
ing her in the 
crowd* 

Suddenly Mrs. 
Ambieton felt 
an excited pull 
at her arm, and 
a moment later 
she was aware 
that Victorine 
had publicly 
saluted, both by 
bowing, waving, 
and smiling, a 
shabbily - dress¬ 
ed little girl with 
a tall woman in 
rusty black. 

In a few 
breathless 
words the child 
told how they 
had met. 

Mrs. Amble- 
ton's face grew 
red, even under its coating of powder. 

u You must never mix with children of 

that stamp," she said, ** I don't mind if you 
play with some of the smart little boys and 
girls in the hotel, but it is dreadful to talk to 
people on the pier! If you see her again, 
remember you are not to speak !” 

A lump rose in Victorines throat, so that 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE LACE FROCK. 


73 


she could not answer ; a mist gathered before 
her eyes, yet the sun still shone brightly as 
before. 

Meanwhile Herminie was vanishing in the 
distance, explaining to her mother, the 
Hon. Mrs. Tempest, why she had been so 
warmly recognised by the little girl in the 
lace frock. 

“ But, my dear, she is the child of that 
exceedingly vulgar-looking woman ! ” gasped 
Mrs. Tempest. “I know the mother well 
by sight, and have been told they own a 
large upholstery establishment in London. 
I don’t like your having any acquaintance 
with such people. Pray do not talk to 
Victorine again.” 

Though terribly poor, Mrs. Tempest was 
exceedingly proud. Herminie felt a pang of 
disappointment, for the child, whose whole 
appearance .suggested wealth and luxury, 
fascinated and dazzled her. 

Mrs. Tempest thought how wan, tired, and 
ill she looked, and her own face grew paler, 
while her heart beats quickened. To the 
lonely widow this one ewe lamb converted a 
grey, cheerless life into something worth the 
living. For Herminie’s sake she bitterly 
resented the reverses of fortune which made 
the struggle so hard ; for Herminie her heart 
bled. 

“ Is it wicked to have an upholstery place?” 
asked the child, with a very deep sigh. 

“ Wicked ! Why, of course not! What 
ever put such an idea into your head ? ” 

“ Because I am not to talk to Victorine.” 

“Ah !” murmured Mrs. Tempest, “that is 
a very different matter, but you will under¬ 
stand some day.” 

Herminie wondered how soon “ some 
day” would come, when all these queer 
problems might be made plain. She looked 
back, but Victorine was out of sight. 

“ I shall keep away from the pier,” she 
inwardly resolved. “ It would be horrid 
to be there and not to speak ! ” 

Her spirits flagged, she walked slowly, and 
every time her mother asked if she were 
tired Herminie shook her head. She was 
afraid of making her mother sad ; she knew 
the old feeling of illness, recognising its 
familiar touch, conscious of the enemy’s 
return. 

“ Mother must not be bothered,” she 
thought; “ I shall be well, perhaps, to¬ 
morrow ; I don’t want her to feel anxious.” 

In the small, wasted frame there burnt 
brightly the spirit of endurance. She was 
too unselfish to complain, too unselfish even 
to tell her mother how fond she had grown, 


during one short hour, of the little girl in the 
lace frock. 

III. 

It was not till a week later that Victorine 
happened to see the lodging-house maid who 
had been with Herminie on the pier. 

They were both looking into the same 
shop window, richly decked with fruits and 
flowers. 

Victorine edged up against her, avoiding 
Miss May bourn’s eye. 

“ How is Herminie ? ” she asked. 

The girl started. She was leaning forward, 
resting both hands on the round wooden 
knob of her cotton sunshade. 

“She’s mortal bad, thank you, missy. I 
was just wishing I could take her Lome of 
those fine, big grapes. Her mother is 
regularly distracted ; she thinks the doctor 
here is not treating her right.” 

Victorine stared. Then she brushed the 
curls from her eyes, and had only time to 
exclaim, “ I didn’t know she was ill. Oh, 1 
am so sorry ! ” before Miss Maybourn hurried 
her away. 

For some moments Victorine did not 
speak. A very active little brain, may be 
busily at work even under a sun-bonnet. 

“What are you thinking about?” asked 
Miss Maybourn, presently, noticing the 
unusual wistfulness in the baby-face. 

“ I was thinking of all the money I’ve 
saved,” answered Victorine. “ It would buy 
such lots and lots of grapes. What do people 
like when they are ill ? I should want a doll 
in a blue frock that would shut its eyes when 
it lay down, and a heap of picture-books. I 
have been keeping my money till my legs 
grew a little longer, and then I meant to buy 
a very tiny bicycle, because it would be ages 
before I could ride a big one. I think I’ll 
try and forget I wanted a bicycle and get 
some things for Herminie instead. Mother 
won’t mind, because if Herminie is in bed I 
can’t play with her, and I need not say who 
the things came from.” 

Miss Maybourn remembered the distin¬ 
guished-looking child who, despite her plain 
and somewhat worn attire, appeared so un¬ 
mistakably well bred, and she could not find 
it in her heart to thwart Victorine. 

She knew how eagerly the money had 
been treasured, and was sure the sacrifice 
needed a very strong effort—one which 
would strengthen Victorine’s character, 
though the child certainly looked more like 
a French doll than a person capable of 
sacrifice. 

“ I don’t believe,” said the little voice, with 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


74 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


a suspicious tremor in it, “ that a bicycle can 
be as nice as it looks! I sha’irt want one at 
all for quite a long time, you know.” 

The rose-bud mouth was set firm, there 
were no dimples to be seen* 

IV, 

The lodging-house door was never locked, 
and mysterious parcels with .Herminie’s name 
attached to them perpetually made their ap¬ 
pearance in the narrow hall Hermmic was 
quite sure a fairy brought them and told her 
mother so, with eyes that brightened in spite 
of weakness and pain. 

Mrs. Tempest, watching her sick child's 
pleasure, blessed the unknown donor, for¬ 
getting her pride in 
the warmth of her 
gratitude. 

Such flowers ! such 
fruit ! such toys 3 After 
the first few days of 
anonymous offerings, 

Herminie asked regu¬ 
larly what the fairy had 
sent. 

Herminie, with 
childish intuition, had 
just the faintest sus¬ 
picion of ivho the fairy 
might be. Mrs. Tem¬ 
pest never thought of 
Victorine, the little 
daughter of that flashy 
Mrs. AmbleUm, who 
boasted no patrician 
descent, but only the 
golden key to luxury. 

Besides drawing 
lavishly from her 
money - box, Victorine 
found plentiful stores 
of fruit in the big 
private sitting - room 
they occupied on the 
first floor. This she 
was at liberty to use, 
and she had only to 
scramble on her father s 
knee and rummage 
openly in his pockets for him to yield his 
treasure with a good-natured smile. 

Victorine, with custom, grew bolder as she 
darted into the gloomy hall of what she still 
called “ a nasty little house." Sometimes she 
even lingered a moment, just to prove her 
courage to Miss May bourn, who waited 
anxiously outside. 

She always felt nervous when the dainty 

Digitized by GoO^lc 


figure of her charge vanished from sight, 
and sighed with relief at its reappearance* 

One particularly bright morning Victorine 
kept her waiting longer than usual, and she 
could see through the open door the little 
white figure talking with a tall woman in 
black. 

Mrs* Tempest had telegraphed for a 
specialist who saw Herminie in London. 
The child was worse and the mother grew 
desperate. She kept running to the door at 
every sound in her eagerness for a reply. It 
was thus she caught the fairy, red-handed. 

** What are you doing ? ” *she asked. 

Her grey eyes were full of tears, she was 
white to the lips and trembling* Her pitiable 
look of distress in¬ 
stantly broke down Vic¬ 
tor ine's shyness. She 
held out. a minute 
hand, and looked up 
sympathetically from 
the shade of her white 
bonnet. 

14 Oh, please don't 
cry ! * whispered the 
little voice ; “ I have 
brought some things 
for Herminie, only I 
didn’t want anyone to 
know. Vou see, my 
mamma said I wasn't 
to play with her- I may 
only talk to the children 
in the hotel, and not 
to the children on the 
pier.” 

"Hie genuine concur i i 
in that small pink anti 
white face touched 
Mrs* Tempest deeply. 
She bent down and 
kissed Victorine* 

41 You have been so 
kind, so kind!” she 
said, brokenly. “Dear 
little girl, why did 
you think of my Her 
minie ? ' 

44 I don’t know," 
answered Victorine, 41 but I suppose l love 
her very much/* 

Mrs* Tempest remembered that Sunday 
morning* She could see again the child 
waving, and hear Herminie’s plaintive ques¬ 
tion, 41 Is it wicked to have an upholsterv 
place ? ” 

44 Telegram E ” 

The word fell with an ominous sound on 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



<l HUNT DOWN A tits KT*ttU> VICTOR INP/’ 






















THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE LACE FROCK. 


75 


Mrs. Tempest’s ear. She tore the envelope 
open in a frenzy of anxiety. 

14 l)r. Fairholme has left for his holiday on 
the Continent,” she read, 

A groan escaped her. 

Dr. Fairholme away ! It seemed to seal 
Herminie’s doom. He not only thoroughly 
understood her case, hut was a personal 
friend and aware of their circumstances. 
He had shown them great kindness in the 
past, and Mrs. Tempest could have trusted 
him not to press her for the money. 

She forgot Victorine as she turned away 
with a stifled sob. 

“ The London doctor can’t come ! " 
said to the land¬ 
lady, who appeared 
on the stairs, and 
her voice vibrated 
with a dull misery 
that filled Vic- 
torine with a sense 
of terror. 

Without another 
word the child fled 
away, haunted by 
the sound of that 
melancholy voice, 
followed by the 
echo of a deep, 
low sob. 

Silently she ac¬ 
companied Miss 
May bourn to the 
beach, and, seated 
under a break¬ 
water, thought out 
many things. 

Perhaps some 
guiding angel 
whispered in her 
ear, perhaps the 
song of the sea 
inspired the little 
mind. She was 
thinking especially 
of a gentleman 
with a pointed beard and a little bald patch 
on the top of his head, who had come the 
previous day to the Hotel Imperial. 

Her father pointed him out to her mother 
as an extremely celebrated London physician. 
He occupied a suite of rooms next to theirs ; 
he had a very grand, imposing air. Several 
times she had seen him through the open 
door, reading, or writing at a table strewn 
with papers. 

Suddenly she grew tired of the beach, and 
begged Miss May bourn to take her home. 

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Dr. Grainger felt he required rest A 
great reader, he loved to fling himself into 
an arm-chair by the flower-laden balcony and 
enjoy the companionship of a good book. 

It was stiflingly hot, and he had left the 
door of his sitting-room open. 

So engrossed was he that the soft patter of 
little feet hastily approaching his chair failed 
to attract his attention. 

It was not until a small hand gently tapped 
the back of his book that he looked up, to 
find a pair of pleading eyes gazing earnestly 
into his. 

For the moment he wondered if he were 
fully awake, for the beautiful child in 

her dainty attire 
looked like some 
vision of the 
senses The glow¬ 
ing cheeks and 
sunny curls mahe 
a pleasing picture, 
while those tiny 
fingers still rested 
with absolute con¬ 
fidence on the 
heavy volume. 

“Oh, if you 
please,” she said, 
“ I want to tell you 
about Hermime.” 

“ H erminie ! " 
The name came 
echoing down a 
vista of long years. 
He had once 
know'ii a “ Her- 
mm re ” in his early 
youth, a tall, proud 
girl who had 
scorned his love, 
a girl with eyes of 
marvellous depth 
and soft, rippling 
hair. He drew the 
child nearer \ it 
w'as odd she was 
not afraid of him, a grey-haired stranger, 
with lines of deep study and thought searing 
his brow. 

“ Well? he queried, touching her curls. 

“ Herminie is very ill,” continued Victorine, 
breathlessly, “and they can't get a doctor 
from London to come and make her well, so 
I thought I would ask you to go. Miss 
May bourn says they lodge in that nasty little 
house at the end of the parade because they 
have no money, and Herminie hasn't any 
pretty clothes, so I mustn't play with her. 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


she 



tr VOli PLEASE/ SHE SAII>, 1 I WANT TO TELL YOU ABOUT 
1IF.RMIMF.' " 











7 6 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



But I lave her very much, though we only 
made friends one morning on the pier. Her 
mother was crying to-day, and I felt T wanted 
to help her ever so much, and that made me 
think of you. I asked Miss May bourn if 
doctors cost a lot of money, and she said 
‘Yes, they are ruinous/ I shouldn’t like 
poor Mrs. Tempest to he bothered about 
that, so I thought I would tell you I have 
three half - crowns 
left in my money¬ 
box Would they 
do instead of Mrs. 

Tempest having to 
pay?” 

A queer expres¬ 
sion flitted over the 
doctor's face. 

He remembered 
the “ Herminie ” he 
once knew and loved 
had married some 
years later a young 
and exceedingly 
reckless Captain 
Tempest against the 
wishes of her family. 

After that he heard 
nothing more of her; 
she had sunk into 
oblivion. 

14 Tell me the 
name of the house,” 
he said, rising 
quickly and letting 
his book fall with 
painful force on Vic¬ 
tor! ne's toes, She 
winced with the 
pain, but he never 
noticed her. 

“ Sea View Lodge,” 
she gasped, as he 

snatched up his hat and vanished through 
the open door. 

Victorine watched him, her eyes beaming 
with gratitude. She piped out “ Thank you,” 
but the room was empty ; only the walls 
heard. 

V. 

The great doctor, arriving at a critical 
moment of Herminie's illness, brought all Ins 
skill to bear upon her difficult and compli¬ 
cated case. 

It seemed to Mrs. Tempest little short of 
a miracle that this friend of her youth, now 
so celebrated, should appear as if in direct 
answer to her prayer for Herminie's recovery. 


Night and day he attended the suffering 
child till the crisis passed and he pronounced 
her out of danger. 

She was sleeping peacefully, and Mrs. 
Tempest for the first time found herself 
alone in the small drawing room with Hr. 
Grainger. 

** How can I ever thank you or show toy 
gratitude?” she said, her voice trembling 
with deep emotion. 

He looked in her 
face, seeing the same 
fathomless eyes and 
pure alabaster skin, 
while the same soft 
ripple played across 
her hair. 

A tender expres¬ 
sion, a certain quiver¬ 
ing of her lips, a 
little, pathetic ges¬ 
ture gave him en¬ 
couragement to 
answer boldly. 

* * I don't want 
gratitude, Herminie, 
I only want your¬ 
self.” 

She drew a step 
nearer, and her head 
drooped, such a 
proud, daintily 
shaped head, look¬ 
ing like a broken 
lily in a storm. 

A moment later 
the tired spirit 
found its refuge in 
a lover's arms. 

“ Tell me,” she 
said at last, u who 
was the friend that 
sent you to me— 
who told you I was here ? ” 

11 A tiny child who stole into my room 
like a fairy. She was staying at the Imperial 
and left this morning with her parents. She 
used to watch so eagerly for news, though 
she told me she had only met Herminie once. 
After I saw her drive away I inquired for 
letters, and found an hotel envelope awaiting 
me—in it were three half crowns I ” 

A smile of intense amusement dawned on 
his lips, and a kindly expression smoothed 
the lines which love might yet erase. 

But the smile and the tender look just at 
that moment were all for the little girl in the 
lace Irock. 


Jltj-W CAN I EVER THANK ViH’T 1 


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Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 

LXXV. 

(VIEWED BY HENRY W. LUCY.) 


THE 

speaker’s 

OPPORTUNITY. 


IN the first year of her reign, 
Queen Victoria, following pre¬ 
cedent, not only opened Par¬ 
liament in person, but in due 
time went down to Westminster to prorogue 
it There is some curiosity as to whether 
the King, who, since he came to the Throne, 
has twice read his own Speech in the House 
of Lords, will grace the close of the Session # 
by his presence. That he did not do so last 
year is not conclusive on the point, since the 
death of the Empress of Gerttoany plunged 
the Royal Family into fresh mourning. 

The Sovereign’s appearance on the scene 
at the close of a Session would be interest¬ 
ing, amongst other things, as reviving an 
ancient custom dimly, and not quite accu¬ 
rately, recalled by the present occupant of 
the Chair in the House of Commons. 
Speaking at the Mansion House early in the 
Session, Mr. Gully stated his belief that 
“ the last Speaker who had the opportunity 
of airing his eloquence at the prorogation of 
Parliament was Mr. Manners Sutton, who 
ceased to be Speaker in 1835.” As Mr- 
Sidney I>ee, whose knowledge, like the 
“National Biography” he edited, is encyclo¬ 
paedic, pointed out, this custom survived to 
a much later date. So recently as the 
Session of 1854, when for the last time Queen 
Victoria went down to prorogue Parliament, 
the Speaker harangued Her Majesty at length 
on the course of the Session. 

In olden times, it being the Speaker’s only 
chance of letting himself go, the perform¬ 
ance was elaborate and extensive. Its 
opportunity was, however, strictly correlative 
with the presence of the Sovereign. No 
Sovereign, no speech. Possibly ruthless 
observance of the privilege may have had 
something to do with the abandonment of 
the Royal visit, and may influence His 
Majesty in contemplation of the propriety of 
resuming the practice. 

In the first two years of her reign, 1837 
and 1838, Queen Victoria, proroguing Par¬ 
liament, was addressed at length by Speaker 
Abercromby, standing at the Bar in wig and 
gown, escorted by the Mace, accompanied 
by the Chaplain, and inconveniently backed 
up from behind by a mob of members. The 
last Speaker who monopolized enjoyment of 
the privilege was Mr. Shaw - Lefevre, after¬ 
wards Viscount Eversley, and up to a recent 

Diqiiized by Google 

¥ o 


time still with us. He it was who, on the 
12th of August, 1854, made the last of these 
speeches to Queen Victoria, then in the 
prime of life and the fulness of domestic 
happiness. The oration, preserved in the 
sepulchre of Hansard, dealt largely with the 
Crimean War, then in progress. If Mr. 
Gully were called upon by the presence of 
the King to revive the custom he would, 
by striking coincidence, find a theme at hand 
in a war far exceeding that of the Crimea, 
alike in duration, in loss of blood, and of 
treasure. 

When diaries and letters now 
an anxious in manuscript leap to light a 
time. dramatic story will be told of pro¬ 
found anxiety in high quarters at 
a period preceding by three months the death 
of Queen Victoria. The actual condition of 
Her Majesty was carefully hidden from the 
public eye. It was only too well known by 
the Royal Family and its entourage. In 
October, 190c, “the war being over,” Lord 
Salisbury and his colleagues decided to rush 
a General Election. Even whilst it was 
taking place the Queen visibly sank. No 
one could say in the morning that collapse 
would not come before sundown. Day by 
day the General Election went forward. The 
difficulty was that should the Queen die 
before it was completed the several elections 
taken up to date would become void. ‘Others 
arranged for would not take place. The old 
Parliament, dissolved on the 25th of Sep¬ 
tember, would have sudden resurrection, 
meeting at Westminster to take the oath to 
the new Sovereign. Dissolution must be 
repeated, and the General Election taken 
again. 

When all the boroughs and counties on 
the mainland had polled there still remained 
Shetland and Orkney. This interval of a 
few days was the climax of anxiety. Had 
the demise of the Crown occurred whilst 
Orkney and Shetland were preparing for the 
poll, all the work would have been undone. 
The General Election, as we know, ended 
without a hitch, at least in this respect. But 
the elector throughout the kingdom little 
knew how closely his race with Death was 
watched from Windsor and Downing Street. 

Another better known but already almost 
forgotten difficulty arose in the earliest days 
of the still young Parliament. By an Act of 
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William IIL it was de¬ 
creed that dissolution 
should within the period 
of six months follow 
demise of the Crown. 

In 1867 this incon* 
venient and quite un¬ 
necessary injunction was 
abolished. In the same 
Session separate Bills 
were passed reforming 
the law in this res|>cct 
in Scotland and Ireland, 

The sapient drafters 
of the Bill relating to 
England, bearing in 
mind this fact, intro¬ 
duced a clause in the 
English Act providing 
that it “shall not 
extend to Scotland or 
to Ireland.” On the 
face of it the Act of 
1867 enforced a new 
General Election in 
Scotland and Ireland 
before July, 1901, that being the limit of the 
six months following the death of Queen 
Victoria* The matter was seriously argued, 
was indeed submitted for the opinion of the 
law Officers of the Crown. This was given on 
the common sense lines that 
the three several Acts should 
be construed together. 

Thus it came to pass that 
the English and Scotch Acts 
were operative in their 
respective countries, the 
restrictive clause in the 
English Act being ignored. 

The incident is curiously 
instructive as illustrating the 
slips occasionally made in 
drafting Acts of Parliament, 
and the readiness with 
which they are overlooked 
in both Houses* 

It is a saddening 
a narrow reflection that 
escape* within the me¬ 
mory of the pre¬ 
sent generation the nearest 
approach to bad language 
spoken in the House of 
Lords should have come 
from the Lord Chancellor. 

The event befell on one of 
the closing nights of last 
Session* The subject under 


THE i.OSD CHANCE LX. t>H HAS A NARROW EbCAl'ti, 



A UELTIlD earl THL'MMNG THE TAELF-." 


discussion was the Royal 
Declaration Bill, which 
Lord Rosebery attacked 
in a speech of unusual 
vigour* It was the out¬ 
come of the work of a 
committee over which 
the Lord Chancellor pre¬ 
sided. Lord Rosebery, 
inter a/ia, charged the 
committee with being 
unduly sensitive to 
criticism* 

“ I am not at all sensi¬ 
tive to the noble earl's 
observations,” said the 
Lord Chancellor, “and 
I do not believe there is 
one member of the com¬ 
mittee who cares a-” 

Happily the Lord 
Chancellor stopped, 
almost as he breathed 
the objectionable word, 
involuntarily formed on 
the lips of noble lords 
listening, A burst of laughter giving him 
pause, he continued: “Well, I do not want 
to use disagreeable expressions, and I will say 
there is no member who cares for the noble 
earl's criticisms.” This was felt to be rather 
a weak conclusion compared 
with what the sentence 
earlier promised. It was at 
least more Parliamentary* 
The Lord Chan¬ 
cellor was in 
part i c u 1 a r 1 y 

THE LORDS. P vdy form at 

this sitting* Lord Rose¬ 
bery's argument was that 
the form of declaration 
recommended by the Bill 
was so phrased that anyone 
might take it* ‘ £ Do you 
suppose,” he said, “ that 
Charles II. would not have 
made- this declaration with 
a ready voice and an easy 
conscience? And yet 
Charles IL,” he added, with 
tremendous thump on the 
table sufficient in force to 
have taken off the head of 
Charles I*, “ died in com¬ 
munion with the Church of 
Rome*" 

Noble lords looked on 
with raised eyebrows and 


AMENITIES 
IN 


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Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR . 


79 


slightly curled lips* This sort of thing was 
all very well in the House of Commons. 
They had heard of—some had seen—Mr, 
Gladstone standing at the table whacking the 
brass-bound box or beating the palm of his 
left hand with his right, with noise that 
almost drowned his ordered speech. But to 
have a helled earl thumping the table in the 
House of Dords was quite a new thing. It 
came nearer to presage of abolition of the 
mstitution than anything else uttered at 
Northampton or elsewhere. The Lord 
Chancellor, in a concluding sentence of his 
speech, neatly phrased reproach of this 
iLgrant departure from House of lords’ form, 
“I feel,” he said, “as 
strongly on this matter as 
does the noble earl, though 
I admit I have no piece of 
furniture within my reach 
to enable me by strength of 
muscle to supply lack of 
argument/' 

It was assumed 
ihe lie and asserted at 
direct. the time that 

Mr* Dillon beat 
the record when early this 
Session he gave the lie direct 
to Mr. Chamberlain. That 
is not the case* The record 
Tii5 established by the late 
Dr. Tanner, though to give 
Vfr. Dillon his due he 
freshened it up by the em¬ 
broidery of an adjective. It 
was towards the end ot the 
Session of 1S95 that l)r. 

Tanner broke out, from 
the opening of the sitting 
he had been in ominous 
state of unrest According 
to his habit it developed the 
form of extreme desire that other members 
should observe orderly conduct. Once, Mr. 
Balfour venturing to smile at some bombast 
on the part cf Mr. John Redmond, Dr. 
fanner rose and protested that he “ felt 
bound to call attention to the indecorous 
behaviour of the gentleman who is Leader 
of the House/' I^ter, Mr. Balfour, dealing 
*nh the state of public business, made the 
->bvious remark that at the period of the 
'session reached it was waste of time for 
private members to bring in new Bills, To 
I>l Tanners active logical mind this irresis¬ 
tibly suggested affairs in the far East. 

“ Does the right hon. gentleman,” he 
shouted, sternly regarding Mr. Balfour, 

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“ really intend to try and prevent the murder 
of any more missionaries in China?” 

After this, anything might be expected, 
and it was not long in coming. In debate 
on the Address—the first Session of the new 
Parliament opened, of all dates, on the 12th 
of August—Mr. Harrington observed that 
the late Government had run away from 
Home Rule. 

“That's a lie ! ” shouted Dr. Tanner. 

The Speaker was up in a minute, calling 
upon him to withdraw the offensive word and 
apologize. 

“No, no,” said the Doctor, remaining 
seated and still burning with desire that 

everything should 
be done in order, 
“ I cannot get up, 
you know, so long 
as you are on your 
legs.” 

That was indis¬ 
putable, it being a 
serious breach of 
order for a member 
to rise whilst the 
Speaker is upstanding. 
Without more ado Dr. 
Tanner was named. In 
the absence of Mr, Balfour, 
Mr. Chamberlain moved the 
resolution of suspension. 
The Doctor refusing to 
withdraw, the Serjeant - at - 
Arms was bidden to remove 
him. As he approached, the 
apostle of order rose and 
walked down the gangway. 
At sight of Mr. Chamberlain 
seated on the Treasury 
Bench a storm of fury shook 
him. Drawing himself up to 
full height, stretching forth 
his arm as if levelling a pistol at the head of 
the Colonial Secretary, he yelled, “Judas' 
Judas ! Judas ! ” and so went forth. 

'This was his last prominent appearance on 
the Parliamentary stage. 

What is familiarly known in 
, ^ the House of Commons as the 

wn lTx Twelveo'Clock Ruleiscommonly 

regarded as a modern invention. 
DIFFERENCE.r,” iU r 

But there is nothing new under 

the sun, and this particular product is at 
least two and a half centuries old. In the 
Journals of the House there will be found, 
under date 1645, the following Standing 
Order : “ That no new motion of any busi¬ 
ness whatsoever shall be made after twelve 
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


o'clock, and that Mr* Speaker should not 
hear any new motion after twelve o'clock,” 
Two years later, in order to make the matter 
more clear, it was ordered that “as soon as 
the clock strikes twelve the House shall rise.” 

There is, of course, this important differ¬ 


ence between the two conditions of things* 
Whilst with us the Twelve o’Clock Rule means 
midnight, in the seventeenth century it struck 
at noon* 

Members who, in debate on the new Pro¬ 
cedure Rules, grumbled at the prospect of 
meeting as early as two in the afternoon will 
be pleased to be reminded that in the time 
of James I* eight o'clock in the morning was 
the hour at which the Speaker took the 
Chair* Once at least in the spacious times of 
Queen Elizabeth they met at 6 a*m. That 
was a special occasion, when, having obtained 
permission of Her Majesty to attend at eight, 
the Commons held a preliminary meeting “to 
treat on what shall be delivered touching the 
reasons of their proceedings* 11 In 1614 the 
House met at 7 a.m., an order that remained 
in force for twenty-eight years* But the wind 
was tempered to the shorn Iamb, inasmuch 
as the Stuart Kings were accustomed to 
interpose prolonged recesses in the sittings 
of their Parliaments. 

Last Session 6,448 questions 
a prime appeared on the paper, being 
hull. raised to a minimum of the round 
10,000 by supplementary in¬ 
quiries* For the most part these were of the 
style and character of that delightful one put 
on a February afternoon this year by Mr* 
Field, addressed to the Chief Secretary for 
Ireland* Mr. Wyndham having replied to 



the question on the paper, the member for 
St* Patrick's Division of Dublin rose in ail 
the majesty of a spotless shirt - front and 
protuberant cuffs. 

“ Mr. Speaker, sir,” he said, in tragic 
tones, “arising out of that answer, I wish to 
say I did not hear what 
the right bon. gentleman 
said*" 

For a bull that is about 
as {icrfect an animal as is 
bred out of Ireland. It is 
one of the rules feebly 
governing the putting of 
questions that, when a reply 
has been given by a 
Minister, further interred 
gation is permissible only 
in direct conned ion with 
the answer* Whenever an 
Irish member wants to put 
a supplementary question — 
and he invariably does—he 
prefaces it with a formula 
“ arising out of that answer*'’ 
Hence Mr* Field's stum¬ 
bling. 

In the earliest days of his reign 
the king's King Edward VII* introduced a 
speech, new order of things in connec¬ 
tion with the Speech from the 
Throne at the opening of the Session. 
During the reign of Queen Victoria it was 
the practice not only to furnish copies of the 
document to the leaders of the Opposition 
in both Houses for the information of their 
colleagues, but to communicate a full precis 
to the newspapers. By order of the King, 
whilst the Leaders of the Opposition were 
last Session and this provided with a copy of 
the Speech* which they read before dinner 
to their guests, the newspapers were left to 
their own devices in the effort to forecast the 
Speech* 

This is even a wider departure from 
the practice that obtained in the days of 
George IV. No secret was then made about 
the Speech, copies being circulated among 
members some days before the Session 
opened. Canning mentions, in a passage 
quoted by Mr. Walpole, a curious practice 
that obtained in his day. “It was the 
custom,” he said, “ the night before the 
commencement of a Session to read to such 
members as might think proper to assemble 
to hear it, at a place called the Cockpit, the 
Speech with which the King's Ministers 
had advised His Majesty to open Session.” 
Cockpit and custom have both disappeared 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



V TZ, ^ . 

IS THE 8ULL*FIELtX 






FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR . 


8 r 


The original Cockpit was part of the build¬ 
ing of ancient Whitehall, and came in course 
of time to be devoted to the business and 
convenience of the Treasury. 

In Parliamentary records the 
“adequate ”longest drawn out apology made 
apology, by a member of the House of 

Commons 1 find in content 
porary records of more than sixty years ago. 
The offender was Mr. Kearsley, member for 
Wigan. He seems to have been, in personal 
appearance as in other respects, a character. 
He is described as. having 
“a little, round, pug-looking 
face, with an ample harvest 
of black, bushy hair, with 
whiskers to match ; a little, 
thick-set man with an in¬ 
clination to corpulence." 

Notice is taken of “an 
expressive look of self-com¬ 
placency irradiating his 
globularly-formed, country- 
complexioned countenance, 
while his small, bright eyes 
ever peered triumphantly 
over his little cocked - up 
nose,” 

In the Session of 1836, 
the House being in Com¬ 
mittee on the Stamp Duty 
and Excise, Mr. Kearsley, 
following Mr. Roebuck, 
appealing directly to Lord 
John Russell, asked “ with 
what pleasure he had lis¬ 
tened to the disgusting 
speech of the honourable 
and learned member for 
Bath." The Chairman of 
Committees, Mr. Bernal (known to later Par- 
fiaments as Bernal Osborne), ruled the expres¬ 
sion out of order and called for its withdrawal. 

“Sir," said Mr. Kearsley, “a more dis¬ 
gusting speech I never heard." 

Thereupon, amid shouts of “Order ' ” he 
left his seat, and with a profound bow to the 
Chair, and a gracious wave of farewell with 
his right hand, made for the door. A crowd 
standing there blocked bis way and Mr. 
Kearsley returned to his seat. Mr. Paul 
Methuen, grandfather of our wounded Lord 
Methuen, who sat through several Parlia¬ 
ments as member for Wiltshire, insisted upon 
retraction of the offensive word and apology. 
Mr. Kearsley was on his legs again before 
the Chairman could say a word, and cried 
aloud, “Paul, Paul, why persecutes! thou 


EARLY 

CLOSING- 



A FANCY PORTS A fT, 


me?” In the end, after much pressure, Mr. 
Kearsley withdrew the word but did not 
apologize. 

In this same Parliament sat Mr. 
Brotherton, member for Salford, 
who distinguished himself in a 
more sane manner. In boyhood 
a factory hand, he in course of time ran a 
factory of his own, which made him one of 
the richest of Manchester men. His pre¬ 
dominant idea in connection with Parlia¬ 
mentary life was to get members off to bed 
by half-past twelve. Session 
after Session he was in his 
place, and on the hand of 
the dock passing the half- 
hour after midnight he rose 
and moved the adjourn¬ 
ment. If a big debate were 
in progress he refrained 
from interference. His con¬ 
viction was that no new 
business should be taken 
after half-past twelve, 
wherein he was nearly half 
a century before his time. 

Old members familiar 
with the House in the 
seventies, when, if the ad¬ 
journment took place before 
two o J clock in the morning, 
it was counted a sort of 
half-holiday, will recall the 
enormous relief the adop¬ 
tion of Mr, Brotherton's 
resolution brought with it. 
The House having with 
immense difficulty been 
brought to pass a rule 
forbidding the undertaking 
of fresh business after half - past twelve 
soon moved the hand of the clock back to 
midnight, and finally reached the existing 
beneficent rule that peremptorily, even to 
the shutting - up of a member on his legs, 
closes debate at that hour. So absolutely 
has fashion changed within the memory of 
many seated in the present House that, 
whereas thirteen years ago the adjournment 
rarely took place before 1 a.nr, members 
to-day resent extension of a silting even five 
minutes beyond midnight It frequently 
happens that when the Twelve o’Clock Rule 
has been solemnly suspended, giving mem¬ 
bers leave to sit till any hour of the morning 
they please, the pending division has taken 
place immediately after midnight, and by 
half-past twelve the lights were out. 


Vu| r jiiv. —-Tl- 


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Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



The Ipswich Express. 

Bv G, H. Pace. 



QULDNT you find me a 
carriage with a lady in 
it ?” said Lily Freeston, a 
little doubtfully, as the porter 
opened the door of a first- 
class carriage which was 
quite empty, and began to pack her dressing- 
bag and roll of rugs into the rack. 

“ Well, miss, 1 * said he, apologetically, 
though there are a good many people going 
by this train, there are not many going first- 
class. But very likely some may come yet, 
for there’s still twenty minutes before you're 
off, and 111 look out for any ladies, and if 1 
can manage it I’ll put them in here*” 

He spoke with an eye to his tip, and the 
grateful Idly at once gave him a shilling. 
Then he went off and forgot all about her 
in the doing of other jobs, and the carriage 
remained empty. 

In a way Lily found it pleasant to be alone, 
and could she have felt certain of remaining 
alone during the whole two hours of her 
journey she would have been quite happy. 
But it was the uncertainty, the possibility or 
having to travel with some objectionable 
companion, which gave her a slight sense of 
uneasiness. 

She chose her seat in the corner facing the 
engine, but she did not 
sit down at once. She 
stood instead at the ot>en 
door, watching the crowd 
hurrying about the plat¬ 
form. There were plenty 
of people, as the porter 
had said, but all, obvi¬ 
ously, were going second 
or third class. There 
were mothers with large 
families of children, there 
were schoolboys and 
young people, there was 
a group of Salvation 
lasses, a clergyman, and 
a much-flustered old lady, 
carrying a bird - cage m 
one hand and a band- 
box in the other Her 
perturbation arose from 
the fact that she had 
not seen her trunk put 
into the luggage-van with 
her own eyes, and it was 





iquizeo e 


A 




oogle 


in vain that an irascible porter insisted that 
he, at least, knew he had done so with bn 
own hands. The old lady was neither to be 
soothed nor to be intimidated. She appealed 
volubly to the station master, who happened 
to be standing at hand. 

Lily could see her action, could see her 
gesticulation, while not hearing what she said. 
And the girl couldn’t help smiling at the way 
in which the old lady waved the band-box and 
the bird-cage about, couldn't help wondering 
how the bird, beneath the green-baize cover, 
was enjoying his tempestuous experiences. 
Finally, it seemed to Lily that the station 
master invited the old lady to accompany 
him to the luggage-van and verify the where¬ 
abouts of the box herself, for he walked off 
towards the rear of the train and the old 
lady trotted after him. 

By this time most of the other passengers 
had taken their places and the plaLform was 
nearly empty. Only a nice-looking young 
man in a grey summer suit remained, and he 
kept looking now at his watch and now 
through each of the station entrances as he 
sauntered by them, as if he were awaiting 
the arrival of a friend. 

41 No, she won't come," said Lily to herself, 
as she watched him. “I’m afraid she was so 
long doing her hair—and 
of course she wanted to 
do it extra well to day— 
that she missed the train. 
You will have to go with¬ 
out her or to wait for the 
next. But you look much 
too nice to go without 
her. I'm sure you*11 wait 
for the next.” 

A guard carrying a 
green flag came along 
banging - to the carriage- 
doors, and Lily sat down 
in her corner, satisfied at 
last that she was going to 
make the journey alone ; 
for after leaving Liverpool 
Street the train did not 
stop again until it reached 
Ipswich. 

She did not anticipate 
being dull. First of all, 
the mere sensation of 
being carried along at 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE IPSWICH EXPRESS. 


*3 


the rate of sixty miles an hour was an 
amusement to her * then she liked look¬ 
ing out of the window at the hamlets and 
country houses flying past her and imagining 
liule stories about the people who lived in 
them ; and finally, when she should tire of 
this, she had plenty of magazines and papers 
with which to beguile the time* 

She had also the letter home to her aunt 
which she had begun in the train coming up 


matter, for I don't feel a bit lonely or 
fright-— J ’ 

At that instant the door was snatched 
open, a bag was flung in, and a tali, black- 
bearded man, with a big cigar in his mouth, 
dashed in after it. He stumbled over Lily's 
feet without a word of apology, shut the 
door behind him with a furious slam, and 
precipitated himself into the farthest opposite 
corner of the carriage* Lily looked at him 



l< IfR rHECIriTATKD HIMSELF INTO TUB FARTHEST OPPOSITE CORNEJt.' 


from Tunbridge, and she thought she would 
fust go on with that. So she took her bag 
down from the rack, found her little writing- 
pad and pencil, and putting the point of the 
latter between her pretty lips to darken it 
went on with the narrative of her travel ad¬ 
ventures where she had broken off: — 

“ I got across London from Charing Cross 
to Liverpool Street all right, and the cabman 
was very nice; and when I asked him * How 
much ? T he said : * Well, since it’s you, miss, 
well say five shillings/ which was very kind 
of him, wasn’t it? and not a bit extortionate, 
as Jack said he would be, for it was really 
an immense way here, and through such 
crowded, horrid streets that it must have 
been most difficult to drive. Now 1 am in 
the Ipswich train in a carriage all to myself, 
for I couldn’t find any other ladies to travel 
with, as you wished; but it doesn’t really 

Digitized by GoO^lc 


in amazement and dismay* Really this was 
worse than anything she could have possibly 
foreseen. It was simply impossible for her to 
travel in a carriage with a man who smoked, 
for the smell of smoke always made her ill, 
always gave her a bad headache* She could 
not sit ten minutes in her cousin Jack’s 
smoking room without the atmosphere 
affecting her. To be shut up for two hours 
in the company of that big cigar was 
absolutely out of the question* Yet what 
was she to do ? Was it possible for her to 
change carriages ? She gave a despairing 
glance at her various possessions scattered 
over the seats, at her heavy dressing bag, at 
her big bundle of wraps and rugs up in the 
rack opposite her, and which she could noi 
even lift down herself. No, it was impossible 
that she could change carriages in time, and 
yet what on earth was she to do ? 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








S 4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


She could think of nothing better than an 
appeal to the stranger’s good feeling, since 
he, at least, could get into another carnage 
without any difficulty. And, no doubt, he 
had made a mistake in entering this carriage 
instead of the next one. She remembered 
now to have noticed that the next compart¬ 
ment was a smoking - compartment, and 
probably in his hurry he had mistaken the 
doors. 

He looked a gentleman, Lily decided, 
although she immediately discovered that he 
was a very odd-looking man, too ; while cer¬ 
tainly his mode of entrance had not been 
over-courteous. Still, she felt perfectly sure 
that he would be willing to move himself 
rather than put her to such inconvenience 
and discomfort. 

“ Pardon me, 1 ’ she said, with timid courage, 


his upper lip drew back in an ugly way, 
reminding her of some ill-tempered dog. 

“ You object to me smoking ? ” he asked, 
speaking with a strong foreign accent, in a 
hard, curious, unmodulated voice. 

“Well—yes, I do/* said Lily, bravely. 
u Tt makes me feel ill, and that is why I 
came into this carriage, which is not a 
smoking-carriage. But there is a smoking- 
compartment on that side, next door. You 
will have time to change, if you are quick. 
Please, please, be quick, and change ! ” 

But the stranger merely put hack his cigar 
between his teeth, and continued to turn on 
her a fierce and flickering gaze. 

“You object to me smoking?” he re¬ 
peated, just as before. “You make me 
observations ? You tell me go into amizzet 
carriage? Now, look he-a ire.’ 1 



“but I think you have made a mistake? 
This is not a smoking-carriage.” 

There was something really extremely odd 
in the appearance of this foreign looking 
man, who might be French, who might be 
Italian ; who wore a soft hat, a voluminous 
H bat's-wing ,J cape, and a sparse, stubbly 
black beard. There was something odd and 
repellent, too, in the damp white skin, the 
thick black eyebrows, the black, flickering, 
staring eyes, which were now fixed upon her, 
and which filled her with nervous trepidations. 

He took his cigar from his mouth when 
she had begun to speak, and one corner of 

Digitized by Google 


He slipped a hand into a pocket beneath 
his cloak and produced a tiny revolver, which 
he laid beside him on the arm of the seat, 
keeping his hand upon it. 

“ I allow- no one in ze world to interfere 
wiz me, to make me remarks, and T carry 
this about wlz me/ 1 he pointed the weapon 
straight at Lily's face, “to give a lesson to 
those peoples who do not let me alone.” 

At first Lily had gone crimson with 
surprise at being spoken to in such a manner. 
Never in the world had any man answered 
her with such rudeness before. But when he 
produced the pistol, then she had felt the warm 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















THE IPSWICH EXPRESS . 


85 


blood rush back from her beating head to her 
heart. She grew pale, she grew cold, she 
grew paler still. For suddenly she under¬ 
stood the awful truth. The man was mad ! 
She was shut up alone in a carriage with a 
madman ! 

And at the very instant that she realized 
the full horror of the situation the train 
began to move slowly and smoothly out of 
the station. 

Terror kept her rigid as a figure of stone, 
and it was well for her that it was so. For 
though the madman’s eye was unsteady, 
though it flickered the whole time, still he 
never removed it from her; he kept his hand 
always on the handle of the little pistol by 
his side. 

She understood, intuitively, that were she 
to scream, were she to open the door, were 
she to try to pull the cord of communication 
with the guard—were she, in fact, to make 
any attempt to obtain help, he would fire at 
once. The desire for \iolence was clearly 
expressed in his glance. 

And probably, even although she sat per¬ 
fectly quiet, he would kill her all the same. 
And she looked at the glittering muzzle of 
the tiny weapon, and wondered how soon 
her death-blow would spring out from it. 
Heavens! It was too horrible, too impos¬ 
sible, that she, Lily Freeston, so young and so 
happy, with so many people who were fond 
of her, with Aunt Mary thinking about her 
probably at that very moment, with her 
friend Maggie Parker expecting her at 
Ipswich, with so many pretty frocks in her 
trunk to be worn during her visit, that she 
should find herself in imminent peril of her 
life, shut up alone in a railway carriage with 
a madman. 

It was like some horrible nightmare, and 
yet it was worse than any nightmare she had 
ever suffered from, for it was actual fact, it 
was actually true. 

What could she do ? 

The advertisements on the walls of the 
station began to slide past her, those adver¬ 
tisements of soap, of blacking, of beer, which 
she knew so well, which she had read 
hundreds of times in hundreds of idle, 
empty moments, and amidst all the con¬ 
fused, troubled, agonized thoughts which 
seemed to struggle and shout together 
in her brain came the ridiculous little 
regret that this was the last time she 
would ever read, these familiar advertise¬ 
ments, ever be bored by their monotonous 
reiterations. For in another minute she 
would be carried away from all aid, from 

Diqilized by CiOOO lc 

* o 


all human proximity, out into the open 
country, alone with this madman, and what¬ 
ever then happened her cries would be lost 
in the noise of the rushing train, which would 
not again stop until it reached Ipswich. 

Her fingers trembled on the pencil which 
she still held poised over her unfinished 
letter, and suddenly an inspiration came to 
her—a Heaven-sent inspiration which thrilled 
her with a last faint hope of help, which com¬ 
forted her with the idea of, at least, making 
her desperate circumstances known to some 
fellow-being. 

She carried this idea out with a coolness 
and courage which were Heaven-sent too. 

All this while, and it appears to be a 
certain while in the reading, although in point 
of time it passed in a very few seconds, 
she had her eyes raised to the madman’s, 
who watched her interrogatively, expecting 
an answer to his information. Now she 
gave one. 

“Very well,” she said, gently, and she was 
astonished to detect no alteration in her 
voice, it sounded just as usual. “You shall 
go on smoking and I will go on with my 
letter.” 

Now the writing-pad consisted of detach¬ 
able sheets, which could be turned back as 
each page was finished and all held to¬ 
gether, or any separate page could be easily 
pulled out. Lily turned a page now, and 
wrote on the next one: “ Pray help me, I 
am so frightened ” (an unexpected termina¬ 
tion this to the gay courage of her unfinished 
sentence to her aunt), and then added 
another couple of words, any words, non¬ 
sense words, and promptly scratched them 
through, as if she had made a mistake. 
Immediately, with a well-assumed little 
frown of vexation, she tore out the page and 
crumpled it up in her hand. 

Now she rose with an air of indifference 
and let her glance fall out of the window. 
There were the long boards of the platform 
slipping by her, running away to converge in 
a single point in the distance ; there was a 
porter—the very porter to whom she had 
given the shilling—rolling and rattling milk- 
cans from one part of the station to the 
other ; there stood the young man in grey, 
still waiting, and talking now with the station- 
master. Everything was calm, placid, ordi¬ 
nary ; everyone was absolutely indifferent to 
her peril. And yet she was being carried 
away from all security, from all calmness, to 
a horrible uncertainty, most likely to a violent 
death. 

The young man in grey happened to raise 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



86 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



“ SHIt HAD SltEtt THE VOUNG WAPf TICK IT Ot/' 


his eyes to hers, although he was a long vvay 
from her, far down the moving platform. 

With apparent carelessness she threw the 
little ball of paper out and sat down again 
to write. But she had thrown it with a 
definite aim, she had seen it roll to the feet 
of the two men, she had seen the young man 
pick it up. He was smoothing it out in his 
fingers when the station passed out of 
sight. 

So far her scheme had worked success¬ 
fully, But what result would it have? Could 
it have any result ? What would the young 
man do? What would the station-master 
do? Was it possible for them to do any¬ 
thing at all? They would probably think it 
some silly girl's joke. 

Yet even if they believed her to be in need 
of help, what could they do ? 

And she sat pretending to continue her 
letter, while asking herself with anguish 
whether there were really any means of over¬ 
taking an express train, of stopping her? 
Perhaps they would telegraph on to the next 
station and have her stopped by signal, but 
perhaps the next station was ever so far off, 
and before they reached it she might be 
already dead. 

An unconquerable fascination made her 
look up, to see the man in the corner watch¬ 
ing her with a cruel malignancy while his 


fingers caressed the handle of the revolver; 
and she bent again over her writing-pad, on 
which she traced mechanically nonsense 
words, while she said to herself: H Now he 
will fire* Before I get to the end of the next 
line he will fire* How unhappy poor auntie 
will be when she hears the news! I suppose 
she will read of it in to-morrow's paper,” 
And the girl felt her eyes fill with tears as 
she imagined her Aunt Mary’s grief. 

A shadow fell across the paper* The 
window was suddenly darkened* Someone 
was standing outside the carriage on the foot¬ 
board looking in over the door. 

It was the young man in grey, and when 
Lily recognised his fair, strong, and handsome 
English face, so much passionate relief and 
gratitude welled up into her wet blue eyes 
that he instantly saw he had done right in 
obeying the impulse which told him to spring 
upon the flying train. He had thrust Lily’s 
paper into the hands of the station-master, 
had run along the platform, and leaped upon 
the footboard of one of the rear carriages as 
it whirled past him* The rest had been a 
mere matter of agility and nerve. Now, 
another glance into the carriage revealed to 
him the state of the case. 

He turned the handle, stepped up, and sat 
down opposite the young girl* 

“ Well, I very nearly missed the train this 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















THE IPSWICH EXPRESS. 


87 


time I” said be, with courteous carelessness. 
“ Hadn’t you given me up ?” 

Lily gave a little gasp, and then under’ 
stood he was assuming the role of brother or 
friend to give himself the right of protecting 
her. 

t£ Yes,” she told him. u I had given up 


sion t an express coming from the other 
direction seemed one long line of glittering 
windows, one long, continuous roar 

Had the young man in grey seen the 
pistol ? Lily could not he sure, for he gave 
no answering sign, and his manner was 
exceedingly bright and irrelevant 



hope altogether,” and there was real truth in 
the words. 

Watching his face intently, she read his 
wishes. 

“*Wil! you not come and sit over here?” 
she asked him, and began clearing her things 
away from the place beside her 

He changed places in the most natural 
way possible, and appeared to pay no atten¬ 
tion at all to the traveller in the far corner. 
But Lily knew r that the move had been made 
for the very purpose of observing him, and 
by a little sign she indicated to the young 
man in grey the pistol lying under the 
French mail's hand, and now half hidden by 

1 fold of his cloak. 

The man was still smoking, while he stared 
m front of him w ith an assumed air of mental 
preoccupation, although every now and then 

2 glint from hts flickering eye fell upon his 
companions in the carriage. 

T he train every moment was increasing in 
speed. The carriage swayed and rattled, the 
telegraph-posts leaped past in quick succes- 



u By Jove, that was a very close thing," 
said he. “And if I hadn’t come by this 
train I don't think the girls would ever have 
forgiven me. They make such a point of it. 
But now I want you,” he continued, “to 
keep a look-out on the opposite window. 
We arc going to pass directly a very extra¬ 
ordinary sight. We are going to pass a 
house built without any front to it, by a man 
who is consumptive, and hopes to cure 
himself on the open-air system. It looks 
precisely like a dolls 1 house with the door 
open. You can see into all the rooms. 
There ! There it is! Do you see it?” he 
cried eagerly, getting up to point it out, and 
Lily jumped up and looked with all her eyes, 
and the Frenchman half rose and looked too. 

Was there such a house as the young mart 
described? Lily could not tell, for the train 
had reached full speed, and the whole country¬ 
side wheeled and curved and spun into view, 
and reeled away again behind them, before she 
had time to detect any one particular thing 
But in the same instant that her bewildered 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















83 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


eyes searched vainly fur this house, the young 
man in grey had sprung across the carriage, 
had stooped down and seized the pistol, and 
had flung it far out of the window over the 
Frenchman’s head 


or were trodden under foot And still the 
men wrestled, and still the train rushed for¬ 
ward, and Lily* very pale and tremulous, 
waited for the end. But she never felt one 
moment’s doubt of the strength or capacity 



lt Oh, take care ! Ir cried Lily, for she saw 
him turn in a paroxysm of fury upon the 
young man in grey, and the next moment the 
two were locked in a fierce struggle on the 
carriage floor. 

The train shrieked, and rattled* and 
banged, the two men wrestled with clenched 
teeth one to overpower the other, and Lily, 
standing as far out of the way as she could, 
pressed back her cries with trembling little 
hands. 

Everything in the carriage was overset ; 
newspapers, books, and papers were scattered 
on the floor. The maniac clutching hold of 
the bar of the net-rack to prevent his 
opponent from throwing him brought the 
whole affair down. Down with it came his 
own bag, insecurely fastened and hurriedly 
packed. Its mouth opened and it vomited 
forth a strange flood of heterogeneous con¬ 
tents : pomatum, socks, brushes, soap, medi¬ 
cine bottles full and empty, china dogs and 
shepherdesses looking like a hasty collection 
from a mantelpiece or chiffonnier, a large 
piece of bread, and quantities of fine cigars, 
which rolled into every corner of the carriage 

Digitized by Google 


of the young man in grey. Nor, embarrassed 
as the maniac was by the heavy hanging 
cloak, was there ever any chance of his doing 
harm. 

“If I could but manage to tie his legs, 11 
said the young man, who had now got him 
pinioned in a corner by the arms, ** I think 
it would settle him,” and he looked about 
him Tor some sort of ligature. “ Haven’t you 
got some rugs? Then take one of the straps. 
Now, try to pass it round his ankles here. 
Yes! Now once more, and pull tight* 
Tighter still ! There, that's right. Give me 
the other strap, and well put it round his 
arms—so.” 

The man lay on the floor of the carriage 
securely bound. He lay quiet and silent, 
only his eyes gave sign of life. And with 
these eyes still burning with fury and madness 
he followed the movements of the young 
people. 

Lily was filled with pity for him. 

“ Boor creature,” she said, “ how terrible l 
How wretched he looks ! Do you think him 
in pain? Are those straps hurting him, 
perhaps? Do put this cushion under his 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







THE IPSWICH EXPRESS . 


89 


head. But surely we are slowing down ? 
We are going to stop.” 

And the train really was drawing up at an 
unimportant little station, where perhaps no 
express train had ever stopped before, and 
the officials of this station came running 
along the footboard even before she had 
stopped, looking into all the carriages. And 
there was a great commotion when they came 
to Lily's carriage, which looked almost as if 
it had been wrecked, and there were hurried 
questions and explanations, and much com¬ 
miseration for the young lady. 

But the train was bound to reach Ipswich 
at a fixed hour. There could be no delay¬ 
ing. Two guards were put into the carriage 
to take care of the unfortunate lunatic, and 
Lily’s property was collected and carried by 
willing hands to another compartment. In 
less than five minutes the train was off again, 
and Lily and the young man in grey, sitting 
facing one another, were once more rushing 
through the green open country. But what a 
difference there was in the girl’s feelings! How 
calm, how relieved, how happy she felt now ! 

“ You must have had an awful moment 
when you first realized he was mad,” said the 
young man. 

“ Oh, I felt as though my hair were going 
grey. Has it gone grey, perhaps ? ” she 
asked, anxiously. “For I have "heard of 
such things happening.” 

“ No ; it’s yellow—the colour of corn in 
the sun,” said the young man, gravely. 

“ I’m so glad,” exclaimed Lily, joyfully, 
“for I am going to a dance to-night, and it 
would have been horrid to have looked in 
the glass and found I had grey hair.” 

“ I, too, to-night, am going to a dance,” 
said the young man, “and I was to have 
escorted some ladies down from town who 
were going to it too; but as they did not 
turn up at the station I was going to wait for 
the next train, which starts twenty minutes 
later, as I supposed they had missed the 
express, when your message reached me.” 

“ What made you see at once that, it was 
serious ? I was so afraid it might be thought 
just a joke.” 

“Oh, I had noticed you on the station 
long before, and I knew you were not the 
sort of girl to play that kind of joke,” said the 
young man, gravely, and Lily blushed with a 
certain pleasure at his words. 

“Poor auntie will be so dreadfully upset 
when she hears of my adventures. She was 
to have come with me, but I left her in bed 
this morning with neuralgia. She hated my 
having to travel alone ; although, of course, 

VoL x*ir.-l2. 


we never could have imagined anything so 
dreadful as this.” 

“ Have you friends to meet you at 
Ipswich?” asked the young man. 

“Oh, yes, the Parkers will meet me. Maggie 
Parker is my greatest friend. And it is at their 
house that the dance is to be to-night.” 

“ So you know the Parkers ? That's splen¬ 
did ! For I, too, know them very well. And I, 
too, am going down expressly for that dance. 
It’s jolly to think I shall see you again.” 

The delightful and amazing turn things 
were taking gave a new lustre to Lily's blue 
eyes and began to bring back some colour 
to her pale face. And while she sat in a 
kind of joy dream, glancing every now and 
then shyly at the handsome, open, sunburnt 
face of the young man in grey, Ipswich was 
reached and her attention was turned to a 
group of young people on the platform await¬ 
ing the arrival of the train. 

“ Oh, there are the Parkers ! ” cried Lily. 
“ How nice ! There are Maggie, and Ethel, 
and Joe.” 

And “ Lily, dearest! ” cried a girl, running 
forward, as she and the young man in grey 
got out of the train, “ there you are! And 
where is Mrs. Walters? Neuralgia? Oh, 
I’m so sorry ! And mother will . be dis¬ 
appointed. But Frank has managed, I see, 
to find you out after all. Very clever of 
him, since we told him to look out for two 
ladies, one of whom would have white curls. 
How did you manage, Frank, to recognise 
Lily Freeston all by herself?” 

Lily stared in helpless bewilderment, for the 
young man in grey was kissing the Parker 
girls all round in the most brotherly fashion. 

“ But don't you know it’s P>ank ? ” cried 
Maggie Parker, astonished in her turn. 
“ You must have often heard us speak of 
Frank, our sailor brother, and he has run up 
from Portsmouth on purpose to come to our 
dance. Do you mean to say you have 
travelled all the way from London together 
and still require to be introduced ? ” 

“ Oh, we have a great deal to tell you,” 
said Lieutenant Parker, “ but I suggest that 
we don’t tell it here or now. Miss Freeston 
is looking pale and tired. Let us take her 
home and restore her with some tea. After 
tea you shall hear the whole exciting story.” 

Lily was very grateful for the suggestion. 
For now that the danger was over and the 
reaction had set in, she was really feeling 
strangely tired and weak. And yet in her 
heart the sun was shining too, for she knew 
that for herself another and an exquisite story 
had begun. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


Dutch Htimorous Arlists. 

Bv Arthur Lord. 

[Attention is drawn to the fact that the present series of articles on the Humorous Artists of the World 
have already dealt with English artists in January, 1902 ; with those of Germany in April, 1901 ; with 
those of France in Deceml^r, 1901 ; with those of America in 11 arch, April, and May, 190 Z \ and with 

those of Australasia in June, 1902.] 



'* 37 ^ 


ET us say at once 
that an artist re¬ 
ceives little prac¬ 
tical encourage¬ 
ment in Holland, 

He gets so little money lor 
his work, and so little work 
for his money, that there is 
but small stimulus for him 
to devote his whole energy 
to art. It is true, moreover, 
that black-and-white artists 
who are capable of doing 
comic work of first - class 
quality find a like lack of 
encouragement for their 
efforts ; and if the humorous 
artists are few and far be¬ 
tween in the Netherlands, 
and the comic papers fewer, 
it is because there is little money in circulation 
in Holland and but a small public to buy. 

Under these somewhat depressing con¬ 
ditions there is yet a small band of labourers 
in the vineyard, and if, in opposition to these 


MK, JOHAN 

Fro hi a 


conditions, they have suc¬ 
ceeded in turning out many 
humorous drawings which 
render the few existing 
comic papers attractive to 
their countrymen, it is an 
artistic history of which they 
may well be proud. The 
artist, and especially the 
humorous draughtsman, 
cannot be said to accept 
these conditions without a 
murmur, blit it is a lovv 
murmur at the best. Their 
experience of it, and the 
experience of their fathers 
before them, has become 
proverbial, and at the pre¬ 
sent time the successful 
artist is the man who 
does something else. 

Art and literature go hand in hand, and the 
following words from a little book called 
11 Dutch Life in Town and Country,” recently 
published by George Newnes, Ltd,, may be 


ukaakensjlk. 
by C. rermeulcs. 




UftAWtt ( 3 V JOHAN BRAAKENivlElcingjnal f 1 X 3 Hi 

'8 le UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























DUTCH HUMOROUS ARTISTS- 


9i 



MB. JAV LINtsfcl 
a Phut* 1. bit PvirpiAffhatitteH, 


as truthfully applied to the existing artistic 
conditions in Holland as they are correct in 
describing the literary conditions. “It is a 
great drawback to literary effort in Holland,” 
says the writer* “ that the honoraria paid to 
authors are so low that most writers who 
happen not to be pecuniarily independent 
—and they are the majority—are unable to 
mate a tolerable subsistence at home by 
the pen alone and are obliged to contribute 
to foreign publications, and some even resort 
to teaching.” Unlike the literary man, how¬ 
ever, the artist is handicapped by his inability 
to contribute to foreign humorous publica¬ 
tions. Jacking the intimate knowledge of 
the ways of foreign peoples—which, after all* 
is the mainspring of humorous art—he is 
forced to contribute to the publications at 
home and to accept the prices which they 
are compelled by their own straitened 
circumstances to pay. 

There are not more than a dozen papers 
in Holland devoted entirely or in part to 
humour and satire, and of these the principal 
ones are the Amsterdammer Week hind voor 
Nederland, the Humoristisch Album, Ut/en- 
spiegel, and De Ware Jacob . These four 
represent the different forms of humour 
which the Dutchmen like. The first named, 
popularly called the Weekblad or u De 
Groene ” (from its green cover), is a 
well-known weekly, which has passed through 
a respectable existence of twenty-five years, 
and has attained in that time a position of 


considerable power. Its humour consists 
of a special cartoon each week by the 
celebrated Johan Braakensiek, mainly on 
political subjects like the South African 
War, and a page of foreign political cartoons 
either from the pen of Braakensiek or 
from foreign papers. The Weekblad's 
large cartoon, through the exceptional ability 
of its famous draughtsman, exercises no small 
influence on political thought in Holland, 
and the cartoon, lifted bodily from the paper, 
may often be seen placarded throughout 
Amsterdam in shops and restaurants, where 
all who care to see may see. But Braaken¬ 
siek, as is shown by the drawing which we 
are privileged to reproduce from Van A lies 
Wat , a Braakensiek album published by 
Messrs. Holkema and Warendorf, of Amster¬ 
dam, is something more than a cartoonist. 
He is an exceptionally clever and humorous 
book illustrator, and is without question the 
foremost draughtsman in Holland. 

The Humoristisch Album is a hearty old 
weekly of fifty years, devoted 10 the quieter 
forms of humour, and more nearly approaches 
our English comic papers in appearance and 
contents. Vtlenspiegel is a satirical weekly, 
published in Rotterdam, which has been run¬ 
ning for about five-and-thirty years. It is a 
little four-page sheet, mainly devoted to 
political cartoons, probably to differentiate it 
from the Humoristisch Album, published by 



Too Much pipit Hut.— Guide: M This, is tlm famous place 
■>r the twenty - fo r echoes, and Iasi year a gentleman who 
heard them suddenly went mad." 

Lady Tourist ; “ How did thnt happen ? n 
Gukl- : “ His mother in-aw called out to him, and _when 
he heard twrnly-fiiUT mothers-in law at the lime il was 

loo nuich fur him." 

DKAWN BY JAN ilSiei HOlflII (tSOIHU>■' KIM ISCH ALBUM." 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






9 2 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


the same concern in Rotterdam. Its title may 
roughly be translated “ Fun - Maker ” or 
4i Wag.” De Ware Jacob is the baby in 
this family of fun purveyors. Recently estab¬ 
lished in Rotterdam, under the editorship of 
Mr. E. Cans, and pub¬ 
lished by the Neder¬ 
land sc he Kiosken- 
Maatsch.appij fl it has 
in its short career of 
about forty numbers 
rapidly taken a popu¬ 
lar position, and con¬ 
tains the most modern 
and, in many respects, 
the most interesting 
humorous draughts¬ 
manship of the day. 

In its prospectus it 
seri ously expressed the 
determination to seek 
truth and to serve 
truth with good taste 
and some humour, to 
show respect for 
honest conviction, to 
combat anything 
which is untrue and 
ignoble, and, before everything, to be Dutch. 
u And in our country there is undoubted 
need of it , 31 slyly remarked one of its con¬ 
temporaries, 

One of the oldest, most experienced, and 
most popular of Dutch humorous artists is 
Mr. Jan Linse, whose work has appeared 
principally, for many years, in the Humor - 
istisch Album. He has lived for some time 
in Rotterdam, but he is now situated at The 
Hague, where he has a pretty home in the 
suburbs, We found Mr. Linse in a room 
filled with innumerable sketches, canvases, 
and half-completed pictures, 
and he willingly gave us 
some particulars of his in¬ 
teresting life. He has since 
sent us a little letter which 
lets in additional light upon 
the career of this favourite 
artist—a letter illustrated at 
the top by a group of three 
men in black, the man in 
the distance being by no 
great stretch of the imagina¬ 


tion conceivably a truthful presentment of 
Linse himself. The conjecture is borne out 
by the amusing dialogue which the artist has 
written beneath his little sketch:— 

“ What curious chap is that who is always 
going about with a cap 
on his head when 
every respectable m.:n 
wears a hat?” 

“ Why, don't you 
know him ? That’s 
Linse—Jan Linse, the 
Hu morisfisch A ibu rn 
man, the chap who 
used to draw for 
Abraham Prikkie , the 
Spectator , and for 
other humorous 
papers, and the illus¬ 
trator of lots of 
books.” 

Well, now, is that 
Linse ? How old do 
you think he is?" 

“ Sixty, perhaps ; 
but you wouldn’t think 
it. He generally goes 
about with younger 
men, ana it makes him feel young too. I 
can't understand how it is you don't know 
him, for he spends half of his life in the 
streets. It's his business. So far as I know 
he has had no University education, and 
ever since he was a child has been impressed 
by the satire and humour which are every¬ 
where present in liTe. These impressions he 
began slowly to represent by means of pic¬ 
tures, and to see something funny gives him 
greater enjoyment than a dinner at the best 
restaurant in town, He is a funny chap. If 
he gives up drawing comic pictures for a 
while, either because he 
wants a change or because 
the Dutch editors pay so 
badly, you may find him 
doing business as an agent 
for wines, or sometimes as 
a commissionaire, showing 
strangers the sights of the 
town. He is a genuine 
Dutchman, and his chief 
drink is a glass of 4 schie- 
dam , 5 which he pretends 



Hk 6 h, yes. Mamma, but don't you Uunk we ougtsi 10 kc'-p 
it for Pupa T" 

PHAWN BY JAN LlNSt! FOB THE ** HUMORISTISCH ALBUM. ' 






p 


Portion or a Lettrb Written ry Mr. Jan Linsf to the Editoh. 

MR, JAN LINSJE's DESCRIPTION OF HIMSELF (W:E raW).' 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








DUTCH HUMOROUS ARTISTS. 


93 



The Tiifatke Hat.—M amma ; " Jrnnie, 
your hai is in the way of the gentleman 
Whinr! you. You might easily take it off." 

Jennie: ++ But, mamma,, if I put it in my 
tap 1 can't see myself*" 
dha'vs av jan i.i kse foh the “humor- 

ISTJSCK ALBUm/ f 


he needs for in¬ 
spiration. Any¬ 
way, if you want 
to have a laugh, 
just make his acquaintance,” 

From this clever little bit of fooling we 
might infer that all artists who draw comic 
pictures are not serious-minded, but Mr, 
Linse has his serious as well as his comic 
side. The demand for his work is never- 
ending, and in the few moments of leisure 
granted to him he uses the brush on more 
ambitious subjects than those appearing in the 
Rotterdam weeklies. By the younger men 
he is looked upon, perhaps, as one of the 
old school, but in these days of political 
caricature, with which the Dutch humorous 
papers are filled, it is pleasurable to find 
one man who can turn out a good comic 
picture and a good joke. In the majority 
of cases Mr. Linse supplies both joke and 
drawing, but often furnishes sketches to 
illustrate jokes sent to him by the editor, 
and occasionally redraws a funny sketch 
sent in by a less practised hand. This 
latter method, by the way, appears to be a 
common thing in Holland, for many of the 
drawings published appear without signature, 
and it is but kindness to attribute the absence 
of these signatures to the fact that artists 


another 
Patrick Kroon, who, a 
land, obtained his first 


usually refuse to take the red it 
for redrawing sketches by 
others* John Leech, it will be 
remembered, used sometimes to 
touch up the sketches of good 
jokes contributed by outsiders, 
but, in accordance with the 
custom of Punch artists, he 
never, according to Mr. Spiel- 
mann, signed die drawings so 
made. 

To readers of Uiknspitgcl the 
signature of bt Orion M has long 
been familiar. In fact, it occurs 
su constantly that an outsider 
might be led to believe that 
“ Orion ” was the only artist 
engaged on the paper* How¬ 
ever, there are others who 
appear in its pages frequently 
enough to give variety to the 
humour of that famous sheet. 
As for “ Orion,” he is a host in 
himself, and that he never 
seems to weary by sameness of 
subject is the best tribute to 
his versatility and power. 

The name Orion” is 
name for Mr. 
native of Gelder- 
experience as an 


A Father's Wots.—“ T nutic* that when y^u are at Home 
you always have link wads in your but never when you 
ar,r p- nt. Doesn’t that seem the wrong way abmit ? " 

11 N*Jt at al] ( my dear sir, At home l have sis uu^ital 
daughter*." _ r . , 

DU AWN BY JAH ’Al9W0#h-feBCJflilUMOmSTlSCH ALBUM." 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


























94 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


artist by means of private lessons. He 
studied at the High School in Zutphen, 
passed from there in 1880, and went to 
Amsterdam for further lessons in draughts¬ 
manship. He took a diploma as a teacher, 
and worked both at the figure and landscape, 
but, like many another clever man, in a 
country where art is not appreciated at its 
highest market value until the poor artist is 
dead, Mr. Kroon found the struggle for life 

so great that he 
had to do any¬ 
thing that came 
to his hand, 
"In Holland/ 1 
he says — and 
in this he bears 
testimony to a 
fact more par¬ 



Kras " was born in Amsterdam in May, 1874, 
and after living at The Hague and at 
Haarlem settled down in Amsterdam, He 
was brought up to a commercial life, but 
after taking the course of the Amsterdam 
Commercial School and spending a few 
years in business he adopted journalism as 
his profession, and is now a valued member 
of the editorial stuff of one of the largest 
daily papers in Holland, 

A man in the throes of daily journalism 
has little time for other work, but, granted a 
fertile imagination and a facile pen, the 
journalist who possesses them has an advan¬ 
tage over slower and less imaginative brethren. 
“Chris Kras” possesses both, and the fre- 
quency with which his cartoons appear in 
De Ware Jacob shows that the pencil — 
his first love, as he says himself—is often in 


MR. RAT HICK 1C ROOK, 
from ft rAftiiju by J< C, RwtVtfk ¥ ZutyAen. 

ticularly touched upon in 
a previous paragraph—"it 
is not yet possible for an 
artist to live entirely by his 
brush and pen,” He did 
h i s first picture for 
Uiltnspugd in 1894, and 
also worked for the Humor - 
htisck A /bum, his drawings 
for the first-named paper 
bringing him popularity 
and orders for more work. 

Mr. Kroon has contributed to other papers, 
but the three drawings per week which 
usually appear in Uiletupfegel take up the 
main portion of his time. He prefers 
to draw people and political caricatures, 
and his skill in handling heavy blacks 
—a characteristic of his present work—is 
acknowledged by his brother craftsmen, the 
best judges of artistic strength. 

The signature of “Chris Kras Kzn,” which 
has become widely known to Hollanders 
through the success of De Ware Jacoby is 
a nom de guerre adopted by a young journalist 
of Amsterdam who has gone into illustration 
merely for his own amusement “Chris 



u Ave a Repr, Sih?" 

DRAWN BV PATRICK KHOON. 


his hand. He has published several books 
of cartoons on the South African War during 
the progress of that conflict, and a new 
volume of his, called “ English Coronation 
Idylls/' has just appeared in Amsterdam 
dealing with the more humorous phases of 
the memorable ceremonial with which the 
new century has been ushered in. Some 
of these drawings arc exceptionally clever, 
and in nearly every case good-humoured. 

Among other work done by this versatile 
artist may be mentioned various book illus¬ 
trations, book covers, posters, and caricatures. 
It is with some difficulty that we have been 
able, from the abfwuchunce of material, to 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







DUTCH HUMOROUS ARTISTS . 


95 


make a selection from the work 
of “ Chris Kras,” showing his 
comic genius. Nearly all his 
drawings have a political ten¬ 
dency, and would therefore be 
unfamiliar in subject to our 
public. Once in a while we 
get from him a sporting picture 
which is not only funny, but 
shows how keen is this artist 
in depicting all kinds of out¬ 
door pleasure. He is an 
amateur athlete of considerable 
standing, and in 1892 won the 
first prize in the Holland-Cat- 
ford Cycling Competition on 
the Paddington track in 
London. 

If “Chris Kras 13 finds his 
avocation in art and his voca¬ 



41 CHRIS KHA5 Kihl/' 
Fruit \ u Fhota bn Koent 


tion in journalism, Mr. J. H. 
Speenhoff, whose vocation is 
that of an artist, s[>ends bis 
odd time in writing plays. 
Several pieces written by him 
and produced at one of the 
Rotterdam theatres have been 
well received by the Holland 
public, and have marked him 
as one of the rising dramatists 
of the day; but it is as a 
humorous artist that Speenhoff 
has attained his widest recogni¬ 
tion. His experience lias been 
more or less cosmopolitan, for 
he has worked in Rotterdam, 
Antwerp, and Glasgow, and 
has varied the monotony of a 
successful artist's life by a three 
years 3 experience at sea. He 





A Carnival Fkoce-ssion. 

DRAWN BY *1cUim KRAS KZN ” FOR DE WARfc JACOB," 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







9 f> 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


studied drawing at the 
Academy in Rotterdam and 
at Antwerp, and, in addition 
to his draughtsmanship in De 
Ware Jacoby has worked on 
Wmrd en Bee Id\ the Rotter¬ 
dam Daghiad, and the Rotter¬ 
dam Weekfrlad. He has illus¬ 
trated many books, particularly 
“ The War of the Worlds, M by 
Mr. H. G. Wells, and lias con¬ 
tributed manyarttcles to Dutch 
publications which he has illus¬ 
trated with his own hand. In 
a recent conversation Mr. 

Speenhoff remarked: “In 
many respects 1 follow Caran 
d’Ache and Degas in my draw¬ 
ing ; but I look upon Mr. E.T, Reed, of Punch) 
as my master. Though our methods in draw¬ 
ing are different, the intellectual stimulus I 
get from Reed's work is very great.” 

Speenhoff is a quick worker and prefers 
pen-and-ink. He is apt at versification, and 
can put a quatrain to a drawing with as 



Ms. J. H. SfKKFmuKK 

From a I*hnto. 


pretty a facility as he can illus¬ 
trate someone else’s verse with 
his own pen—in fact, he is an 
all-round man, and as good a 
critic as he is an artist It is 
whispered that a well-known 
gentleman near the Bosphorus 
was particularly cut up by some 
sketches done by Speen hoff for 
a paper called Daoui y but that 
episode recalls one only of 
many in which Speenhoff has 
made a hit. The artist him¬ 
self is an intellectual-looking 
young man of thirty-two. 

Mr. IV Das, of whose work 
we give an example, lives at 
The Hague, and was born 
near Leyden in r8Si, He left the elemen¬ 
tary school at the age of twelve and became 
apprenticed to an ordinary painter and 
decorator, who for two years encouraged 
him with painting lessons at The Hague 
Academy. He later took employment in a 
pottery manufactory, and left it to assist the 

















































DUTCH HUMOROUS ARTISTS. 


97 


well-known poster artist, RuncheL At the 
age of nineteen he became chief decorator 
to a leading firm at The Hague, a position 
which he at present holds* Mr. Das 
contributes principally to De Ware Jacoby 
and his work is peculiarly humorous in 
quality, although very infrequent. His is 
another case of the man with real artistic 
instincts who, by force of circumstances in 
Hot kind, is compelled to sacrifice in mer¬ 
cantile work the talents which might so widely 
be recognised in the smaller world of art. 

De Wart Jacob possesses on its staff 
several other clever artists, who, through the 
kindly encouragement of the paper’s enter¬ 
prising editor, have done much to enhance 
their own reputation and his. 

Occasionally is published a 
sketch of Mr* Willy Sluiter, 
who was a pupil of the Academy 
of Fine Arts in Rotterdam and 
The Hague Academy, Mr, 

Slu iter is, however, primarily a 
painter, and in the Paris Fair 
of 11)00 obtained a bronze 
medal for his picture, ** Horses 
on the Beach. 1 ’ The well-known 
K£es van Don gen, who has 
been for some years in Paris 
contributing to Le Rire, Gil 
Bias, La Caricature , and other 
papers, is now in Rotterdam, 
near which he was born and 
where he studied; and occasion¬ 
ally has a drawing in De Ware Jacob. Mr. van 
Dongen has worked in Steinlen’s studio, and 
is a friend of that popular artist. Among 
the lady contributors may be mentioned 
Miss Nelly Bodenheim, who, however, pos¬ 
sesses a greater reputation as a book 
illustrator than as a comic artist, Her 

clever books of nursery rhymes, “ Handje 


PlakT and tf Hei Regent—Met Zegent,'* 
show real humour and an excellent faculty 
in the manipulation of blacks* Miss 
Bodenheim has been a pupil of Mr. Jan 
Veth, the celebrated Dutch portrait painter. 

Beside Jan Linse, the Humoristisch Album 
numbers among its contributors Mr. S. 
Crans, who resides at The Hague, and 
Mr. J. van Doyen, who lives at Amsterdam, 
The latter is, we think, the more finished 
artist, although the influence of the French 
is noticeable in his work. 

Among oLher papers in Holland which 
contain humorous drawings, either original 
or, by virtue of the beneficent workings of 
the copyright law, *' lifted ” from other 
papers, may be mentioned the 
Ams ter da m sc he Cm ra nt , the 
Siuivti sb/ad, Rdnijt de Vos, 
l Vere/dkroniek, a nd De Ktjker. 
The Courant issues an illustra¬ 
ted Sunday supplement, con¬ 
taining a few comic drawings 
which appear to have been 
made in Germany* The Siui- 
versb/ad\ published in Amster¬ 
dam at a penny, looks like 
Piek-Me - Up, and is representa¬ 
tive of the humour of the world 
because the humour of the 
world is in it. For this the 
scissors is responsible. Little 
more can be said of Rcinfje de 
Pos t a sixteen page penny paper 
published in Rotterdam, which contains many 
sketches of German origin. The Kijkcr is a 
small Amsterdam paper devoted to amuse¬ 
ment interests, which contains music-hall 
drawings interlarded with funny isms. The 
Holla tidsc he Illustra tic contains a n occa s i o n a! 
humorous picture, and the Wtreldkronick 
reproduces a few foreign political cartoons. 



MR, p. DAS. 
SktUh&i t>v iumjOf. 



Vf>L 13- 



How Hk Raised Himself is His Wife's Estimation. 

DR*WN IJV P. DAS FOR "DK WARE JAC@fjg j f ^j | f fQ ITl 

by VsOOgie UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




































Some Wonders from the West. 

XL 1 II.—A WONDERFUL MARKSMAN. 



yrnna] THE KEG SHOT, WITH GUK REVERSED, [Photo. 




R, c. K. SOBER, of Lewis- 
burg, Pennsylvania, is the 
most wonderful crack shot in 
the world. He performs mar¬ 
vellous feats not attempted by 
professionals, such as shoot¬ 
ing accurately with a keg or barrel tied to 
his gun so as to prevent his “ drawing a 
bead ” on the target, />., aiming through the 
sights ; firing with the gun reversed over Ids 
head; sighting a bird with a hand mirror; 
and numerous other 
wonderful performances 
calling for marvellous 
skill. 

This champion marks¬ 
man has challenged, and 
still challenges, any 
crack shot in America 
or abroad, professional 
or amateur, to meet him 
in a contest. His skill 
with the gun is almost 
beyond belief. He 
shoots with precision 
from almost every con¬ 
ceivable position and 
wiLh the gun in every 
variety of grasp—under 
him, over him, to right, 
to left, sitting and stand¬ 
ing or lying down ; with 


the gun above his head, between his feet, 
upside down, thrust through barrels, boxes* 
and tables—in every position except with the 
muzzle in his hand. With a rifle in any of 
these trick positions he can catch a bird on 
the wing as nicely as any crack shot who takes 
steady aim and sights in the usual manner. 

Mr. Sober follows the sport solely for his 
own amusement, and it is a difficult task to 
induce him to give a public exhibition or his 
skill. Such exhibitions have been given at 


Froma] shooting Hack warps through KVQ the knees, [Ftorfa, 

° °Og 10 UNIV ERSITY 0 F Ml C H IGA N 

























SOME WONDERS EROM THE WEST. 


99 






SHOOTING THROUGH SOAP-BOX BALANCED ON OSB FOOT. 


rare intervals to his friends in I-ewisburg, 
however—and marvellous displays of wonder¬ 
ful marksmanship they have 
proved. 

This "gentleman crack 
shot/' as he is termed, because 
of his decided refusal to turn 
his skill with the gun to com¬ 
mercial value, has arranged a 
chronological programme of 
his fancy shooting, commenc¬ 
ing with the least difficult and 
working up to an exciting 
dimax of wonderful shots. 

The initial trick is shooting 
at birds on the wing with a 
25IIX powder keg on his gun- 
barrels, the gun being upside 
down and held at about the 
level of his chin, as shown in 
our first illustration. Several 
birds having been brought 
down in this manner, Mr, 

Sober makes ready for the 
second number in his series 
of keg shots, He swings the 
gun above his head, and with 
the fire-arm in this position, 
still handicapped by the keg- 
covered barrels, sights bis bird, 
takes aim, and fires, nearly 
always sending the shot true 

Digitized by CiOOQh 


and bringing down 
the feathered victim, 
A shot acknow¬ 
ledged by all expert 
sportsmen to be most 
difficult, and one in 
which Mr* Sober 
shows wonderful skill, 
is the completion of 
the keg series. Swing¬ 
ing the gun from his 
shoulder the cham¬ 
pion thrusts the keg 
between his knees, 
and with the barrel of 
the gun behind him 
he hends nearly 
double to sight his 
game, and fires with 
accuracy at a bird in 
full flight. 

With a box measur¬ 
ing 12in, by 12in. on 
his gun, Mr, Sober 
seats himself in a 
{Photo. chair, and, balancing 
the boxed rifle on 
one foot, he fires single-handed. 

Next comes his wonderful 4 ' table ” shot. 


TUB OVERHEAD TABLE SHOT. 

Original tram 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


IPhalo. 



















too 


THE SIR AND MAGAZINE. 



Thegun is thrust 
through a table 
weighing 141b., 
raised over his 
head and held 
upside down, 

Mr. Sober is the 
originator of the 
trick, and he is 
the only man 
known to per¬ 
form it success¬ 
fully* 

The flour- 
barrel tricks are 
also interesting, 
and call for 
well ■ developed 
muscle, steady 
nerves, and 
clever workman¬ 
ship. There are 
several of the 
barrel tricks. 

The gun in the 
first one is thrust 
through t h e 
middle of an 
ordinary flour- 
barreh The barrel and gun are then turned 
upside down, and raised high above the head 
while the shot is fired. 

Next Mr. Sober, sitting in a chair, balances 


the barrel up¬ 
right on one 
foot, as shown 
in the illustra¬ 
tion given be¬ 
low. Then the 
champion lies 
flat on his back 
on the ground, 
and turning 
barrel and gun 
upside down 
shoots over his 
head behind 
him at the clay 
pigeons, birds 
on the wing, or 
glass balls. But 
the last of these 
feats is the most 
wonderful, the 
gun being 
weighted by no 
fewer than three 
encumber i ng 
articles—a soap¬ 
box, a barrel, 
and a smaller 
keg on the top* 
From the fact that for the past ten years 
Mr. Sober has hunted ruffed grouse almost 
entirely—that bird of all the feathered game 
in America that flushes and gets into full 


Frx*m> aj THE OVERHEAD FLOUJi^iAklif-L SHUT* [Photo. 


From a] 


SHOOTING THROUGH BARREL BALANCED Ofl ONE FUOT. 

L?riginal from 

\ S 1L UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























SOME WONDERS bROM THE WEST 


IOI 






ij-HLHJTfKt; BACkWAKUS THKQUGM LlAKREf. WHILE LYING ON THE BACK. 


flight most rapidly—he has acquired a mar¬ 
vellous skill in wing-shooting. Recently he 
made a straight run of thirty-two “downs " 
on ruffed grouse during a tramp through the 
forest around his home* Again, lie brought 
down fifty out of fifty-five fired at. He has 
a record of 537 wild pigeons brought down 
in three days, and at no time did lie kill 
more than one bird at a shot. 

In a contest held near his home not long 
since, Mr Sober broke 100 blue rocks-out of 
101 put up. He has killed ninety-six live 
pigeons out of joo aimed at on the wing at 
twenty one yards ise, and using one barrel 
only. At a match of twelve live bats to each 
man, at which seventeen shooters contested, 
Mr, Sober won with a score of eleven killed, 
it being the only match at bats in which 
he has contested. When he attends trap 
matches he invariably makes dean scores at 
glass balls, blue rocks, and live pigeons* 

The most remarkable exhibitions of Mr. 
Sober's skill are, however, in the trick shoot¬ 
ing, or, as he terms it, “rough-and-tumble 
shooting,” in which his scores are fully equal 
to those made by many trap-shooters who 
fire from the shoulder and not in any way 
handicapped* 

Through long practice of these feats — 
many of which he originated — Mr* Sober 
has become so expert that he claims he can 
perform more unique shots with the double- 
barrelled shot-gun than any other living man. 

Digitized by GoOgle 


1 He performs at 
least one hundred 
feats, each shot 
being more mar¬ 
vellous than the 
preceding one, all 
from different 
positions or under 
new forms of han¬ 
dicap. Mr. Sober 
breaks glass balls 
or blue rocks 
from either shoul¬ 
der, with hand¬ 
kerchiefs tied 
around both 
barrels of his gun, 
with the barrels 
thrust through 
objects of differ¬ 
ent sizes, varying 
from a cigar-box 
up to a flour- 
barrel, with his 
gun either side 
up, and in many 
other ways, with wonderful accuracy. He 
even springs his own trap and then breaks 
the target* 

The first gun he used was an old flint lock 
owned by an elder brother, and with that 
the boy killed squirrels and rabbits by the 


[Photo. 


SHOOTING WITH CUN HANDICAPPED BY SOAH-BOX, LARGE 


From Mj 


KfcG, AN ji SMALL KEG. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


[Photo. 














102 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


hundred (game was plentiful in Pennsylvania 
then), and with it he downed quails occa¬ 
sionally—on the wing as well, 

The first gun he owned he bought for 
one dollar and a half, and it was a 28111, 
20-gauge single barrel, which, Mr, Sober 
says, was made from pot-metal ; but with it 
he did great work on quails and pheasants 
on the wing, and he still has that old gun. 
Next he had another single 28m. 14-gauge 
gun made to order, with which he did fine 
shooting also. His third gun was a double- 
barrelled 30m. t 4-gauge that weighed 81 h., 
and with it he defeated the best shots 
in Pennsylvania at the trap m pigeon 
shooting. 

For shooting game he now uses a cylinder- 
bore 28m, barrels of either 10 or 12-gauge, 


His cever-shooting for some ten years has 
been confined to ruffed grouse, which he 
claims is thegamest bird in America ; and in 
hunting them he uses pointer dogs which he 
has himself trained, now 1 having four of 
them. He has no use for setters in that 
pursuit, for he says that they are too head¬ 
strong and fast and not sufficiently cautious, 
Mr, Sober has spent much of his time in 
the forest hunting out timber lands and 
superintending lumber operations, pursuits 
that have enabled him to follow his favourite 
course of shooting ruffed grouse almost con¬ 
stantly during the proper season. His record 
of the number of those birds killed by him 
during the past few years is astonishing. He 
has a total for eight years of 8r4 birds, or 
an average of over 101 each season, 


XLIV,—A HOUSE BUILT IN FOUR AND A HALF HOURS, 


The methods and time occupied in carry¬ 
ing out building operations by ordinary work¬ 
men offer a striking contrast with those 
which have been proved possible in America, 
The idea of erecting a two-storied building 
measuring 80ft, in length by 50ft. in width 
in four and a half hours would cause old- 
fashioned artisans to stand aghast, yet this 
unique feat was accomplished a short while 
ago at Paterson, New Jersey, 

As might be naturally supposed the 
achievement was the result of a wager, Mr, 
Peter S, Van Kirk, 
the head of a large 
firm of contractors 
and builders in 
that town, contem¬ 
plated erecting a 
new workshop to 
accommodate his 
carpenters. The 
site of the building 
was at the corner of 
Fulton and River 
Streets, two impor¬ 
tant thoroughfares. 

When the designs 
for the building 
had been com¬ 
pleted and every¬ 
thing was practic¬ 
ally ready for com¬ 
mencing the work, 
the principal met 
a friend of his, a 
wealthy brewer, 
and casually men¬ 


tioned that he was about to erect a new 
carpenters' workshop and expected to have it 
up in a few days. The brewer, evidently 
discrediting the possibility of workmen 
hastening to complete a contract, waggishly 
replied that the building might take as long 
to erect as the Passaic County Court House, 
which had occupied five years. To this Mr. 
Van Kirk retorted that, once he got started 
upon the work, it would take but a very 
short while to get it up. 

The brewer, however, was still sceptical of 



From al ENGAGED ON FIRST FLOOR —DUILDIKu MATERIAL. IN FOREGROUND, {FforfO* 

1 by OOg le U N | V ERSITY 0 F Ml C H IGA N 











SOME WONDERS FROM THE WEST. 


103 



the builder's prowess, and an animated dis¬ 
cussion followed. One word led to another, 
and at last,exasperated by his friend's taunts, 
Air* Van Kirk wagered that he would erect 
the workshop in less than half a working day 
with his ow n force of men—that is to say, he 
would not requisition the services of any men 
outside of his existing staff for this special 
occasion. The brewer accepted the challenge. 
The wager was for ^200, and a supper for 
all the men em¬ 
ployed upon the 
work. The terms 
of the wager stipu¬ 
lated that the 
building should 
measure Soft, in 
length by 50ft* in 
width and be two 
stories high ; the 
sides would he en¬ 
closed and ren¬ 
dered weather¬ 
proof, the roof 
placed in position, 
and windows and 
doors fixed — in 
short, the shop had 
to be completed 
for occupancy. 

The bargain 
concluded, the 
contractor called 


his employes 
together and ex¬ 
plained the wager. 
The men entered 
into the spirit of 
the contest and 
preparations were 
hurried forward for 
deciding the bet. 
The men were told 
just what to do, so 
that there should 
be no confusion 
or progress unduly 
impeded in any 
way. The ground 
upon which the 
workshop was to 
be built was 
cleared and all the 
necessary material 
brought upon the 
spot and prepared 
for erection. It 
may be as well to 
explain that the 
building was to be a frame structure—that is 
to say, it was to be built throughout of wood 
in the characteristic American fashion. Of 
course, it would have been absolutely out of 
the question to have raised such a large 
house in so short a space of time with 
ordinary bricks and masonry. 

When all the materials had been conveyed 
to the scene of operations and everything was 
ready for the carrying out of the wager, the 



Prrma} putting on the hoof* [Ptafo 

Jri inciI from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















104 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



Frvm «] the EXTERIOR OF THE HOUSE CO^I TLETED IN LESS THAN THREE HOURS. [J^Awrfa. 


two parties to the bet arrived to see that the 
work was fairly and properly accomplished* 
The news of the wager had spread over the 
town, and a large crowd of curiosity-piqued 
spectators also assembled to witness the 
spectacle. The weather was most unpropi¬ 
tious for the successful carrying out of the 
wager* A thick pall of snow covered the 
ground and a cold, bleak wind was blowing, 
while the sky was dull and overcast* 

At midday Mr. Van Kirk called together 
and lined up all the men who were to par¬ 
ticipate m the contest. Punctually as the 
clock struck one the contractor shouted 
“Go.” In less than a minute the whole 
gang of men had commenced operations* 
Although every man worked as hard as he 
could, there was no bustle or confusion. 
In less time than it takes to tell the frame¬ 
work was raised and the men were busily 
engaged in bolting the heavy timbers securely 
together. There was to be no scamping of 
the work. Everything was to he completed 
in just the same manner as if the building 
had been erected under normal conditions. 
As soon as the framework of one side had 
been fitted together other men set to work 
to attach the boards forming the wall. While 
this was in progress the framework of another 
side was being completed* 

Directly the framework had been erected 
as high as the first floor, another body of 
workmen set to work hoisting into position 
the rafters to support the floor. 'File men 
went at it with a will. They were so bent 
upon breaking the record that they would 


not pause for a 
minute to permit 
of any photos, 
being taken. In 
our illustrations 
the number of 
men employed 
may appear to be 
insignificant, but 
this is explained 
by the fact that 
they were distri¬ 
buted throughout 
the building. 
Each man bad 
been assigned a 
certain section of 
work to accom¬ 
plish, and by this 
means there was 
no interference 
with each others 
part of it. 

Directly the frame work for the sides had 
been erected the rafters to the roof were 
swung into their places and the roofing was 
hurried forward. Simultaneously, therefore, 
workmen were busily employed in attaching 
the sides and the roof of the workshop. The 
windows and doors had to be fixed as the 
work progressed- The roof was covered with 
a rainproof substance. In less than three 
hours the building was finished so far as the 
exterior was concerned* 

The men now entered the building and 
operations were commenced upon the floors 
and the finings 6f the establishment. The 
rafters were already in position, so that it 
was only necessary to lay the floor boards 
The stairs, however, had to be arranged, and 
this operation atone occupied considerable 
time. The crowd outside followed the wager 
with enthusiastic excitement. Now that the 
men were working in the interior of the 
workshop out of sight they could only 
speculate among themselves bv what a<tun! 
lime the work would he accomplished, and 
some lively betting among themselves was 
the result. 'They waited patiently for the 
announcement that the task was achieved 
and that Mr. Van Kirk had won his bet 
Nor had they long to wait At half-past five 
there was a rousing cheer from the workmen, 
which was taken up with equal avidity by the 
crowd, which testified that the work was 
finished* It was a record feat. The whole 
building had been put up and was ready for 
immediate occupation within the short space 

of four and a half hours ! 

jrngmarl run 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















Bv E, Nesbit. 

IV,—WINGS. 


JET'S wish for wings,” said 
Antliea, when they had 
found the psainmead, and 
were ready to have the day’s 
wish, 

“ Oh, do let's,” said Jane ; 
44 it would be like a bright dream of delicious¬ 
ness.” So the sand-fairy blew itself out, and 
next moment each child had a funny feeling, 
half heaviness and half lightness* on its 
shoulders. The sand-fairy put its head on 
one side and turned its snail’s eyes from one 
io the other. 

“ Not such bad wings/ 1 it said, “ but don’t 
forget they only last till sunset. Tf you're 
firing too high when the sun goes down— 
well. 111 say no more.” The wings were 
my big and gloriously beautiful, for they 
*ere soft and smooth, and every feather lay 
neatly in its place. And the feathers were 
of the most lovely mixed changing colours, 
like the rainbow* or iridescent glass, or the 
beautiful scum that sometimes floats on 
safer that is not at all nice to drink. 

VflJL Jixi’v.— 14. 

Digitized by bOOglC 


“Oh! but can we fly?” 
Jane said, standing anxiously, 
first on one foot and then on 
the other. 

“ Look out,” said Cyril, 
44 you're treading on my 
wing.” 

“Does it hurt?” asked 
Anthea, with interest, but 
no one answered, for Robert 
had spread his wings and jumped up, and 
now he was slowly rising in the atr. He 
looked very awkward in his knickerbocker 
suit—his boots, in particular, hung help¬ 
lessly, and seemed much larger than when 
he was standing in them. But the others 
cared hut little how he looked, or how they 
looked, for that matter; for now they all 
spread out their wings and rose in the air* 
Of course, you all know what flying feels 
like, because everyone has dreamed about 
flying, and it seems so beautifully easy, only 
you never can remember how you did it; 
and, as a rule, you have to do it without 
wings in your dreams, which is more clever 
and uncommon, but not so easy to remem¬ 
ber the rule for. Now, the four children 
rose flapping from the ground, and you can't 
think how good the air felt running against 
their faces. Their wings were tremendously 
*vide when they were spread out, and they 
had to fly quite a long way apart so as not 
to get in each other's way. But little things 
like this are easily learned. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















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THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


All the words in the English dictionary 
and in the Greek lexicon as well are, I find, 
of no use at all to tell you exactly what it 
feels like to be flying, so I will not try; but 
I will say that to look down on the fields 
and woods instead of along at them is 
something like looking at a beautiful 
live map, where, instead of silly Colours 
on paper, you have real moving sunny 
fields and 
woods laid out 
one after the 
other. As Cyril 
said, and I can't 
think where he 
got hold of such 
a strange expres¬ 
sion, “ It does 
you a fair treat." 

It was most 
wonderful, and 
more like real 
magic than any 
wish the chil¬ 
dren had had 
yet. They 
flapped and 
flew and sailed 
on their great 
rainbow wings, 
between green 
earth and blue sky, and 
they flew right over 
Rochester and then 
swerved round towards 
Maidstone, and pre¬ 
sently they all began to 
feel extremely hungry. 

Curiously enough, this 
happened when they 
were flying rather low, 
and just as they were 
crossing an orchard 
where some early 
plums shone red and 
rif>e. 

They paused on their 
wings. I cannot explain 
to you how this is done, 
but it is something like treading water when 
you are swimming, and hawks do it extremely 
well. 

“ Yes, I dare say." said Cyril, though no 
one had spoken. “ Rut stealing is stealing 
even if you've got wings." 

“Do you really think so?” said Jane, 
briskly. “If you’ve got wings you're a bird, 
and no one minds birds breaking the Com¬ 
mandments. At least, they may mind, but 

Digitized by C *OOQ 1C 
o 


the birds always do it, and no one scolds 
them or sends them to prison.” 

It was not so easy to perch on a plum- 
tree as yon might think, because the rainbow 
wings were so very large ; but somehow they 

ail managed to 
do it, and the 
plums were cer¬ 
tainly very sweet 
and juicy. 

Fortunately, 
it was not till 
they had all had 
quite as many 
plums as were 
good for them 
that they saw a 
stout man, who 
looked exactly 
as though he 
owned the 
plum-trees, 
come hurrying 
through the 
orchard - gate 
with a thick 
stick, and with 
one accord they 
disentang led 
their wings from 
the plum-laden 
branches and 
began to fly. 

The in a n 
stopped short, 
with his mouth 
open. For he 
had seen the 
boughs of his 
trees moving 
and twitching, 
and he had said 
to h imself: 
“ Them young 
varmint — at it 
again ! ” And 
he had come 
out at once — 
for the lads of 
the village had taught him in past seasons 
that plums want looking after. And when 
he saw the rainbow wings flutter up out of 
the plum tree he felt that he must have 
gone quite mad, and he did not like the 
feeling at all. And when Anthea looked 
down and saw his mouth go slowly open, 
and stay so, and his face become green 
and mauve in patches, she called out: 
“ Don’t be frightened,” and felt hastily in 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



“ THEY FLEW RIGHT OVER ROCHES TER.” 





J HE PSA MMEA L . WINGS. 


°7 



her pocket for a threepenny-hit with a hole 
in it, which she had meant to hang on a 
ribbon round her neck for luck. She hovered 
round the unfortunate plum owner, and said : 
“ We have had some of your plums; we 
thought it wasn't stealing, but now I am not 
so sure. So here’s some money to pay for 
them,” 

She swooped down towards the terror- 
stricken grower of plums and slipped the 
coin into the pocket of his jacket, and in a 
few flaps she had re¬ 
joined the others. 

The farmer sat 
down on the grass, 
suddenly and 
heavily. 






glad it was only wings, though. I’d rather 
see birds as aren’t there and couldn’t be, 
even if they pretend to talk, than some things 
as I could name.” 

He got up slowly and heavily and went 
indoors, and he was so nice to his wife that 
day that she was quite happy, and said to 
herself, “ I^w, whatever have a-come to the 
man ! n and smartened herself up end put a 
blue ribbon bow at the place where her 
collar fastened on, and looked so pretty that 
he was kinder than ever. 
So perhaps the winged 
children really did do one 
good thing that day. If so, 
it was the only one — for 
really there is nothing like 
wings for getting you into 
trouble. But, if you are 
in trouble, there is nothing 
like wings for getting you 
out of it. 

This was the case in the 
matter of the fierce dog 
who sprang out at them 
when they had folded up 
tlieir wings as small as 
possible and were going up 
to a farm door to ask for 
a crust of bread and cheese, 
for, in spite of the plums, 
they were soon just as 
hungry as ever again. 

Now, there is no doubt 
whatever that if the four 
had been ordinary wingless 
children that black and fierce dog would have 
had a good bite out of the brown-stockinged 
leg of Robert, who was the nearest. But at 
its first growl there was a flutter of wings, 
and the dog was left to strain at his chain 
and stand on his hind legs as if he were 
trying to fly too. 

They tried several other farms, but at those 
where there were no dogs the people were far 
too frightened to do anything but scream ; 
and at last, when it was nearly four o’clock, 
and their wings were getting miserably 
stiff and tired, they alighted on a church 
tower and held a council of war + 

“ We can’t possibly fly all the way home 


the f Af( v[tk SAt DOT^M UN THE tiRASS, SUDDENLY .' 1 


4 Well, I’m blessed ! ” he said. “ This here 
ii lrfial they call delusions, I suppose. But 
the threepenny "—he pulled it out and bit 
it— “that's real enough. Well, from this day 
forth HI be a better man. It’s the kind of 
thing to sober a chap for life, this is. Tm 



without dinner or tea,” said Robert, with 
desperate decision. 

“And nobody will give us any dinner or 
even lunch, let alone tea/’ said Cyril 

“ Perhaps the clergyman here might,” 
suggested Anthea. “ He must know all 
about angels- 

“Anybody could see we’re not that,” said 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


loS 


Jane, “Look at Robert's boots and 
Squirrel's plaid necktie/* 

“Well/* said Cyril, firmly, “if the 
country you’re in won't sell provisions you 
take them. In wars* I mean. I'm quite 
certain you do. And even in other stories 
no good brother would allow his little sisters 
to starve in the midst of plenty." 

“ Plenty ? ** repeated Robert, hungrily ; 
and the others looked vaguely round the 
bare leads of the church tower, and 
murmured, “ In the midst of?” 


hungry and unspeakably sinful at one and 
the same time. 

“ Some of it," was the cautious reply. 

Everyone now turned oul his pockets on 
the lead roof of the tower, where visitors for 
a couple of hundred years had cut their own 
and their sweethearts* initials with pen¬ 
knives in the soft lead. There was five and 
seven pence halfpenny altogether, and even 
the upright Anthea admitted that that was 
too much to pay for four people's dinners. 
Robert said he thought eighteen pence. 

And half a crown was finally agreed to be 
“ handsome,” 



So Anthea wrote on the back of her last 
term's report, from which she first tore her 


" EVERYONE NOW TURNED OUT HJ& POCKETS. * 



“Yes," said Cyril, impressively. “There is 
u larder window at the side of the clergy¬ 
man's house, and 1 saw things to eat inside— 
custard pudding, and cold chicken and 
tongue, and pies, and jam. It’s rather a 
high window, but with wings——" 

“ How clever of you ! ” said Jane. 

“Not at all," said Cyril, modestly ; “any 
horn general— Napoleon or the Duke of 
Marlborough — would have seen it just the 
same as I did.” 

“It seems very wrong/* said Anthea. 

“ Nonsense," said Cyril. “ What was it Sir 
Philip Sydney said when the soldier wouldn’t 
stand him a drink?— 4 My necessity is greater 
than his,*** 

"Well club our money, though, and leave 
it to pay for the things, won't we ?" Anthea 
was persuasive, and very nearly in tears, 
because it is most trying to feel enormously 

Digitized by Google 


own name and that of the school, the fo 4 low¬ 
ing letLer: — 

“Dear Reverend Clergyman,—We are 
very hungry indeed because of having to fly 
all day, and we think it is not stealing when 
you are starving to death. We are afraid to 
ask you for fear you should say 1 no/ because, 
of course, you know about angels, but you 
would not think we w T ere angels. We will 
only take the necessities of life and no 
pudding or pie, to show you it is not greedi¬ 
ness but true starvation that forces us to 
make your larder stand and deliver. But we 
are not highwaymen by trade.” 

“Cut it short,” said the others with one 
accord. And Anthea hastily added :— 

“Our intentions are quite honourable, 
if you only knew. And heie is half a 
crown to show we" are sincere and grateful. 
Thank you for your kind hospitality.—-From 
Us Four." 

The half-crown was wrapped in this letter, 
and all the children felt that when the clergy¬ 
man had read it he would understand every- 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






THE PSAMMEAD: WINGS. 


109 


in 


thing as well as anyone could who had not 
seen the wings. 

u Now,” said Cyril, “ of course, there’s 
some risk ; we’d better fly straight down the 
other side of the tower and then flutter low 
across the churchyard and in through the 
shrubbery. There doesn’t seem to l>e any¬ 
one about But you never know. The 
window looks out into the shrubbery. It 
ls embowered in foliage, like a window 
a story. I’ll go in and 
get the things. Robert 
and Anthea can take 
them as I hand them 
out through the window 
—and Jane can keep 
watch — her eyes are 
sharp — and whistle if 
she sees anyone about 
Shut up, Robert; she 
can whistle quite well 
enough for that, anyway. 

It ought not to be a 
very good whistle—it’ll 
sound more natural and 
bird-like. Now, then— 
off we go ! ” 

I cannot pretend that 
stealing is right. I can 
only say that on this 
occasion it did not look 
like stealing to the 
hungry four, but ap¬ 
peared in the light of 
a fair and reasonable 
business transaction. 

They had never hap¬ 
pened to learn that a 
tongue—hardly cut into 
—a chicken and a loaf 
of bread, and a siphon 
of soda-water cannot be 
bought in shops for half 
a crown. These were the necessaries of life 
which Cyril handed out of the larder 
window when, quite unobserved and with¬ 
out hindrance or adventure, he had led the 
others to that happy spot. He felt that 
to refrain from jam, apple turnovers, cake, 
and mixed candied peel was a really heroic 
act—and I agree with him. He was also 
proud of not taking the custard pudding, and 
there I think he was wrong, because if he had 
taken it there would have been a difficulty 
about returning the dish. No one, however 
starving, has a right to steal china pie-dishes 
with little pink flowers on them. The soda 
water siphon was different. They could not 
do without something to drink, and as the 

Diqilized by CiOOQ Ic 
* o 


maker’s name was on it they felt sure it 
would be returned to him wherever they 
might leave it. If they had time they would 
take it back themselves. The man appeared 
to live in Rochester, which would not be 
much out of their way home. 

Everything was carried up to the top of 
the tower and laid down on a sheet of 
kitchen paper which Cyril had found on the 
top shelf of the larder. As he unfolded it 
Anthea said, “ I don’t think 
thafs a necessity of life.” 

“ Yes, it is,” said he. 
“ We must put the things 
down somewhere to cut 
them up, and I heard father 
say the other day people got 
diseases from germans in 
rain-water. Now, there must 
be lots of rain-water here— 



THESE WERE THE NECKS* 
SARIES OF LIFE WHICH CTRII 
HANDED OUT OF THE LARDF.R 
WINDOW.’’ 


and when it dries up the ger¬ 
mans are left—and they’d get 
into the things and we should 
all die of scarlet fever.” 

“ What are germans ? ” 

“ Little waggly things you see with micro¬ 
scopes,” said Cyril, with a scientific air. 
M They give you every illness you can think 
of. I’m sure the paper was a necessary, just 
as much as the bread and meat and water. 
Now, then. Oh, my eyes, I am hungry ! ” 

I do not wish to describe the picnic party 
on the top of the tower. You can imagine 
well enough what it is like to carve a chicken 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





I IO 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


and a tongue with a knife that has only one 
blade —and that snapped off short about half¬ 
way down. But it was done. Eating with 
>our fingers is greasy and not easy—and 
paper dishes soon get to look very spotty and 
horrid. But one thing you can’t imagine, 
and that is how soda-water behaves when you 
try to drink it straight out of a siphon — 
especially a quite full one. But if imagina¬ 
tion will not help you, experience will, and 
you can easily try it for yourself, if you can 
get a grown up to give you the siphon. If you 
want to have a really 
thorough experience, put 
the tube in your mouth 
and press the handle 
very suddenly and very 
hard. You had better 
do it when you are alone, 
and out of doors is best 
for this experiment. 


children slept warmly and happily on, for 
wings are cosier than eider-down quilts 
to sleep under. The shadow of the 
church tower fell across the churchyard 
and across the vicarage and across the field 
beyond, and presently there were no more 
shadows—and the sun had set and the wings 
were gone. And still the children slept— 
but not for long. Twilight is very beautiful, 
but it is chilly, and you know, however sleepy 
you are, you wake up soon enough if your 
brother or sister happens to be up first and 



THE CHILDREN* SLEPT, 


When the children had done dinner they 
grew strangely sleepy, and before it was a 
quarter of an hour after dinner they had all 
curled round and tucked themselves up 
under their large, soft, warm wings and were 
fast asleep. And the sun was sinking slowly 
in the west. (I must say it was in the west 
because it is usual in books to say so, for 
fear careless people should think it was 


setting in the east, 
was not exactly in 
that’s near enough.) 


In point of fact it 
the west either, but 
The sun, I repeat, 


was sinking slowly in the west, and the 

I Google 


pulls your blankets off 
you. The four wingless 
children shivered and 
woke. And there they 
were, on the top of a 
church tow'er in the dusky 
twilight, with blue stars 
coming out by ones and 
twos and tens and twenties over their heads 
—miles away from home, with three and 
three half-pence in their pockets, and a 
doubtful act about the necessities of life to 
be accounted for if anyone found them with 
the soda-water siphon. 

They looked at each other. Cyril spoke 
first, picking up the siphon :— 

“ We’d better get along down and get rid 
of this beastly thing. It’s dark enough to 
leave it on the clergyman’s doorstep, I should 
think. Come on.” 

There was a little turret at the corner of 

igm ram 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












THE PSAMMEAD: WINGS. 


111 


the tower, and the little turret had a door in 
it. They had noticed this when they were 
eating, but had not explored it, as you 
would have done in their place. Because, 
of course, when you have wings and can 
explore the whole sky, doors seem hardly 
worth exploring. 

Now they turned towards it. 

“ Of course,” said Cyril, “ this is the way 
down.” 

It was. But the door was locked on the 
inside! 

And the world was growing darker and 
darker. And they were miles from home. 
And there was the soda-water siphon. 

I shall not tell you whether anyone cried, 
nor, if so, how many cried, nor who cried. 
Vou will be better employed in making up 
your minds w hat you would have done if you 
had been in their place. 

When they grew calmer Anthea put her 
handkerchief in her pocket and her arm 
round Jane and said :— 

“ It can’t be for more than one night. We 
can signal with our handkerchiefs in the 
morning. They’ll be dry then. And some¬ 
one will come up and let us out-” 

“ And find the siphon,” said Cyril, 
gloomily, “and we shall be sent to prison for 
stealing.” 

“ You said it wasn’t stealing; you said 
you were sure it wasn’t.” 

“ I’m not sure now,” said Cyril, shortly. 

“ I^t’s throw the beastly thing slap away 
among the trees,” said Robert, “then no one 
can do anything to us.” 

“ Oh, yes ”—Cyril’s laugh was not a light¬ 
hearted one-“and hit some chap on the 
head and be murderers as well as—as the 
other thing.” 

There was a pause. Then Cyril said, 
slowly: “ Look here; we must risk that 
siphon. I’ll button it up inside my jacket; 
perhaps no one will notice it. You others 
keep well in front of me. There are lights 
in the clergyman’s house. They’ve not gone 
to bed yet. We must just yell as loud as 
ever we can. Now, all scream when I say 
‘ three.’ Robert, you do the yell like a railway 
engine, and I’ll do the coo-ee like father’s. 
The girls can do as they please. One, two, 
three! ” 

A four-fold yell rent the silent peace of the 
evening, and a maid at one of the vicarage 
windows paused with her hand on the blind- 
cord. 

“One, two, three ! ” Another yell, piercing 
and complex, startled the owls and starlings 
to a flutter of feathers in the belfry below. 

Digitized by CiOOqIc 
* o 


The maid fled from the vicarage windows 
and ran down the vicarage stairs and into the 
vicarage kitchen, and fainted as soon as she 
had explained to the manservant and the 
cook and the cook’s cousin that she had 
seen a ghost. It was quite untrue, of course, 
but I suppose the girl’s nerves were a little 
upset by the yelling. 

“ One, two, three ! ” The vicar was on his 
doorstep by this time, and there was no 
mistaking the yell that greeted him. 

“ Goodness me,” he said to his wife ; “ my 
dear, someone’s being murdered in the 
church. Give me my hat and a thick stick 
and tell Andrew to come after me. I expect 
it’s the lunatic who stole the tongue.” And 
he rushed out, dragging Andrew' by the arm. 

A volley of yells greeted them. As it 
died into silence Andrew shouted : “ Halloa, 
you there ! Did you call ? ” 

“Yes,” shouted four far-away voices. 

“ They seem to be in the air,” said the 
vicar ; “ very remarkable.” 

“Where are you?” shouted Andrew, and 
Cyril replied in his deepest voice, very slow 
and loud :— 

“ Church ! Tower ! Top !” 

“Come down, then,” said Andrew. And 
the voice replied :— 

“Can’t! Door locked!” 

“ My goodness!” said the vicar. “Andrew, 
fetch the stable lantern. Perhaps it would 
be as well to fetch another man from the 
village.” 

So Andrew fetched the lantern and the 
cook’s cousin, and the vicar’s wife begged 
them all to be very careful. 

They went across the churchyard—it was 
quite dark now—and up the tower. And at 
the top of the tower there was a little door. 
And the door was bolted on the stair side. 

The cook’s cousin, who was a gamekeeper, 
kicked at the door and said :— 

“ Halloa, you there ! ” 

The children were holding on to each 
other on the farther side of the door and 
trembling with anxiousness, and very hoarse 
with their howls. They could hardly speak, 
but Cyril managed to reply, huskily :— 

“ Halloa, you there ! ” 

“ How did you get up there ? ” 

It was no use saying “ We flew up,” so 
Cyril said :— 

“ We got up, and then we found the door 
was locked and we couldn’t get down. Let 
us out, do-” 

“ How many of you are there ? ” asked the 
keeper. 

“ Only four,” said Cyril. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


] I 2 


tl Are you armed ? ” 

“ Are we what ? ” 

“ I've got my guu handy—so you’d best not 
try any tricks/’ said the keeper, “ If we open 
the door will you promise to come quietly 
down, and no nonsense?” 

When all the holts were drawn the keeper 
spoke deep-chested words through the key¬ 
hole. 

u 1 don’t open,” said he, 44 till you've gone 


like, You won't believe us; but it doesn’t 
jnatter. Oh, take us down ! ” 

So they were taken down and all marched 
into the vicarage study, and the vicar's wife 
ca me rushing in. 

The vicar had sunk into a chair, overcome 
by emotion and amazement. 

“ But how did you come to he locked up 
in the church tower?” asked the vicar, 

MVi; went up,” said Robert, slowly, “and 


“tiie KEEJEK SPOKE [>EEP-CHE&TKI> VVOKDS IHROUGIf THfc KEVHoLft," 



over to the side of the tower. And if one of 
you comes at me I fire. Now-” 

14 We’re all over the other side,” said the 
voices. 

The keeper felt pleased with himself, and 
owned himself a bold man when he threw 
open that door and, stepping out on to the 
leads, flashed the full light of the stable 
lantern on to the group of desperadoes stand¬ 
ing against the parapet on the other side of 
the tower. 

He lowered his gun and he nearly dropped 
the lantern. 

“ So help me,” he cried, 41 if they ain’t a 
pack of kiddies!” 

The vicar now advanced. 

11 How did you come here?” he asked, 
severely, “Tell me at once.” 

14 Oh, take us down,” said Jane, catching 
at his coat, "and well tell you anything you 


Digitized by Google 


we wore tired, and we all went to sleep, and 
when we woke up we found the door was 
looked, so we yelled.” 

“ I should think you did/’ said the vicar's 
wife, “frightening everybody out of their 
wits like this ! You ought to be ashamed of 
yourselves/ 1 

“ \Ve art,'' said Jane, gently. 

“ But who locked the door? "asked the vicar, 
“ I don’t know at all,” snid Robert, with 
perfect truth ; “do, please, send us home.” 

“Well, really,” said the vicar, “ I suppose 
we’d better. Andrew, put the horse to, and 
you can take them home," 

So you see they got off belter than they 
deserved. Only Martha was very angry and 
swept them to bed in a whirlwind of re¬ 
proaches. And they were condemned to 
spend the next day indoors. Only Robert— 
but that belongs to the Tale of the Castle. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






V'isco Pelota . 

By Arthur Inkersley. 


N r E of the fastest and most 
exciting ball games in the 
world is Vasco Pelota, or 
basque ball. It originated in 
the Basque provinces of Spain, 
and thence was taken to 
Brazil and the Argentine Republic, where it 
achieved so great a popularity that the man 
who introduced iL made a large fortune. 
From South America it found its way into 
Mexico, a splendid stone court being built 


in the city of Mexico at a cost of 200,000 
silver dollars, or about ^20*000, Though 
the Mexicans are not particularly addicted 
to sport, except bull - fighting and cock- 
fighting, the game excited so much public 
interest that in eight months after play began 
the promoters are said to have recouped the 
cost of the construction of the court and to 
have gathered in a handsome profit as well. 
Courts have since been constructed in other 
Mexican cities. 

From Mexico to California is not a very 
far cry, and there has recently been com¬ 
pleted in San Francisco a cancha/’or court, 
which, though smaller than some of those 
in other cities, is stdi 208ft. long and 35ft. 

VoL —IS* 


wide. Walls enclose it on the two short 
sides and one of the long ones, the fourth 
side being left open. The court is of brick 
and the floor of concrete. The “ frontis,” or 
front wall, against which the play is directed, 
is 4ft. thick and faced with freestone, it 
having been found that brick will not stand 
the .constant battering of the ball. The long 
side wall is 35ft. high, but the front wall and 
the “rebate/ 1 or back wall, are 40ft. in 
height. Above the walls for several feet is 


wire netting* The long side wall has upon it 
white lines j 2 % ft. apart, which help the 
players, from their knowledge of the degree of 
skill and style of play of their opponents, to 
calculate where the ball is likely to be placed. 
The lines also help the spectators to judge 
of the merits of the various strokes made in 
a team match or tournament On the from 
wall, at a height of 3ft from the floor, is a 
strip of metal above which the ball must 
strike. On the floor of the court, at 48ft. 
and 84ft. from the frontis, lines are marked 
within which the service, to be good, must 
be made. To the right of the court is 
a strip of ground about half as wide 
as the coupe; and I fin 1 front of the spec- 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


114 



HF.AL1V TO SERVE. 

Frgwi a Fkntu by ljf« Procter. Sim Prnnd *C0, 


tators 7 seats. The players often run out 
upon this space to return balls which 
have bounded outwards. Here, too, sit the 
judges and the ball-keeper. The ball keeper's 
duties will be explained later. The judges, 
on being appealed to by one of the players, 
decide the point at issue. Their decisions, 
which must he given promptly and are final, 
seem not often to be called for; though, 
when rivalry runs high between teams and the 
sympathies of the spectators are strong, more 
dispute probably arises than when exhibition 
games are being played among a people un 
familiar with the game and the mem 

The “ pelota,” or hall, is made of fine 
rubber, with strands of thread wound round 
it, and has a double cover of chamois skin. 
It is about as large as a base-ball and weighs 
50Z In team play two or three men 
compose a team, Tn a team of two the 
“ delantero, 71 or leader, covers the first 
eight rectangles of the court, the trailer, or 
14 zaguero, J covering the last nine. Players 
must take the balls falling in their own 
rectangles, but during the progress of a game 
they may change positions, In a “quinida, ’ 


or tournament, six or eight players generally 
take part, each man playing against the field. 
Numbers one and two play first; the loser 
drops out, and three steps in, until all have 
had their turn. The player who scores the 
greatest number of innings wins, and the one 
who scores the next highest number gets 
“place." 

The characteristic feature of the game is 
the 44 chistera,” a sickle-shaped implement of 
wicker-work, about 3ft long and yin. wide, 
with which the ball is played. It is fastened 
to the hand and wrist by a leather glove, and 
may be worn on either hand, but is almost 
invariably worn on the right. In it the 
ball is caught, either on the volley or at 
the first rebound from the floor. Catch¬ 
ing the ball is called H resto. ?J The ball 
is then hurled, as though from a sling, 
against the front is in such a manner as to 
make it as hard as possible for the opponent 
to return it. The stroke generally employed 
is the back hand one, the free hand being 
used to give greater force to the throw. The 
ball is hurled with surprising speed, and the 
play requires great quickness and agility. 
The definite allotment of the court to par- 



©rtgirvalrfwyffFj® bA, L - 


























FAS CO PE LOTA, 


”5 



AMOTHEK POSITION TO RECEIVE THE BALL. 

From fi Photo. bit ffomtkr, £min FrantiKO. 

tiailar players renders confusion between the 
partners almost impossible. Sometimes a 
leader may volley a ball which would fall to 
the trailer if allowed to reach the floor, but 
usually he leaves the stroke to his partner. 

Before beginning an innings the ball- 
keeper offers a box containing a dozen balls 
to the player, who selects one. The leader 
of the team to which the service belongs 
shows the hall selected to the trailer of the 
opposite side, and, when the opponents have 
indicated that they are in position by saying 
“ Lesto/* or ready, the leader stands at the 
90ft. base line, hounces the ball, catches it 
in his chistera, and hurls it with sufficient 
force to rebound from the frontis and strike 
the floor between the fourth and seventh lines. 
If the ball is “ short " or long ** it is void ; 
two void balls, or faults, give one point to 
the opposite side. Thirty points constitute 
a game. 

The players wear white duck trousers and 
rubber-soled shoes, the teams being distin¬ 
guished by the colour of their caps, sashes, 
shirts, or sweaters. The company now play¬ 
ing pelota in San Francisco consists of Sepor 


A. Prido, manager; Senor Firmin Alonzo, 
a: sis tan t-manager; and eighteen players, of 
whom Firmin Vribarren is captain. 

From a spectator’s point of view Vasco 
Pelota is a magnificent game. Instead of 
being shut up in a confined space, as in a 
racquet or hand-ball court, which quickly 
becomes unbearably warm and stuffy, the 
spectators sit in the open air on seats 
arranged in tiers on Lhe long side of the 
court. They can see every detail of a game 
which is exceedingly lively and interesting, 
the play being very fast and the points easily 
understood. Unlike base-ball, intercollegiate 
football, or many other games, pelota can be 
enjoyed at once by the inexpert, non technical 
spectator. The game is exciting much 
attention dn San Francisco, and, if it proves 
financially successful, will doubtless be in¬ 
troduced into other large cities of the United 
States, and there is no reason why it should 
not be brought to England, where there are 
thousands of athletic lovers of a game like 
4t Sport Vasco,” which affords more violent 
and healthful exercise in a short time than 
almost any other now in vogue. 



,-ltETDHKINn THE HALL. 
From a-jM#y ^ 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


y" 



























Curiosities* 

[ H e shall he glad to teeth* Contributions to this section, and to pay for such as are accepted,] 


A BRIDGE BUILT THROUGH 
A HOUSE. 

*'This is a photograph of the 
Victoria Bridge, Berth, which 
crosses the River Tay* The 
northern end has l*een built 
through a bouse. A dispute 
arose as to the amount of the 
compensation to l>e paid for the 
house ; but while litigation was 
going on the bridge was com¬ 
menced* built through the house, 
and opened* and though jt has 
Well open a Wirt tw o years the 
ends of the house still stand and 
the interior of the rooms can lie 
seen*”—Mr* W r Dunscomb Val- 
lance, 23. Bromplon Square, S. \Y* 





SCHOOLROOM ■' STACKING." 
if I send you a photograph of my room as it looked 
one night when I came Wick from class. Every Fresh - 
man must have his room ‘stacked 5 by the sophomores, 
so my turn came indue course. They climbed over the 
transom and literally stacked everything in one 
corner of the room* Every garment had at least one 
hard knot in it* and some of them had two or three* 
Over a thousand stamps I had collected, which were 

* Copyright, igttt, by Gs 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


was taken hy JJerWrt Wotton, 
Mid-Surrey golfer. 


A golfing 
curiosity* 

Mr. Max Bem- 
herton* the talented 
author of M The 
Mouse Under the 
Sea,” the last 
chapters of which 
appear in this issue, 
sends a remarkable 
golfing curiosity. 
The photograph 
shows a golf ball 
d riven by A * 
Wyndham, Esq,, 
straight on to one 
of the Westward 
Ho! rushes, which 
pierced it so tint 
you could hold the 
ball up by the rush* 
It is a remarkable 
thing that a golf 
ball* w hich is nearly 
as hard as wood, 
should he thus 
spiked on to the 
point of a rush 
which is almost as 
brittle as glass* 
The photograph 
Esq., the well-known 


loose in a l>ox, were scattered over the whole room. 
Hi\ packs of playing-cards were also thrown in the 
* slack. ’ My tooth-brush was put in the water- 
pitcher and coal-oil was poured over it. Nothing but 
the map on the wall w^as left in its place. The stackers 
hung out a sign from ihe window, * Slack. 1 Of 
course, every student saw the sign and came up to see 
how the room looked* It was past twelve o*clock 
that night Ejeforc I got my bed down so as to sleep on 
it* The ‘stacking* is not done with any malicious 
intention t only for fun and pastime.**—Mr- Gordon 
Stuart, Agricultural College, Michigan. 















CURIOSITIES. * 


117 



AN' EXPLOSION FREAK. 


“Tim photograph apparently represents a coat 
thrown Isy its owner upon the branches of a tree. It 
reached its position, however, in a very peculiar 
manner, actually lieing Mown over 500ft, by an 
explosion of nitro glycerine at Snannopin, Peimsyb 
vania. The coat was hanging in the engine-room of 
the nitroglycerine factory, ami was thrown into the 
air, yet, strange to say, not a hole was torn in it. 
Another strange freak of the explosion was to hurl a 
piece of box cover and lodge it in the same tree 
which supports the coat. The explosion occurred 
in what is known as the mixing-house* which was 
torn into pieces the ske of kindling wood.* 4 — 
Mr. D Allan Willey, Baltimore. ■ 


THE MOON IN A TENNIS-BALL. 

il This photograph is apparently one of the crescent 
moon through a telescope ; in reality, however, 
it is a photograph of a lawn-tennis ball fixed against 
a Mack piece of cloth in a dark room, the light 
licing caused hy 
burning a piece 
of magnesium 
wire, which must 
be kept in one 
place. By alter¬ 
ing the position 
of the light a Full, 
half, or crescent 
moon can be 
taken. The rough¬ 
ness of a tennis- 
I mil cover is a bout 
equivalent to the 
formation of the 
s 11 r fa c e of ! h e 
moon, and the 
inequalities of the 
flannel present 
a curiously exact 
likeness to the 
appearance of the 
volcanic ranges 
as seen through 
a telescope of 
moderate mag¬ 
nifying power.”— 

Mr. C. S. Lawrence, Willey Road, Stanstead, 
Cater ham. 

WHAT IS THIS ¥ 

u The white streak across the bottom half of this 
photo, is a donkey’s ear ; the object at the end of il is 
a camel ladened with dry slicks. I photographed the 
enclo ed picture whilst on the back of a donkey, 
intending 10 take the back view of a laden camel, 
but the donkey moved his ear, thus causing 1 his 
extraordinary photo.” — Mr. Malcolm Campbell, 
North wood, Chislehurst, Kent. 



AN INGENIOUS DENTIST. 

** This raiher odd photograph is that of a 
cast taken by a dentist of Bordeaux of his 
own nose and face, and sent to me for the 
purpose of fitting eyeglasses to his nose. 



Rather an ingenious idea and a very good 
substitute, since the man could not come 
to Paris himself.Mr. L. B. Meymwitz, 
Optician, J, Rue Scribe, Park. 


























THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


u S 





property of Paulet Si. John, Esq., that in the month 
of September, 1733, leaped into a chalk-pit 25ft. 
deep a-foxhnnting with his master on his hack* And 
in Ociolier, 1734, he won the Hunters’ Hate on 
Worthy Downs, and was rode hy his owner and 
entered in the name of 41 Beware Chalk Pit*"- That 
this inscription is still to be seen is flue to the fact of 
its renewal in 1870 hy the Right Hon* Sir William 
[ienthootc, Baronet.”—Mr* IL C. Shelley, Carlton 
Lodge, Palmerston Road, Howes Park, N, 


THE EVE OF A BEETLE. 

‘‘The eyes of insects may be dcscril>ed as hemi¬ 
spheres placed on each side of the head. The reason 
for this shape will he evident when we consider the 
difference existing between these and the eyes of the 
human subject* In man the eyes are adjustable, by 
their muscles, so as to traverse an angle of vision of 
some 6odeg. to Sodeg. Tiie mechanism by which 


this is effected in man is entirely absent in insects, 
but is compensated for by a hemispherical arrange* 
menl of numerous lenses situated on the convexity of 
the cornea. This is well shown 
1 in the accomjianying photo*micro¬ 
graph of a vertical section of the 
eye of a dragon-fly. The lenses 
occupy the centres of hexagonal 
depressions within the corneae, 
and each transmits an image of 
the surrounding scene, bin not in 
a multiform character, as (he 
images received are carried by the 
optical rods within the eye and 
are received as one image by the 
retina and are united in one 
conception. This hemispherical 
arrangement of the lenses allows 
the insect a wide range of vision, 
a provision doubtless favourable 
to vigilance* As a proof of this I 
enclose the portrait—or should I 
say portraits ?— of a gentleman re¬ 
flected through ihe corneal lenses 
of a lieetle.’ 5 —Mr* T. Charters 
IfWmlb, 2'S, Be I grave Road, S-W* 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


IS THIS THE TINIEST LIVING BABY? 
tf This photograph is a portrait of little Elmer 
Clayton, son of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Clayton, of 
Los Angeles, who is surely one of the tiniest of living 
babies* He is healthy and lively, and at the age of 
two weeks weighed an ounce over two pounds, having 
trained a little over half a pound since birth. The 
pic 1 tire show^s him 
cuddled into a small 
dinner-plate, snugly as 
you please. The like¬ 
ness of so dainty a 
gentleman may be of 
interest 10 your‘ Curb 
osi lies’ readers. n —Mr* 

John L. Von Hlon, Los 
Angelos, California. 


A MONUMENT TO A 
HORSE, 

** There are many 
monuments 10 horses 
scattered over Eng¬ 
land, but it is ques¬ 
tionable whether any 
one of them can 
compete with that at 
Earley, Hampshire, in 
usefulness. Standing 
on the summit of a 
mound, which in itself 
is at a high elevation, 
the Earley Horse 
Monument has been a 
conspicuous landmark 
for many generations* 

There is a chamber inside the monument, and an 
inscription on the wall tells all ihat is known about 
the structure : ‘ Underneath lies buried a horse, the 

















CURI0S1TJES . 


119 






A REMARKABLE DOG. 

11 I send you a photograph of my old brown 
ret never dog, Shot, who was twenty-two years old 
Jast January. lie has not missed a shooting season 
fur many, many years, and his nose is alisohitely as 
good as ever it was, if not better. Tie is very 
slightly affected in his sight, hut absolutely deaf as a 
post, and works by signs from me only, as T 
fortunately always taught him to do. lie is the 
cleverest dog imaginable at all sorts of shooting, and 
in the photo., which I took on his birthday in 
January last after shooting, you see him surrounded 
by the duck, snipe, and golden plover, and I may 
mention that he picked me up thirty-three grouse at 

one drive two years 
ago only, so you see 
he is as active as he 
looks, CapiainE. 
P. Brooke, Ravens- 
craig, Conway, 
North Wales. 


cormorants nest made out of 
STEED WIRE, 

PThe nest shown in the accompany¬ 
ing photograph is a wonderful curiosity 
for two reasons: the locality in which 
it was found and the material of which 
it was constructed. A party of officers 
and men from one of the ships on the 
South African station went to visit the 
wreck of 1 LM.S. Sybtiie (which, it will 
be remembered, was wrecked off Lam¬ 
bert's Bay, on the south west coast of 
Africa, about a year ago). One of the 
officers, who had climbed up into the 
1 look - out T at the mast - head, found 
there a cormorant’s (Pkatacrocorax 
ntgra) nest containing five eggs. On 
closer inspection the nest was seen to 
lie made up of bits of sea-weed finuly 
bound tfigecher and inlet woven with 
cordage and stout steel-wire from the rigging. The 
nest and eggs are being sent to a London museum.” 


THE HUMAN 
TELESCOPE 
“ This interesting 
photo, is the inven¬ 
tion of Mr* Jack 
Lynn, the well- 
known society en¬ 
tertainer and eldest 
son of the famous 
Dr, Lynn, T b e 
telescnfn: is in two 
parts, and is fas¬ 
tened by an ordinary 
leather licit to any 
person or thing. By 
getting the front and 
back parts in line, 
one is able to see 
perfectly light 
through the obstacle 
and to locus and 
use the instrument 
as an ordinary lele- 
scope; in fact, 
objects are seen 
more distinctly 
when a block of stone or other opaque substance 
intervenes. This telescope was awarded the 

diploma at the Inventions Exhibition, April, 

1901,”*—Mr. A* C* Lambe, 207, High Street, Stoke 
Newington, N, 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


Photo, by Alfred Moysey, Esq., R.N. —Stuff- 
Surgeon C> Marsh Bcaclnell, 1 LM,S. Ban acoti/a^ 
Simon's Bay* S*A. 


THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST. 

** Heie is a striking example of tropical growth* 
[►eing a cree]>er from a West African jungle, which 
had so entwined ilself around a tree that the life was 
strangled out of 
the Latter. There 
is now a hollow 
within the con- 
volute creeper, 
and no remains 
of the tree which 
served as support 
in the first in¬ 
stance. The huge 
size of the creeper 
is also remark¬ 
able, as may be 
judged by com¬ 
paring it with the 
chair on w'hich it 
stands.”—Mr. C 
S, Snrgissun, 

11 G I en t h or n,” 

Sirensham 11 ill, 

Moseley, Birming¬ 
ham, 





















120 


THE STM AND MAGAZINE* 



A PICTURE IN CORK. 

Cork is, perhaps* the most difficult substance in 
the world lo lend itself to the knife of the sculptor. 
The above beautiful carving in this material occupied 
the artist for a period of four weeks, and was 
designed and executed to the order of Mr. John 
Smith, cork merchant, of Aberdeen, It is generally 
conceded to be one of the most beautiful cork, 
pictures in the world, and depicts the Brig of 
Balgownie, which crosses the River Don, in Aber¬ 
deenshire, and which has been immortalized by 
Byron in the famous lines 

Jirig o' EWgownk, lilaclt as. your wa', 

A mare's a Foal, a milker s a son, 

Boon yc shall fa'* 

That prophecy has never been fulfilled, however* 
for the bridge si ill stands its ground and remains one 
oF the prettiest places in Aberdeen. The above 
picture comprises thousands of cork filings. 


NAPOLEON'S MAGIC TABLE. 

*■ This table is one of the greatest curiosities from 
the lime of the Grand Emperor, who had it in his 
study at the Castle of St. Cloud* After the death of 
Napoleon it was bought in London by Baron 


Rehausen, Swedish Ambassador to the Court of St, 
James at that time. It is now owned through 
inheritance by one of I he foremost families of the 
Swedish nobility. Inside the drawer of the table is 
pasted an old slip on which h printed a description, 
which in modernized English reads as follows : * The 
Emperor Napoleon was highly delighted with this 
extraordinary work of art. It formed the surface of 
one of the tables in his study* and was always shown 
to all foreigners of distinction who visited the 
Imperial Court, It is a painting, whose resenv 
Nance lo what it represents is the most illusive ever 
produced by the genius of man. One may look at 
this strange production of art in different lights—the 
pieces of money, the fragment of broken glass, the 
pen-knife, water, and cards retain an equally illusive 
appearance as the observer moves round the table — 
but it requires a very minute examination to discover 
all the truly magical wonders it possesses.* In these 
times* when relics of Napoleon I* are eagerly sought 
for, the present whereabouts and the picture of this 
masterpiece should certainly interest all connoisseurs,” 
—Mr. Alfred Lindgren, care of Akitebolagsb 
Nor disk a Kreditbankcn, Stockholm. 



UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















zed by OoO^jIc 

C_J 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







“THE GONDOLIER FELL L'PON ME FROM EEHIND.” 
(Su fagt 125.} 


Digitized by CtOO^Ic 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












The 

Vol. xxiv. 


Strand Magazine. 

AUGUST, 1902. No. 140. 


How Brigadier Gerard Lost His Ear. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 


T was the old Brigadier who 
was talking in the caf& 

I have seen a great many 
cities, my friends. I would 
not dare to tell you how many 
I have entered as a conqueror with eight 
hundred of my little fighting devils clank¬ 
ing and jingling behind me. The cavalry 
were in front of the Grande Arm£e, and 
the Hussars of Conflans were in front of 
the cavalry, and I was in front of the Hussars. 
But of all the cities which we visited Venice 
is the most ill-built and ridiculous. I cannot 
imagine how the people who laid it out 
thought that the cavalry could manoeuvre. 
It would puzzle Murat or Lassalle to bring a 
squadron into that square of theirs. For this 
reason we left Kellermann’s heavy brigade 
and also my own Hussars at Padua on the 
mainland. But Suchet with the infantry held 
the town, and he had chosen me as his aide- 
de-camp for that winter, because he was 
pleased about the affair of the Italian fencing- 
master at Milan. The fellow was a good 
swordsman, and it was fortunate for the 
credit of French arms that it was I who was 
opposed to him. Besides, he deserved a 
lesson, for if one does not like a prima donna's 
singing one can always be silent, but it is 
intolerable that a public affront should be put 
upon a pretty woman. So the sympathy was 
all with me, and after the affair had blown 
over and the man’s widow had been pen¬ 
sioned Suchet chose me as his own galloper, 
and I followed him to Venice, where I had 
the strange adventure which I am about to 
tell you. 

You have not been to Venice ? No, for 
it is seldom that the French travel. We 
were great travellers in those days. From 

Vol xxir .—*. 


Moscow to Cairo we had travelled every¬ 
where, but we went in larger parties than 
were convenient to those whom we visited, 
and we carried our passports in our limbers. 
It will be a bad day for Europe when the 
French start travelling again, for they are 
slow to leave their homes, but when they 
have done so no one can say how far they 
will go if they have a guide like our little 
man to point out the way. But the great 
days are gone and the great men are dead, 
and here am I, the last of them, drinking 
wine of Suresnes and telling old tales in a 
cafe. 

But it is of Venice that I would speak. 
The folk there live like water-rats upon a 
mud-bank, but the houses are very fine, 
and the churches, especially that of St 
Mark, are as great as any I have seen. 
But above all they are proud of their 
statues and their pictures, which are the 
most famous in Europe. There are many 
soldiers who think that because one’s 
trade is to make war one should never have 
a thought above fighting and plunder. There 
was old Bouvet, for example—the one who 
was killed by the Prussians on the day that I 
won the Emperor’s medal; if you took him 
away from the camp and the canteen, and 
spoke to him of books or of art, he would 
sit and stare at you. But the highest soldier 
is a man like myself who can understand the 
things of the mind and the soul. It is true 
that I was very young when I joined the 
army, and that the quarter-master was my 
only teacher, but if you go about the world 
with your eyes open you cannot help learn¬ 
ing a great deal. 

Thus I was able to admire the pictures 
in Venice, and to know the names of the 
great men, Michael Titiens, and Angelus, 

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124 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 





HE HE AM 1* TELLING OLD TALES IN A CAFfc -1 


and the others, who had painted them. No 
one can say that Napoleon did not admire 
them also, for the very first thing which he 
did when he captured the town was to send 
the best of them to Paris* We all took what 
we could get, and I had two pictures for my 
share. One of them, called “Nymphs 
Surprised/* I kept for myself, and the other, 
“Saint Barbara/’ I sent as a present for my 
mother. 

It must be confessed, however, that some 
of our men behaved very badly in this matter 
of the statues and the pictures* The people 
at Venice were very much attached to them, 
and as to the four bronze horses which stood 
over the gate of their great church, they 
loved them as dearly as if they had been 
their children, I have always been a judge 
of a horse, and I had a good look at these 
ones, but I could not see that there was 
much to be said for them. They were too 
coarse-limbed for light cavalry chargers and 
they had not the weight for the gun-teams* 
However, they were the only four horses, 
alive or dead, in the whole town, so it was 


not to be expected that 
the people would know 
any better. They wept 
bitterly when they were 
sent away, and ten 
French soldiers were 
found floating in the 
canals that night As 
a punishment for these 
murders a great many 
more of their pictures 
were sent away, and 
the soldiers took to 
breaking the statues 
and firing their muskets 
at the stained-glass 
windows. This made 
the people furious, and 
there was very bad 
feeling in the tovvn. 
Many officers and 
men disappeared 
during that winter, 
and even their 
bodies were never 
found. 

For myself I 
had plenty to do, 
and I never found 
the time heavy on 
my hands. In 
every country it 
has been my 
custom to try to 
learn the language. For this reason I 

always look round for some lady who will be 
kind enough to teach it to me, and then we 
practise it together. This is the most 

interesting way of picking it up, and before 
I was thirty 1 could speak nearly every 
tongue in Europe; but it must be confessed 
that what you learn is not of much use for 
the ordinary purposes of life. My business, 
for example, has usually been with soldiers 
and peasants, and what advantage is it to be 
able to say to them that I love only them, 
and that I will come back when the wars are 
over ? 

Never have I had so sweet a teacher as in 
Venice, Lucia was her first name, and her 
second—but a gentleman forgets second 
names. I can say this with all discretion, 
that she was of one of the senatorial families 
of Venice and that her grandfather had been 
Doge of the town. She was of an exquisite 
beauty—and when I, Etienne Gerard, use 
such a word as l( exquisite/* my friends, it 
has a meaning. I have judgment, I have 
memories, 1 have the means of comparison. 

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BOW BRIGADIER GERARD LOST HIS EAR . 


125 


Of all the women who have loved me there 
are not twenty to whom I could apply such a 
term as that But I say again that Lucia 
was exquisite. Of the dark type I do not 
recall her equal unless it were Dolores of 
Toledo. There was a little brunette whom 
I loved at Santarem when I was soldiering 
under Massena in Portugal—her name has 
escaped me. She was of a perfect beauty, 
but she had not the figure nor the grace of 
Lucia. There was Agnes also. I could not 
put one before the other, but I do none an 
injustice when I say that Lucia was the equal 
of the best. 

It was over-this matter of pictures that I 
had first met her, for her father owned a 
palace on the farther side of the Rialto 
Bridge upon the Grand Canal, and it was 
so packed with wall-paintings that Suchet 
sent a party of sappers to cut some of them 
out and send them to Paris. I had gone 
down with them, and after I had seen 
Lucia in-tears it appeared to me that the 
plaster would crack if it were taken from the 
support of the wall. I said so, and the 
sappers were withdrawn. After that I was 
the friend of the family, and many a flask of 
Chianti have I cracked with the father and 
many a sweet lesson have I had from the 
daughter. Some of our French officers 
married in Venice that winter, and I might 
have done the same, for I loved her with all 
my heart ; but Etienne Gerard has his 
sword, his horse, his regiment, his mother, 
his Emperor, and his career. A debonair 
Hussar has room in his life for love, but none 
for a wife. So I thought then, my friends, 
but I did not see the lonely days when I 
should long to clasp those vanished hands, 
and turn my head away when I saw old com¬ 
rades with their tall children standing round 
their chairs. This love which I had thought 
was a joke and a plaything—it is only now 
that I understand that it is the moulder of 
one’s life, the most solemn and sacred of all 
things. . - • Thank you, my friend, thank 
you ! It is a good wine, and a second bottle 
cannot hurt. 

And now I will tell you how my love for 
Lucia was the cause of one of the most 
terrible of all the wonderful adventures which 
have ever befallen me, and how it was that I 
came to lose the top of my right ear. You 
have often asked me why it was missing. To¬ 
night for the first time I will tell you. 

Suchet’s head-quarters at that time was 
the old palace of the Doge Dandolo, which 
stands on the lagoon not far from the place 
of San Marco. It was near the end of the 


winter, and I had returned one night from 
the Theatre Goldini, when I found a note 
from Lucia and a gondola waiting. She 
prayed me to come to her at once as she was 
in trouble. To a Frenchman and a soldier 
there was but one answer to such a note. 
In an instant I was in the boat and the 
gondolier was pushing out into the dark 
lagoon. I remember that as I took my seat 
in the boat I was struck by the man’s great 
size. He was not tall, but he was one of 
the broadest men that I have ever seen in 
my life. But the gondoliers of Venice are 
a strong breed, and powerful men are 
common enough among them. The fellow 
took his place behind me and began to row. 

A good soldier in an enemy’s country 
should everywhere and at all times be on 
the alert. It has been one of the rules of 
my life, and if I have lived to wear grey 
hairs it is because I have observed it. And 
yet upon that night I was as careless as a 
foolish young recruit who fears lest he should 
be thought to be afraid. My pistols I had 
left behind in my hurry. My sword was at 
my belt, but it is not always the most con¬ 
venient of weapons. I lay back in my 
seat in the gondola, lulled by the gentle 
swish of the water and the steady creak¬ 
ing of the oar. Our way lay through 
a network of narrow canals with high 
houses towering on either side and a thin 
slit of star-spangled sky above us. Here 
and there, on the bridges which spanned the 
canal, there was the dim glimmer of an oil 
lamp, and sometimes there came a gleam 
from some niche where a candle burned 
before the image of a saint. But save for 
this it was all black, and one could only see 
the water by the white fringe which curled 
round the long black nose of our boat. It 
was a place and a time for dreaming. I 
thought of my own past life, of all the great 
deeds in which I had been concerned, of the 
horses that I had handled, and of the women 
that I had loved. Then I thought also of 
my dear mother, and I fancied her joy when 
she heard the folk in the village talking about 
the fame of her son. Of the Emperor also 
I thought, and of France, the dear father- 
land, the sunny France, mother of beautiful 
daughters and of gallant sons. My heart 
glowed within me as I thought of how we 
had brought her colours so many hundred 
leagues beyond her borders. To her great¬ 
ness I would dedicate my life. I placed my 
hand upon my heart as I swore it, and at 
that instant the gondolier fell upon me from 
behind. 

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126 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



it mteaheu to me that the plasthr would chack jk jt were taken 

EKOM THE SUMl’OHT OF THE WALL . -1 


When I say that he fell upon me I do not 
mean merely that he attacked me, but that 
he really did tumble upon me with all his 
weight The fellow stands behind you and 
above you as he rows, so that you can neither 
see him nor can you in any way guard 
against such an assault. One moment I had 
sat with my mind filled with sublime resolu¬ 
tions, the next I was flattened out upon the 
bottom of the boat, the breath dashed out of 
my body, and this monster pinning me down, 
I felt the fierce pants of his hot breath upon 
the back of my neck, In an instant he had 
torn away my sword, had slipped a sack over 
my head, and had tied a rope firmly round 
the outside of it. There I was at the bottom 
of the gondola as helpless as a trussed fowl. 
1 could not shout, I could not move \ I was a 


mere bundle. An in¬ 
stant later I heard once 
more the swishing of the 
water and the creaking 
of the oar. This fellow 
had done his work and 
had resumed his journey 
as quietly and uncon¬ 
cernedly as if he were 
accustomed to dap a 
sack over a colonel of 
Hussars every day of 
the week. 

I cannot tell you the 
humiliation and also the 
fury which filled my 
mind as I lay there like 
a helpless sheep being 
carried to the butcher’s, 
I, Etienne Gerard, the 
champion of the six 
brigades of light cavalry 
and the first swordsman 
of the Grand Army, to 
be overpowered by a 
single unarmed man in 
such a fashion ! Yet 1 
lay quiet, for there is a 
time to resist and there 
is a lime to save one’s 
strength. I had felt the 
fellow’s grip upon my 
arms, and I knew that 
I would be a child in 
his hands. I waited 
quietly, therefore, with a 
heart which burned with 
rage, until my oppor 
tunity should come. 

How long I lay there 
at the bottom of the 
boat I cannot tell; but it seemed to me to 
be a long time, and always there were the hiss 
of the waters and the steady creaking of the 
oar. Several times we turned corners, for I 
heard the long, sad cry which these gondo¬ 
liers give when they wish to warn their fellows 
that they are coming. At last, after a con¬ 
siderable journey, 1 felt the side of the boat 
scrape up against a landing-place. The fellow 
knocked three times with his oar upon wood, 
and in answer to his summons I heard the 
rasping of bars and the turning of keys. A 
great door creaked back upon its hinges. 

“ Have you got him ? ” asked a voice, in 
Italian. 

My monster gave a laugh and kicked the 
sack in which I lay. 

14 Here he is,” said he. 

Original from 

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BOW BRIGADIER GERARD LOST HIS EAR. 


127 


14 They are waiting.” He added something 
which I could not understand. 

“Take him, then,” said mv captor. He 
raised me in his arms, ascendea some steps, 
and I was thrown down upon a hard floor. 
A moment later the bars creaked and the 
key whined once more. I was a prisoner 
inside a house. 

From the voices and the steps there 
seemed now to be several people round me. 

I understand Italian a great deal better than 
I speak it, and I could make out very well 
what they w r ere saying. 

“ You have not killed him, Matteo ? ” 

“ What matter if I have ? ” 

“ My faith, you will have to answer for it 
to the tribunal.” 

“ They will kill him, will they not ? ” 

“ Yes, but it is not for you or me to take 
it out of their hands.” 

“ Tut! I have not killed him. Dead men 
do not bite, and his cursed teeth met in my 
thumb as I pulled the sack over his head.” 

“ He lies very quiet.” 

“ Tumble him out and you will find he is 
lively enough.” 

The cord which bound me was undone 
and the sack drawn from over my head. 
With my eyes closed I lay motionless upon 
the floor. 

“By the saints, Matteo, I tell you that 
you have broken his neck.” 

“ Not I. He has only fainted. The 
better for him if he never came out of it 
again.” 

I felt a hand within my tunic. 

“ Matteo is right,” said a voice. 44 His 
heart beats like a hammer. Let him lie and 
he will soon find his senses.” 

I waited for a minute or so and then I 
ventured to take a stealthy peep from between 
my lashes. At first I could see nothing, for I 
had been so long in darkness and it was but 
a dim light in which I found myself. Soon, 
however, I made out that a^high and vaulted 
ceiling covered with painted gods and 
goddesses was arching over my head. This 
was no mean den of cut-throats into which I 
had been carried, but it must be the hall of 
some Venetian palace. Then, without move¬ 
ment, very slowly and stealthily I had a peep 
at the men who surrounded me. There was 
the gondolier, a swart, hard-faced, murderous 
ruffian, and beside him were three other 
men, one of them a little, twisted fellow with 
an air of authority and several keys in his 
hand, the other two tall young servants in a 
smart livery. As I listened to their talk I 
saw that the small man was the steward of 


the house, and that the others were under 
his orders. 

There were four of them, then, but the 
little steward might be left out of the 
reckoning. Had I a weapon I should have 
smiled at such odds as those. But, hand 
to hand, I was no match for the one even 
without three others to aid him. Cunning, 
then, not force, must be my aid. I wished 
to look round for some mode of escape, 
and in doing so I gave an almost imper¬ 
ceptible movement of my head. Slight as it 
was it did not escape my guardians. 

44 Come, wake up, wake up! ” cried the 
steward. 

“ Get on your feet, little Frenchman,” 
growled the gondolier. 44 Get up, I say ! ” 
and for the second time he spurned me with 
his foot. 

Never in the world was a command obeyed 
so promptly as that one. In an instant I had 
bounded to my feet and rushed as hard as I 
could run to the back of the hall. They 
were after me as I have seen the English 
hounds follow a fox, but there was a long 
passage down which I tore. It turned to the 
left and again to the left, and then I found 
myself back in the hall once more. They were 
almost within touch of me and there was no 
time for thought. I turned towards the stair¬ 
case, but two men were coming down it. I 
dodged back and tried the door through 
which I had been brought, but it was fastened 
with great bars and I could not loosen them. 
The gondolier was on me with his knife, 
but I met him with a kick on the body which 
stretched him on his back. His dagger flew 
with a clatter across the marble floor. I had 
no time to seize it, for there were half-a-dozen 
of them now clutching at me. As I rushed 
through them the little steward thrust his leg 
before me and I fell with a crash, but I 
was up in an instant, and breaking from their 
grasp I burst through the very middle of 
them and made for a door at the other end 
of the hall. I reached it well in front of 
them, and I gave a shout of triumph as the 
handle turned freely in my hand, for I could 
see that it led to the outside and that all was 
clear for my escape. But I had forgotten 
this strange city in which I was. Every 
house is an island. As I flung open the 
door, ready to bound out into the street, the 
light of the hall shone upon the deep, still, 
black water which lay flush with the topmost 
step. I shrank back, and in an instant my 
pursuers were on me. But I am not taken 
so easily. Again I kicked and fought my 
way through them, though one of them tore 

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128 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE\ 



a handful of hair from my head in his effort 
to hold me. The little steward struck me 
with a key and I was battered and bruised, 
but once more I cleared a way in front of 
me. Up the grand staircase I rushed, burst 
open the pair of huge folding doors which 
faced me, and learned at last that my efforts 
were in vain. 

The room into which I had broken was 
brilliantly lighted. 

With its gold cor¬ 
nices, its massive 
pillars, and its 
painted walls and 
ceilings it was evi¬ 
dently the grand 
hall of some famous 
Venetian palace 
There are many 
hundred such in 
this strange city, any 
one of which has 
rooms which would 
grace the Louvre or 
Versailles. In the 
centre of this great 
hall there was a 
raised dais, and 
upon it in a half 
circle there sat 
twelve men all clad 
in black gowns, like 
those of a Fran¬ 
ciscan monk, and 
each with a mask 
over the upper part 
of his face. A 
group of armed 
men — rough-look¬ 
ing rascals — were 
standing round the 
door, and amid 
them facing the dais 
was a young fellow 
in the uniform of 
the light infantry. 

As he turned his 
head I recognised 
him* It was Cap¬ 
tain Auret, of the 
yth, a young Basque 
with whom I had 
drunk many a glass 
during the winter. 

He was deadly white, poor wretch, but he 
held himself manfully amid the assassins who 
surrounded him. Never shall I forget the 
sudden flash of hope which shone in his dark 
eyes when he saw a comrade burst into the 


room, or the look of despair which followed 
as he understood that I had come not to 
change his fate but to share it. 

You can think how amazed these people 
were when I hurled myself into their pre¬ 
sence. My pursuers had crowded in behind 
me and choked the doorway, so that all 
further flight was out of the question. It is 
at such instants that my nature asserts itself. 


With dignity 1 advanced towards the tribunal 
My jacket was tom, my hair was dishevelled, 
my head was bleeding, but there was that in 
my eyes and in my carriage which made 
them realize that no common man was before 

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"WITH DIGNITY I ADVANCED TOWARDS THE, TKtBU«AL.“ 











HOW BRIGADIER GERARD LOST BIS EAR . 


129 


them. Not a hand was raised to arrest me 
until I halted in front of a formidable old 
man whose long grey beard and masterful 
manner told me that both by years and by 
character he was the man in authority. 

“ Sir,’’ said I, “ you will, perhaps, tell me 
why I have been forcibly arrested and 
brought to this place. I am an honourable 
soldier, as is this other gentleman here, and 
I demand that you will instantly set us both 
at liberty.” 

There was an appalling silence to my 
appeal. It is not pleasant to have twelve 
masked faces turned upon you and to see 
twelve pairs of vindictive Italian eyes fixed 
with fierce intentness upon your face. But 
I stood as a debonair soldier should, and I 
could not but reflect how much credit I was 
bringing upon the Hussars of Con flans by 
the dignity of my bearing. I do not think 
that anyone could have carried himself better 
under such difficult circumstances. I looked 
with a fearless face from one assassin to 
another, and I waited for some reply. 

It was the greybeard who at last broke the 
silence. 

“ Who is this man ? ” he asked. 

11 His name is Gerard,” said the little 
steward at the door. 

“ Colonel Gerard,” said I. “ I will not 
deceive you. I am Etienne Gerard, the 
Colonel Gerard, five times mentioned in 
despatches and recommended for the sword 
of honour. I am aide-de-camp to General 
Suchet, and I demand my instant release, 
together with that of my comrade in arms.” 

T he same terrible silence fell upon the 
assembly, and the same twelve pairs of merci¬ 
less eyes were bent upon my face. Again it 
was the greybeard who spoke. 

M He is out of his order. There are two 
names upon our list before him.” 

“ He escaped from our hands and burst 
into the room.” 

€i Let him await his turn. Take him 
down to the wooden cell.” 

“ If he resist us, your excellency? ” 

“ Bury your knives in his body. The 
tribunal will uphold you. Remove him 
until we have dealt with the others.” 

They advanced upon me, and for an instant 
I thought of resistance. It would have been 
a heroic death, but who was there to see it 
or to chronicle it? I might be only post¬ 
poning my fate, and yet I had been in so 
many ted places and come out unhurt that 
I had learned always to hope and to trust 
my star. I allowed these rascals to seize 
roe, and I was led from the room, the 

Vol- «tv.-17. 


gondolier walking at my side with a long 
naked knife in his hand. I could see in his 
brutal eyes the satisfaction which it would 
give him if he could find some excuse for 
plunging it into my body. 

They are wonderful places, these great 
Venetian houses, palaces and fortresses and 
prisons all in one. I was led along a passage 
and down a bare stone stair until we came 
to a short corridor from which three doors 
opened. Through one of these I was thrust 
and the spring lock closed behind me. The 
only light came dimly through a small 
grating which opened on the passage. Peer¬ 
ing and feeling, I carefully examined the 
chamber in which I had been placed. I 
understood from what I had heard that I 
should soon have to leave it again in order 
to appear before this tribunal, but still it is 
not my nature to throw away any possible 
chances. 

The stone floor of the cell was so damp 
and the walls for some feet high were so 
slimy and foul that it was evident they 
were beneath the level of the water. A 
single slanting hole high up near the ceiling 
was the only aperture for light or air. 
Through it I saw one bright star shining 
down upon me, and the sight filled me with 
comfort and with hope. I have never been 
a man of religion, though I have always had 
a respect for those who were, but I remem¬ 
ber that night that the star shining down the 
shaft seemed to be an all-seeing eye which 
was upon me, and I felt as a young and 
frightened recruit might feel in battle when 
he saw the calm gaze of his colonel turned 
upon him. 

Three of the sides of my prison were 
formed of stone, but the fourth was of wood, 
and I could see that it had only recently 
been erected. Evidently a partition had 
been thrown up to divide a single large cell 
into two smaller ones. There was no hope 
for me in the old walls, in the tiny window, 
or in the massive door. It was only in this 
one direction of the wooden screen that there 
was any possibility of exploring. My reason 
told me that if I should pierce it—which did 
not seem very difficult--it would only be to 
find myself in another cell as strong as that 
in which I then was. Yet I had always 
rather be doing something than doing no¬ 
thing, so I bent all my attention and all my 
energies upon the wooden wall. Two planks 
were badly joined, and so loose that I was 
certain I could easily detach them. I 
searched about for some tool, and I found 
one in the leg of a small bed which stood in 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


130 



the corner. 1 forced the end of this into 
the chink of the planks, and I was about to 
twist them outwards when the sound of rapid 
footsteps caused me to pause and to listen* 

I wish I could forget what I heard. Many 
a hundred men have I seen die in battle, and 
I have slain more myself than I care to think 
of, but all that was fair fight and the duty of 
a soldier. It was a very different matter to 
listen to a murder in this den of assassins* 
They were pushing someone along the 
passage, someone who resisted and who 
clung to my door as he passed* They must 
have taken him into the third cell, the one 
which was farthest from me. 14 Help! 
Help!” cried a voice, and then I heard a 
blow and a scream* “ Help ! Help ! ” cried 
the voice again, and then “Gerard I Colonel 
Gerard!” It was 
my poor cap¬ 
tain of infantry 
whom they were 
slaugh tering. 

14 Murderers! 

Murderers!” 

I yelled, and I 
kicked at my 
door, but again I 
heard him shout 
and then every¬ 
thing was silent 
A minute later 
there was a heavy 
splash, arid I 
knew that no 
human eye would 
ever see Auret 
again. He had 
gone as a hun¬ 
dred others had 
gone whose 
names were miss¬ 
ing from the roll- 
calls of their 
regiments during 
that winter in 
Venice* 

The steps re¬ 
turned along the 
passage, and I 
thought that they 
were coming for 
rue. Instead of 
that they opened the door of the cell next 
to mine and they took someone out of it. 
I heard the steps die away up the stair. At 
once I renewed my work upon the planks, 
and within a very few minutes I had 
loosened them in such a way that I could 


remove and replace them at pleasure* Pass¬ 
ing through the aperture I found myself in 
the farther cell, which, as I expected, was the 
other half of the one in which I had been 
confined. I was not any nearer to escape' 
than I had been before, for there was no other 
wooden wall which I could penetrate and the 
spring lock of the door had been closed. There 
were no traces to show who was my com¬ 
panion in misfortune. Closing the two loose 
planks behind me l returned to my own cell 
and waited there with all the courage which I 
could command for the summons which 
would probably be my death-knell. 

It was a long time in coming, but at last 
I heard the sound of feet once more in the 
passage, and I nerved myself to listen to 
some other odious deed and to hear the cries 

of the poor 
victim. Nothing 
of the kind 
occurred, how¬ 
ever, and the 
prisoner was 
placed in the cell 
without violence* 
I had no time to 
peep through my 
hole of commu¬ 
nication, for next 
moment my own 
door was flung 
open and my 
rascally gondo¬ 
lier, with the 
other assassins, 
came into the 
cell. 

“Come, French¬ 
man,” said he* 
He held his 
blood - sta ined 
knife in his great 
hairy hand, and 
I read in his 
fierce eyes that 
he only looked 
for some ex¬ 
cuse in order 
to plunge it 
into my heart* 
R e sis t a nee 
was useless. I 
followed without a word* I was led up 
the stone stair and back into that gorgeous 
chamber in which 1 had left the secret 
tribunal. I was ushered in, but to my 
surprise it was not on me that their attention 
was fixed* One of their own number, a tall, 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


ms HANDS DARTED IS AND DUT OR WRITHED TOGITHtIR IN AN 
AGONY OP ENTREATY." 








HOW BRIGADIER GERARD LOST HIS EAR. 


dark young man, was standing before them 
and was pleading with them in low, earnest 
tones. His voice quivered with anxiety and 
his hands darted in and out or writhed to¬ 
gether in an agony of entreaty. “ You cannot 
do it ! You cannot do it!” he cried. “ I 
implore the tribunal to reconsider this 
decision.” 

“ Stand aside, brother,” said the old man 
who presided. “The case is decided and 
another is up for judgment.” 

“For Heaven’s sake be merciful!” cried 
the young man. 

“We have already been merciful,” the 
other answered. “ Death would have been 
a small penalty for such an offence. Be 
silent and let judgment take its course.” 

I saw the young man throw himself in an 
agony of grief into his chair. I had no time, 
however, to speculate as to what it was 
which was troubling him, for his eleven 
colleagues had already fixed their stem eyes 
upon me. The moment of fate had arrived. 

“You are Colonel Gerard?” said the 
terrible old man. 

“ I am.” 

“Aide-de-camp to the robber wl\o calls 
himself General Suchet, who in turn repre¬ 
sents that arch-robber Buonaparte ? ” 

It was on my lips to tell him that he was 
a liar, but there is a time to argue and a 
time to be silent. 

“ I am an honourable soldier,” said I. “ I 
have obeyed my orders and done my duty.” 

The blood flushed into the old man’s face 
and his eyes blazed through his mask. 

“ You are thieves and murderers, every 
man of you,” he cried. “ What are you 
doing here ? You are Frenchmen. Why 
are you not in France ? Did we invite you 
to Venice? By what right are you here? 
Where are our pictures? Where are the 
horses of St. Mark? Who are you that 
you should pilfer those treasures which our 
fathers through so many centuries have 
collected ? We were a great city when Francs 
was a desert Your drunken, brawling, 
ignorant soldiers have undone the work of 
saints and heroes. What have you to say 
to it ? ” 

He was, indeed, a formidable old man, for 
his white beard bristled with fury and he 
barked out the little sentences like a savage 
hound. For my part I could have told him 
that his pictures would be safe in Paris, that 
his horses were really not worth making a 
fuss about, and that he could see heroes—I 
say nothing of saints—-without going back 
to his ancestors or even moving out of his 


131 

chair. All this I could have pointed out, 
but one might as well argue with a Mama- 
luke about religion. I shrugged my shoulders 
and said nothing. 

“The prisoner has no defence,” said one 
of my masked judges. 

“Has anyone any observation to make 
before judgment is passed ? ” The old man 
glared round him at the others. 

“There is one matter, your excellency,” 
said another. “ It can scarce be referred to 
without re-opening a brother’s wounds, but I 
would remind you that there is a very par¬ 
ticular reason why an exemplary punishment 
should be inflicted in the case of this officer.” 

“ I had not forgotten it,” the old man 
answered. “ Brother, if the tribunal has 
injured you in one direction, it will give you 
ample satisfaction in another.” 

The young man who had been pleading 
when I entered the room staggered to his 
feet. 

“ I cannot endure it,” he cried. “ Your 
excellency must forgive me. The tribunal 
can act without me. I am ill. I am mad.” 
He flung his hands out with a furious gesture 
and rushed from the room. 

“ Let him go! Let him go ! ” said the 
president. “ It is, indeed, more than can be 
asked of flesh and blood that he should 
remain under this roof. But he is a true 
Venetian, and when the first agony is over 
he will understand that it could not be 
otherwise.” 

I had been forgotten during this episode, 
and though I am not a man who is accus¬ 
tomed to being overlooked I should have 
been all the happier had they continued to 
neglect me. But now the old president 
glared at me again like a tiger who comes 
back to his victim. 

“ You shall pay for it all, and it is but justice 
that you should,” said he. “ You, an upstart 
adventurer and foreigner, have dared to raise 
your eyes in love to the grand-daughter of a 
Doge of Venice who was already betrothed 
to the heir of the Loredans. He who enjoys 
such privileges must pay a price for them.” 

“It cannot be higher than they are worth,” 
said I. 

“You will tell us that when you have made 
a part payment,” said he. “Perhaps your 
spirit may not be so proud by that time. 
Matteo, you will lead this prisoner to the 
wooden cell. To-night is Monday. Let 
him have no food or water, and let him be 
led before the tribunal again on Wednesday 
night. We shall then decide upon the death 

which he is to die.” 

imal from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



It was not a pleasant prospect, and yet it 
was a reprieve. One is thankful for small 
mercies when a hairy savage with a blood¬ 
stained knife is standing at one’s elbow. He 
dragged me from the room and I was thrust 
down the stairs and back into my cell The 
door was locked and I was left to my 
reflections. 

My first thought was to establish connec¬ 
tion with my neighbour in misfortune. I 
waited until the steps had died away, and 
then I cautiously drew aside the two boards 
and peeped through. The light was very dim* 
so dim that I could only just discern a figure 
huddled in the corner, and I could hear the 
low whisper of 
a voice which 
prayed as one 
prays who is in 
deadly fear. The 
boards must have 
made a croaking, 

There was a 
sharp exclama¬ 
tion of surprise, 

“Courage, 
friend, courage!” 

I cried. “Allis 
not lost. Keep 
a stout heart, for 
Etienne Gerard 
is by your side.” 

“ Etienne ! ” 

It was a woman’s 
voice which 
spoke — a voice 
which was always 
music to my 
ears. I sprang 
through the gap 
and I flung my 
arms round her, 

“Lucia! Lucia! ” 

I cried. 

It was “ Eti- 
e n n e ! 11 and 
“ Lucia ! ” for 
some minutes, 
for one does not 
make speeches 
at moments like 
that. Jt was she 
who came to her 
senses first. 

“ Oh, Etienne, 
they will kill you. 

How came you 
into their 

hands ? y ^ put mv hand to each 

Digitized by GoOgK 


“In answer to your letter.” 

“ I wrote no letter,” 

“ The cunning demons ! But you ? ” 

“ I came also in answer to your letter.” 

“ Lucia, I wrote no letter,” 

“ They have trapped us both with the 
same bait” 

“ I care nothing about myself, Lucia, 
Besides, there is no pressing danger with 
me. They have simply returned me to my 
cell.’ 1 

14 Oh, Etienne, Etienne, they will kill you. 
Lorenzo is there,” 

“ The old greybeard ? " 

“ No, no, a young dark man. He loved 

me, and I 
thought I loved 
him until . , , 
until I learned 
what love is, 
Etienne. He 
will never forgive 
you. He lias a 
heart of stone,” 

“ Let them do 
what they like. 
They cannot rob 
me of the past, 
Lucia. But you 
— what about 
you?” 

“It will be 
nothing, Eti¬ 
enne. Only a 
pang for an in¬ 
stant and then 
all over. They 
mean it as a 
badge of infamy, 
dear, but 1 will 
carry it like a 
crown of honour 
since it was 
through you that 
I gained it.” 

Her words 
froze my blood 
with horror. All 
my adventures 
were insignifi¬ 
cant compared 
to this terrible 
shadow which 
was creeping 
over my soul. 

41 L u c i a I 
Lucia ! " I cried, 
“For pity's sake 

T 1TTLK VELVET. SHELLS t C11 HI C W hat 

urigmal from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








HOW BRIGADIER GERARD LOST HIS EAR . 


x 33 


these butchers are about to do. Tell me, 
Lucia! Tell me!” 

“ I will not tell you, Etienne, for it would 
hurt you far more than it would me. Well, 
well, I will tell you lest you should fear it 
was something worse. The president has 
ordered that my ear be cut off, that I may 
be marked for ever as having loved a 
Frenchman.” 

Her ear! The dear little ear which I 
had kissed so often. I put my hand to each 
little velvet shell to make certain that this 
sacrilege had not yet been committed. Only 
over my dead body should they reach them. 
I swore it to her between my clenched teeth. 

“You must not care, Etienne. And yet I 
love that you should care all the same.” 

“ They shall not hurt you—the fiends ! ” 

“ I have hopes, Etienne. Lorenzo is 
there. He was silent while I was judged, 
but he may have pleaded for me after I was 
gone.” 

“ He did. I heard him.” 

“ Then he may have softened their hearts.” 

I knew that it was not so, but how could 
I bring myself to tell her? I might as well 
have done so, for with the quick instinct of 
woman my silence was speech to her. 

“ They would not listen to him ! You 
need not fear to tell me, dear, for you will 
find that I am worthy to be loved by such a 
soldier. Where is Lorenzo now ? ” 

“ He left the hall.” 

“Then he may have left the house as 
well.” 

“ I believe that he did.” 

“ He has abandoned me to my fate. 
Etienne, Etienne, they are coming ! ” 

Afar off I heard those fateful steps and 
the jingle of distant keys. What were they 
coming for now, since there were no other 
prisoners to drag to judgment ? It could only 
be to carry out the sentence upon my darling. 
I stood between her and the door, with the 
strength of a lion in my limbs. I would 
tear the house down before they should 
touch her. 

“ Go back ! Go back ! ” she cried. “ They 
will murder you, Etienne. My life, at least, 
is safe. For the love you bear me, Etienne, 
go back. It is nothing. I will make no 
sound. You will not hear that it is done.” 

She wrestled with me, this delicate creature, 
and by main force she dragged me to the 
opening between the cells. But a sudden 
thought had crossed my mind. 

“We may yet be saved,” I whispered. 
“ Do what I tell you at once and without 
argument. Go into my cell Quick ! ” 

Digitized by C/tQO^iC 


I pushed her through the gap and helped 
her to replace the planks. I had retained 
her cloak in my hands, and with this wrapped 
round me I crept into the darkest corner of 
her cell. There I lay when the door was 
opened and several men came in. I had 
reckoned that they would bring no lantern, 
for they had none with them before. To 
their eyes I was only a dark blur in the 
corner. 

“ Bring a light,” said one of them. 

“ No, no; curse it! ” cried a rough voice, 
which I knew to be that of the ruffian 
Matteo. “ It is not a job that I like, and 
the more I saw it the less I should like it. I 
am sorry, signora, but the order of the 
tribunal has to be obeyed.” 

My impulse was to spring to my feet and 
to rush through them all and out by the 
open door. But how would that help Lucia ? 
Suppose that I got clear away, she would be 
in their hands until I could come back with 
help, for single-handed I could not hope to 
clear a way for her. All this flashed through 
my mind in an instant, and I saw that the 
only course for me was to lie still, take what 
came, and wait my chance. The fellow’s 
coarse hand felt about among my curls— 
those curls in which only a woman’s fingers 
had ever wandered. The next instant he 
gripped my ear and a pain shot through me 
as if I had been touched with a hot iron. I 
bit my lip to stifle a cry, and I felt the blood 
run warm down my neck and back. 

“There, thank Heaven, that’s over,” said the 
fellow, giving me a friendly pat on the head. 
“ You’re a brave girl, signora, I’ll say that 
for you, and I only wish you’d have better 
taste than to love a frenchman. You can 
blame him and not me for what I have 
done.” 

What could I do save to lie still and grind 
my teeth at my own helplessness ? At the 
same time my pain and my rage were always 
soothed by the reflection that I had suffered 
for the woman whom I loved. It is the 
custom of men to say to ladies that they 
would willingly endure any pain for their 
sake, but it was my privilege to show that I 
had said no more than I meant. I thought 
also how nobly I would seem to have acted 
if ever the story camfe to be told, and how 
proud the regiment of Conflans might well 
be of their colonel. These thoughts helped 
me to suffer in silence while the blood still 
trickled over my neck and dripped upon 
the stone floor. It was that sound which 
nearly led to my destruction. 

“She’s bleeding fast,” said one of the 

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


i 34 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



" THE NEXT INSTANT HE CHItPED llV JlAH/' 


valets, “ You had l>est fetch a surgeon or 
you vvi'll find her dead in the morning,” 

41 She lies very still and she has never 
opened her mouth,” said another, 14 The 
shock has killed her*” 

“Nonsense; a young woman does not 
die so easily/ 1 It was Matteo who spoke, 
“Besides, I did but snip off enough to leave 
the tribunal's mark upon hen Rouse up, 
signora, rouse up ! ” 

He shook me by the shoulder, and my 
heart stood still for fear he should feel the 
epaulette under the mantle. 

“ How is it with you now ? ” he asked, 

I made no answer. 

“ Curse it, I wish I had to do with a man 
instead of a woman, and the fairest woman 
in Venice,” said the gondolier. “ Here, 
Nicholas, lend me your handkerchief and 
bring a light/ 5 

It was all over. The worst had happened. 
Nothing could save me. I still crouched in 
the corner, but I was tense in every muscle, 

Digitized by Google 


like a wild cat about to spring. 
If I had to die I was determined 
that my end should be worthy of 
my life. 

One of them had gone for a 
lamp and Matteo was stooping 
over me with a handkerchief. In 
another instant my secret would 
be discovered. But he suddenly 
drew himself straight and stood 
motionless. At the same instant 
there came a confused murmuring 
sound through the little window 
far above my head. It was the 
rattle of oars and the buzz of 
many voices. Then there was a 
crash upon the door upstairs, and 
a terrible voice roared : “Open ! 
Open in the name of the Em¬ 
peror ! n 

The Emperor! It was like 
the mention of some saint which, 
by its very sound, can frighten 
the demons. Away they ran 
with cries of terror—Matteo, the 
valets, the steward, all of the 
murderous gang* Another shout 
and then the crash of a hatchet 
and the splintering of planks. 
There were the rattle of arms 
and the cries of French soldiers 
in the hall. Next instant feet 
came flying down the stair and 
a man burst frantically into my 
cell. 

“ Lucia ! " he cried, 11 Lucia 1 n 
He stood in the dim light, panting and 
unable to find his words. Then he broke 
out again. “ Have I not shown you how I 
love you, Lucia ? What more could I do to 
prove it ? I have betrayed my country, I 
have broken my vow, I have ruined my 
friends, and I have given my life in order to 
save you/ 5 

It was young I.orenzo Loredan, the lover 
w T hom I had superseded. My heart was 
heavy for him at the time, but after all it is 
every man for himself in love, and if one 
fails in the game it is some consolation to 
lose to one who can be a graceful and con¬ 
siderate winner, I was about to point this 
out to him, but at the first word I ultered lie 
gave a shout of astonishment, and, rushing 
out, he seized the lamp which hung in the 
corridor and flashed it in my face. 

“It is you, you villain I” he cried* “ You 
French coxcomb. You shall pay me for the 
wrong w'hich you have done me." 

But the next instant he saw the pallor of 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













HOW BRIGADIER GERARD LOST HIS EAR .. 


my face and the blood which was still pour¬ 
ing from my head* 

'* What is this ? ” he asked. ** How come 
you to have lost your ear ?” 

I shook off my weakness, and pressing 
my handkerchief to my wound I rose from 
my couch, the debonair colonel of Hussars. 
“My injury, sir, is nothing. With your 


permission we will not allude to a matter so 
trifling and so personal. 

But I ucia had burst through from her cell 
and was pouring out the whole story while 
she dasped Lorenzo’s arm* 

“This noble gentleman —he has taker* 
my place, Lorenzo ! He has borne it for 


T 35 

me. He has suffered that I might be 
saved*” 

I could sympathize with the struggle which 
I could see in the Italian's face. At last he 
held out his hand to me. 

“ Colonel Gerard,” he said, “ you are 
worthy of a great love. 1 forgive you, for if 
you have wronged me you have made a noble 
atonement. But I wonder to see 
you alive* I left the tribunal 
before you were judged, but I 
understood that no mercy would 
be shown to any Frenchman since 
the destruction of the ornaments 
of Venice.” 

lt He did not destroy them,” 
cried Luck. u He has helped to 
preserve those in our palace.” 

“One of them, at any rate,” 
said I, as I stooped and kissed 
her hand. 

This was the way, my friends, 
in which 1 lost my ear. Lorenzo 
was found stabbed to the heart 
in the Piazza of St Mark within 
two days of the night of my 
adventure. Of the tribunal and 
its ruffians, Matteo and three 
others were shot, the rest banished 
from the town. Lucia, my lovely 
Lucia, retired into a convent at 
Murano after the French had left 
the city, and there she still may 
be, some gentle lady abbess who 
has perhaps long forgotten the 
days when our hearts throbbed 
together, and when the whole 
great world seemed so small a 
thing beside the love which 
burned in our veins. Or perhaps 
it may not be so. Perhaps she 
has not forgotten. There may 
still be times when the peace of 
the cloister is broken by the 
memory of the old soldier who loved her 
in those distant days* Youth is past and 
passion is gone, but the soul of the gentleman 
can never change, and still Etienne Gerard 
would bow his grey head before her and 
would very gladly lose this other ear if he 
might do her a service. 



Sir Arthur Oman Doyle has in hand several of her Adventures of the Brigadier, 
which will appear in due course.— Ed. 


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Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









Pictures and Parodies , 


By Rudolph de Cordova. 


J-Yufir* th* i Wtuvtr J ** M USCJ HULA.” ( Sir Juihtut ffe f im/<!«. 


not apparently lend itself to that sort of 
treatment. 

Sir Joshua Reynolds's “Muscipula” (The 
Mousetrap) was early in 1840 turned to 
political purposes by Janies Doyle, whose 
work was published with the signature 
“H, B.” He was inspired by an event 
which, though unknown to the ordinary 
student of history, created an intense 
excitement in the political world at the time. 
In his parody it is Lord John Russell 
who takes the place of the little girl, while 
the mouse in the trap is Sheriff Evans, 
one of the two Sheriffs of Middlesex, the 
hero of the event, and the cat which watches 
the proceedings is Sir Robert Peel, The 
case arose out of an action by Mr, Stockdale 
against the Sheriffs to recover ^600 
damages awarded by the jury, together with 
costs, from Messrs. Hansard, whose goods 
were sold to defray the costs* On a motion 
by Lotd John Russell, the. House of 
Commons voted that the levy of execution 
of ^£646 on the property of Messrs* Hansard 
was a breach of privilege of the House, 
When this was carried he moved further 


PA ROD V UY JAMES rniYLE, 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


O the humorist 
nothing is sacred. 
Anything, every¬ 
thing, he turns 
from its purpose 
to make it serve 
his end—laughter* That laughter 
may, nay often does, serve a 
useful purpose, for the humorist 
is invariably a man who devotes 
his talent to 

Eye Niilure’s walks, shoot folly as 
it flies, 

And catch the manners living as 
they rise* 

The parodists of the poets are 
probably more numerous than 
the poets themselves, though not 
so well known, while the picture 
parodists have probably existed 
ever since the first prehistoric 
man took to drawing animals on 
bones or the rocky walls of his 
cave. A social or political, rather 
than a personal, bent has, for the 
most part, been the use to which 
the pictorial humorist has put 
the work he has parodied, and it 
is astonishing how often the 
touch of genius is given to mak¬ 
ing funny a subject which would 

























PICTURES AND PARODIES. 


137 




Portion of Uu FirtartJ 


NONE BUT THE DKAVE DEStlkVi: THE FAIR. 


motions that the Sheriffs be ordered to refund 
the said ^646 to Messrs. Hansard, and that 
they should be committed to the custody of 
the Serjeant at Arms. The case also came 
before the Court of Queen’s Bench, which 
ordered them to pay the money to Stockdale, 
so that the unfortunate Sheriffs were on 
the horns of a dilemma. The House of 
Commons, however, 
carried the matter 
with a htgh hand, and 
both Sheriffs were 
imprisoned in the 
House. After a few 
days Mr. Wheelton, 
one of them, was re¬ 
leased, but Mr. Evans 
remained in custody 
in spite of many 
attempts to get him 
freed. It was even 
declared that the con¬ 
finement was injuring 
his health, and physi¬ 
cians were brought to 
the Bar of the House 
to give evidence on 
the point and to be 
examined by the 
members, Mr. Glad¬ 
stone taking a not un¬ 
important part in the 

Vot juciv r — 18 . 


proceedings. Then 
the House divided, 
but the majority was 
against freeing the 
Sheriff, who held what 
were almost levies in 
his prison, and the 
Times used to print 
nearly every day the 
names of prominent 
men who visited him. 

From early in 
January until the 
middle of April he 
remained a prisoner, 
until at last the House 
of Commons passed 
a resolution that he 
should be discharged 
from custody. 

Landseer’s “ None 
But the Brave De¬ 
serve the Fair/ 5 which 
was described as 
u Mr. E. l.andseer’s 
Eftv Sir E. Lander. admired picture seen 

in a new point of 
view,” represents Lord John Russell and 
Sir Robert Peel fighting over what was 
known as the “Bedchamber Question” in 
1838, while the Queen, recognised as one of 
the does crowned, and several ladies look at 
the conflict, in which the Duke of Wellington 
is also interested. Peel noticed that the two 
ladies most closely in attendance on Her 


jrlnm- B l fram 


WMHmiF MICHIGAN 
















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Fmrn llt€ Painiinpll]/] “ 5COT1.ANP FOB RVER | " iLfliftf flfulier. 

(By permission of Messrs, Hildesheimer & Co., Owneisof the Copyright.) 


Majesty were Lady Norman by and the sister 
of Lord Morpeth. He felt that it was 
impossible for him to work the Government 
while the wife and sister of the statesmen 
whose policy he wanted to change entirely 
were the Queen’s closest companions. 
Somehow, however, he managed to convey 
to the Queen not that very reasonable point, 
but that he meant to insist on the removal of 
all her familiar attendants and household 
associates. Her Majesty told Sir Robert 


“ she could not consent to a course she 
conceived to be contrary to usage and is 
repugnant to her feelings.** 

The question caused the greatest excite¬ 
ment throughout the country, and it was at 
this time that O’Connell referred to the Queen 
as 4 ‘that young creature of only nineteen, as 
pure as she is exalted, who listened not to 
her head, but to the overflowing feelings of 
her young heart.” Her Majesty had her 
own way. 



tram 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












PICTURES AND PARODIES. 


i39 



fYgiH (Jw /‘atTitirtff by] 


[Sir K Ltnulmtr. 



When the St. Stephen's Review was being 
published, its cartoons, which were drawn by 
Mr I bm Merry, attracted a great deal of 
attention, not only by reason of their merit, 
but also for the fact that, like the cartoons of 
the American periodicals and unlike those 
in our own weekly publications, they were 
printed in colour. Of the most brilliant 
examples of his skill which I have selected 
not the least conspicuous is his parody on 
Lady Butler's 
famous “Scot¬ 
land for Ever,” 
which he called 
“Ireland for 
Ever. 1 * In con¬ 
nection with the 
week’s cartoon 
there was always 
published a little 
story illustrating 
it The story of 
this one was that 
old j o n a t h a n 
Hickman came to 
town for Easter, 
and promised to 
lake Mrs. Hick¬ 
man back a print 
of “ Scotland for 
Ever, 1 * He 
bought the pic¬ 
ture, and when 
he returned to 
his hotel he got 
talking with some 
people,and under 


the influence of a heated discussion he 
declared that “the Gladstomans had sunk 
every British interest for the sake of Ireland, 
and that Lord Salisbury had not done 
enough for the British farmer* 1 ' Then he 
had three more whiskies and went to his 
room, There he conceived the desire of 
once more looking at his purchase, and 
opening the brown-paper parcel he found, 
under the influence of the spirit, that “the 


FAFODV BY JAMES m a I f TO m 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













14 ° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 




/Tfufri the J‘a mtiitg fctf] 11 GARHEC K HKTWttEN TKACHOV AND COSIEDV." I&’fr Jaahmt KtymibU. 


horses had changed to pigs, and in place of 
the gallant Scotchmen it was a last charge of 
the Separatist Party, their shillelaghs poised 
in their hands, having carved on them ugly 
little heads which frowned and grinned in 
the most horrible fashion.” So excellent 
are the likenesses that no one can fail to 
recognise them, Reading from left to right 
they are, in the front row, Mr. I^abouehere, 
Mr, Healy, Mr. John M or ley, Sir William 
Vernon Harcourt, Mr. Gladstone, Mr. T. P, 
O'Connor, Mr, Parnell, Mr. Biggar, and 
Mr, O'Brien. 


Pitt, with Lord George 
Bentinek as the dog 
on his back, and Lord 
Beaconsfield, then, of 
course, Benjamin Dis¬ 
raeli, easily recognis¬ 
able by his wealth of 
black curls, as the dog 
on the right 

It was the Corn Law 
which Peel introduced 
that led to the parody 
of u The Stag at Bay.” 
He proposed a duty of 
ten shillings a quarter 
on corn w hen it was 
less than forty-eight 
shillings a quarter, the 
duty to be reduced by 
a shilling for every 
shilling corn rose until 
it reached fifty-three 
shillings a quarter, 
when the duty would 
remain at four shillings. This arrangement 
was to hold good for three years with other 
Customs duties, which the Opposition loudly 
denounced. In his speeches in this debate 
Disraeli called Peel a “ trader on other 
people's intelligence, a political burglar of 
other men's ideas,” and he declared that u the 
occupants of the Treasury Bench were poli¬ 
tical pedlars w ho had bought their party in the 
cheajiest market and sold it in the dearest.” 

The debate lasted twelve nights, and the 
Government w + on by 337 votes to 240, but 


In view of the 
recent Budget of 
the Chancellor of 
the Exchequer, 
Doyle's parody of 
“The Stag at 
Bay,” which he an¬ 
nounced as having 
been 11 suggested 
by the beautiful 
picture of Edwin 
Landseer, Esq,, 
R + A., exhibited at 
the Royal Aca¬ 
demy, 1S46,” has 
something of a 
topical interest, 
though the three 
personages repre¬ 
sented have long 
since passed away. 
The stag at bay is 


TkACEDV AM 


D C3NJIUV.' '-LtfcWMf BY JAMB'S* DOYLE. 


IVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











PICTURES AND PARODIES. 


141 




office, he himself hoping to get the Treasury 
after Lord Grey had gone out. The original 
was no doubt a favourite picture with Doyle, 
for eleven years after he used it again for a 
parody, with O'Connell as Comedy, Peel as 
Garrick, and Sir R, Inglis as Tragedy, 

It is remarkable, when we remember how 
many years Sir John Tenniel contributed the 
political cartoon to Punchy that the number 
of famous pictures be parodied was exceed¬ 
ingly few f . Among them was the picture of 
Uncle M oby and Widow Wad man in the 
sentry-box, after the well known picture by 
Charles R, Leslie, R.A. The scene from 
“Tristram Shandy M is that in which Uncle 
Toby, looking into the widow’s eye, said: 
“ I protest, madam, I can see nothing what¬ 
ever in your eye," 14 It’s not in the white," 
said Mrs, Wad man. 44 My Uncle Toby 

looked with might and main into the pupil” 
For the purposes of Punch this was per¬ 
verted with an ingenuity the more remark¬ 
able in that, as will be seen, very little has 
been altered. The date of the cartoon is 
April 22nd, 1893, and few people will require 
to be reminded that it was at that time 


** UNCLE TOUT AWLJ THE WIDOW WADMAN/ 

Fnrni the Painting bit G> It lit, B-A. 


the majority was not so large as was 
expected. This parody appeared on 
June 26th, 1846, the day after the 
Corn Bill was read for the third time 
in the Lords; and a very few days 
after the stag that had stood so 
proudly at bay was dragged down 
and the Ministry fell 

It was Reynolds’s picture of 
David Garrick as “a great actor 
between Tragedy and Comedy ” 
which Doyle parodied with such 
happy effect, representing William 
IV. between Lord Brougham as 
Comedy and Lord Grey as Tragedy 
in the early part of 1S34, “The 
comic literature of more than a 
generation has no subject more 
fruitful than the vanity and restless¬ 
ness of Lord Brougham," wrote 
Mr. Justin McCarthy, and here he 
is presented in a distinctly humorous 
light. The caricaturist happily crys¬ 
tallized tn his sketch the position 
of the Sovereign between the two 
famous Ministers. Brougham at 
that time was scheming to separate 
Lord Grey from his followers that he 
and his party generally might retain 


i‘AKMl>V IIV SIH JOHN 1 ENMKt.. 

Modern Ui.stek Version.— Mrs, Ulster: Nuw, Mr. Bull* du you 
any 1 Green ' in my eye ? " OH G i I'l a I fPD HI 































142 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



the Home Rule Rill had just been 
introduced into Parliament, and 
it was declared by some people 
in Ulster that the North would 
neither stand a Home Rule Par¬ 
liament nor fail to support the 
Unionists of the South in their 
resistance to it. Seizing that idea, 
Sir John represented Ulster as the 
Widow Wadman asking John Bull, 
as Uncle Toby, “ Do you see any 
green in my eye ? " 

It may be added in passing that 
the Uncle Toby of the original is 
supposed to be a portrait of 
Bannister, the comedian. 

Mulready's “ The Wolf and the 
Lamb” was another subject in 
which Lord Brougham figured, 
this time as the aggressive boy 
bullying Lord Melbourne, while 
the little girl represents Queen 
Victoria, and the old woman is 


t'AKuDV UY JAM.!* JJu-YLIi, 


the Duke of Wellington, 
The parody appeared hi 
1838, at the time when 
Canadian affairs were occu¬ 
pying the attention of the 
country, and Lord Durham 
was sent Out as (iovernor- 
General to the Colony. It 
was the policy of Lord 
Durham, who, as Mr. Justin 
McCarthy said, u made a 
country and marred a 
career,” which offered 
Brougham the opportunity 
of venting his hatred on 
Lord Melbourne and his 
Ministry. The Prime 
Minister, indeed, made a 
very weak defence in the 
House of Lords when 
Brougham attacked him, 
going so far on one occasion 
as to say “ the fellow was in 
such a state of excitement 
that if I had said a word 
he would have gone stark, 
staring mad.” 

hCapid and Psyche” is 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


“ tHE WOLF AND 'I'll h" LA ML." 

From (hi Painting ty W- J/wlrentfjp. HA- 

























PICTURES AND PARODIES. 



THE NUPTIALS <Kr CUI1D AND PSYCHE.' 

Freni tkc prewing br 0 h. CwrNasi, R.A. pabody by jambs gillray. 




a travesty of Bartolozzi s celebrated engraving 
from the drawing by Cipriani. Cupid in 
this case is the Earl of Derby, and Psyche 
Miss barren, who, contrary to the general 
belief, was by no means the first actress to 
be raised to tlie peerage, for Miss Fenton, 
the original Polly in “ The Beggar’s 
Opera/' had earlier 
become the 
Duchess of Bolton. 

For some reason 
Miss Farren, one 
of the greatest 
beauties of her 
time, was always 
an object of Gill- 
ray's determined 
hostility, and the 
Earl of Derby, on 
account of his poli 
tical principles, was 
a frequent subject 
of Gillray’s wit. 

Why the artist 
should have been 
opposed to the 
actress n o one 
seems to know, for 
she was a most 
•estimable woman 
in every way. 

Queen Charlotte 
herself became, as 
it were, a surety 
for Miss Farreii’s 
reputation to suC’ 
ceeding genera¬ 
tions. Soon after 
she married the 
Earl the actress 
wrote to the Queen 


and asked whether she would be admitted 
to Her Majesty's Drawing Rooms, and the 
Queen replied that she would be very happy to 
receive her, as she had always understood that 
Miss barren’s conduct was most exemplary. 

It will be noticed with what admirable 
humour Gillray has transformed the basket of 

love-apples with 
which the leading 
characters in the 
original are 
crowded into the 
Earl’s coronet 
—a touch of real 
caricature which 
cannot be too 
highly com mended. 

Not less happy 
was the parody of Sir 
John Everett Mil 
lais's " Bubbles, 11 a 
picture which is 
better known than 
almost any other in 
the wor Id by reason 
of its having been 
used for the pur- 
poseof an advertise¬ 
ment. It was the 
outcome of the 
famous Hansard 
Union, which the 
*$ /. Stephen's 
Review at the time 
declared to be 
“financially un- 
sound,” and re¬ 
presents the then 
I _ord Mayor of 


pf AKOOY DV TO* 


bubbles* 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










A strange case of art and craft. 


By Geo. Manville Fenn, 


r. 

RS. DUN BY said “Thank 
goodness I ,J when the carriage 
rolled away from the great 
house at the corner of Quarrill 
Square, to‘ l>e followed by two 
luggage - laden cahs in the 
charge of Thompson and Mrs. Repton, 
valet and maid to the Ehrenbergs, bound for 
Vienna, via Charing Cross. 

The exclamation was on account of Ehren¬ 
berg being “a bit of a trial/' and his lady's 
health in that personage's estimation ter¬ 
rible, while the departure for the Continent 
meant six weeks’ perfect peace, inasmuch as 
the house was to be shut up, the servants 
placed upon board wages, no tradesmen to 
invade the place for painting or other repairs, 
no cleaning to be undertaken* In short, 
there was nothing to be done hut cover the 
pictures, statues, furniture, and bric-a-brac in 
the big salon and long gallery. 

There were periodical “cleanings,” but 
w‘hen they did take place it was under 
Ehrenberg's own superintendence, for the 
old mansion was a perfect store of what the 
French call ohjcts de vertu , “picked up” 
by their owner during his travels, sent home 
to be stood up, hung, or enclosed in cases, 
w p here they became, like the rest of the col¬ 
lection, “of fabulous value,”and stayed there 
till they w r ere in the course of time “placed” 
— in other words, sold at two, three, four, or 
five hundred per cent, profit. But let it not 
be supposed that Ehrenberg was a shop- 
keqier or tradesman* Nothing of the kind ; 


he only, to use his own expression, “made a 
deal” sometimes, and the said deal might 
be a Vandyke, a Murillo, or Guido, an 
inlaid and chased suit of armour, a piece of 
genuine Greek sculpture, or a guaranteed 
mummy from the latest discovery in 
Egyptian tombs. 

Let it suffice that those “in the know” 
declared Ehrenberg to be ground to the 
finest edge of sharpness, and that Mrs* 
Ebrenberg's diamonds were the envy and 
admiration of society, in which they freely 
mixed* 

Mrs. Dunby, the housekeeper, then, said 
“Thank goodness!” in anticipation of a 
quiet rest, which was not likely to be dis¬ 
turbed unless she was called upon to receive 
an odd packing-case or two, containing 
something that her employer had “ picked 
up ” on his way, and she calmly and deliber¬ 
ately during the first week superintended 
the draping of statues, the covering of the 
gallery pictures, and the guarding of the 
treasure chambers generally against the in¬ 
sidious attacks of their great enemy in 
London, a combination of soot and dust. 

Eight days had passed, the work was done, 
and Berry, the butler, informed Mrs, Dunby 
that as it was so fine he should take a run 
down to Brighton ; and he went. 

The door had hardly closed upon his exit 
when Rimmer, the under-butler, and Small, 
the footman, appeared out of uniform, as 
they termed it, and most respectfully asked 
leave to go up to Lord’s for an hour or tw*o 
to have a look at the gfpflt cricket match, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












THE BRIC-A-BRAC HUNTER. 


T 4S 



Mrs* Dunby expressed her surprise at 
such an application being made to her the 
moment Mr* Berry s back was turned ; but 
the housekeeper was old—the Mrs. did not 
mean matrimonial rank, 
being only used as a 
title which carried weight 
—and the under-butler 
and footman were both 
very fine men, a carefully- 


nose-bags, which they carried to the front and 
adjusted over the muzzles of the sniffing 
horses Meanwhile, the short, square, heavy- 
looking man went up to the door, rang, and 


** MKS. UUNBV EXPRESSED HKH SUKIKISt," 


selected pair. Moreover, Mrs. D. was in a 
particularly good humour that morning, and 
she gave her consent. 

Then it happened that the favoured 
menials had gone no farther towards Lord's 
Cricket Ground than the Running Linkman, 
which old-world hostelry, as everyone knows, 
is in the narrow street at the back of Quarrill 
Square, when a very new-looking pan¬ 
technicon van, painted bronze-green and 
drawn by a pair of sturdy-looking horses, 
drew up in front of the entrance steps. 

It was a particularly gooddooking van, 
bearing in gilt letters of running hand the 
proprietors 1 names, 41 Hoffmann Fr&res,” 
and beneath, in smaller letters, “Berlin, Paris, 
London/' 

As the great van stopped, a heavy, quietly 
dressed, black-bearded man got down from 
beside the driver, and four others of the 
regular porter or furniture-remover type 
descended from their tail-board seat, upon 
which they had been swinging their legs, two 
of them casting loose a couple of well-filled 

Vol xx\v.— 19. 

Digitized by Google 


stood extricating a thick, bronze-green, oblong 
book from his pocket, lettered like the van, 
“Hoffmann Frferes,” but with, in addition 
to the above-named cities, the words, 
“ Continental carriers/ 1 

Mrs, Dun by opened the front door herself 
and let the sunshine into the gloomy, holland- 
draped hall, just as the visitor slowly drew a 
short, stubby pencil from the loops of leather 
w-hich kept the book closed, holding it so 
that the inscription on the book could easily 
be read. 

** Goot morning, mattam,” he said, in a 
guttural German voice. “ Mister Ehren- 
berg’s ? ” 

“ Yes ; what is it ? ” said the housekeeper, 
taking in book, man, followers, van, and 
horses in one quick, suspicious glance, which 
suggested her thoughts : “If you have come 
to fetch something, you’ll go back without it.” 

“Ach! Id is right,” replied the man, 
adjusting the spectacles he wore before 
opening the book and making a dash at a 
much-used slip of blotting-paper which flew 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





















146 


THE STB AND MAGAZINE. 


out Then, reading slowly : “ For derlivery : 
von longue gase and dwo dall ubright gase. 
Vragile ; mit great gare. Gonsign vrom 
Vienna.” 

“ Oh ! ” said the housekeeper, shortly, and 
then in a sharper tone, which sounded as if 
garnished with suspicion, “and how much to 
pay ? ” 

“ Do bay ? ” said the man, looking over his 
glasses and wrinkling his forehead. “ Noding. 
Garriage, Gondinental sdeamer, and vrom 
Volkestone to London, all baid.” 

“ Ho! I have had no orders about 
receiving any packages. What have you 
brought ?” 

“ Der dree gase, mattam.” 

“ Yes, yes ; but what is in them ? ” 

“ Ach ! In de longue gase a bianovorty, 
very olt. Id is in von of our gase. Der 
von id game in vas broke ail do bids in de 
sdeamer.” 

“Then it is damaged,” said the house¬ 
keeper, shortly. “I shall not receive it.” 

“ Nein, nein, mattam. Der biano is nod 
damage. Id is de gase vos broke. I shall 
unback id vor you do see. My beobles gif 
orders. Id is all right. You look here; id is 
insure, mattam.” 

He pointed to a printed note at the bottom 
of the consignment leaf, which the house¬ 
keeper read, and then seemed satisfied. 

“ Well, I suppose you had better leave 
them,” she said. 

The man gave his head a clumsy bob, 
intended, no doubt, for a polite bow, before 
tearing off from the counterfoil a duly filled- 
up delivery-note, which he handed to the 
housekeeper, with the pencil. 

“ B’r’aps mattam will sign,” he said, and he 
stepped inside the hall to lay the open book 
ready for the receiver’s signature.—“Dank 
you, mattam. Now where will you have de 
backages ? ” 

“ Bring them in here,” was the reply. 

“ Ach ! Zo ? Bud dey dake up all de 
room.” 

“ Never mind. Let me see.” 

The man nodded, buttoned up his book, 
and took out a key, which he shook signifi¬ 
cantly. 

“ We dake gare of de goods in our sharge,” 
he said, and going out he gave some orders 
to the waiting men, who let down a couple 
of bars which crossed the back of the 
van, after which the foreman, or what¬ 
ever he was, unlocked the doors, which 
were thrown open, and his people, with all 
the dexterity of those accustomed to handle 
chests and pieces of furniture, drew out a 

Digitized by GoOqIc 

* o 


long deal case, getting it well between them, 
and bore it up into the hall, to place it 
where directed at the foot of a wide flight 
of stairs. 

“As if he hadn’t got enough pianos in 
the pl&ce ! ” muttered the housekeeper as 
the men tramped out again, followed by their 
foreman, who gave his orders in a short, stern 
voice to the pair, who entered the van, and 
between them turned down a tall, heavy case 
till the top could be taken by the two waiting 
by the tail-board, who supported it till the 
first pair got out of the waggon and lent 
their help, with the result that the four skil¬ 
fully bore what was evidently a very heavy 
load into the hall, and then, in obedience to 
their orders, stood the case up on end. 

The third case was brought in after the 
same fashion, and stood on the other side of 
the piano. 

“ Is that all ? ” asked the housekeeper. 

“ Yes, mattam, dat is everydings ; but I 
mus’ dake de insdrument out of our gase.” 

He turned sharply to one of his followers, 
and said, in German, “ Where are the 
tools ? ” and the man went out to the van. 

The housekeeper looked at the three 
cases pretty well blocking up the end of the 
hall, and then, as if making up her mind 
quickly and mastering a doubt, she said, 
imperiously :— 

“ I shall not have the case opened.” 

The foreman looked perplexed, and began 
to pass one hand through his beard. 

“ I am sorry, mattam, but my orders were 
to open dot gase and see dat der biano was 
in goot orter and none of der bolish gone off. 
Ach ! Besides, I must dake back de emdy 
gase.” 

“Very well,” said the housekeeper; “but 
the things can’t stand there. Your men 
must carry them up into one of the rooms.” 

“ Zo ? ” exclaimed the man, and, getting 
the porters together, he turned an inquiring 
look upon the housekeeper. 

“Through that door at the head of that 
staircase.” 

“ Ach ! Dot is goot,” said the man, with 
a little chuckle. “ Blenty of room ; all 
strade oop, and no gorners to go rount. 
Dese gases are very heavy, mattam. Now, 
my boys,” he added, in German, “be quick.” 

It was an ascent of some eight or nine 
low, wide stairs to a big landing, where an 
arched doorway was partly hidden by heavy 
curtains, which in their turn were covered 
with holland. These were thrown back on 
either side with a loud jangling noise of 
brass rings gliding over a pole, showing a 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE BRIC-A-BRAC HUNTER . 


147 



business-like a way that the housekeeper 
almost smiled as she stood looking on from 
the landing, and saw the men in the ball take 
hold of one of the tall cases, tilting it towards 
her* and handling it easily in spite of its 
weight. One minute she 
noted the inscription “Top," 
in three languages, the next 
she saw three of the men 
lower the case down to the 
fourth, who had gone upon 
all fours at the foot of the 
stairs ready to receive the 
weight upon his broad 
back, and while his com¬ 
panions guided, eased, and 
steadied the burden, he 
crawled slowly up the stairs 
to the landing, where the 
case was up-ended, seized, 
and borne to its apportioned 
place. 

14 Dot is de best way to 
gurry hefify gases, mattam,” 
said the foreman, with a 
grim smile. 

The fellow - package was 
treated in the same way and 
stood up facing the first, so 
that they looked like two 
square deal towers right and 
left of the holland avenue, 
and then the men went 
down to attack the piano- 
case. 

14 Some stadues, mattam, 
I dink,” said the foreman. 

“ Are they quite safe like 
that?” 

u Zo ? Ach, you dink 
dey dumble oven Nein, 

nein. Doo huffy. You 

look dere.” 

As he spoke the man 
seized one of the tall cases 
and gave it a heavy 
thrust; but it did not stir. 

** You zee,” he said, '* I gould not move 
them. My poys are fery sdrong. Look 

now." 

He pointed to the piano-case coming up 
on four legs, as it were, balanced carefully on 
the back of another of the men ; and a 
minute later it was placed between the 

others. 

“ Dools,” said the foreman, and a couple 
of screw-drivers were produced from a carpet¬ 
bag, the lid of the case taken off, the front 
unscrewed in turn, and then the men drew 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


long gallery lit from the roof, and looking 
like a kind of avenue of awkward objects 
draped in holland, while as much of the 
walls as could be seen was evidently hung 
with pictures similarly treated. 


41 You shoost dell me where you like de 
gase to stand, and my poys shall roll oop 
enough garped, don't you dink ? " 

41 Yes, it will be as well," said the house¬ 
keeper, leading the way, followed by the 
men, who directly after folded back four fold 
a portion of the magnificent Aubusson 
carpet. 

Dot will do," said the foreman, in a deep 
growl. “ Dere ts blenty of room, mattam," 
and then in German he pointed out where 
each case was to be placed. 

Everything was done in so quick and 


























THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



out a beautifully inlaid early representation 
of a square piano, harpsichord, or clavichord, 
probably a couple of hundred years old* Its 
legs lay at one end of the case, and these 
were taken out, screwed in their places, and 
the instrument stood up, with the foreman 
carefully examining it all round, while three 
of the men replaced front and lid of the case 
and bore it back to the van. 

44 She is not efen sgratched,” said the fore¬ 
man, with a sigh of 
relief, and he tapped 
the top with his 
knuckles, bringing 
forth a discordant, 
jangling sound of 
loose wires. 

44 1 not gif much 
for dot music, mat- 
tarn," said the man, 
with a thick chuckle ; 

14 but dis engrafe 
wood—ach, lofelv!” 

“Old rubbish,” 
said the house¬ 
keeper, shortly* 

“ Dot is what my 
old woman would 
say, mattam. But 
engrafe inlay wood ! 

Ach, lofely! Your 
Jippingtale gome 
not near to it. Now, 
you 3 ” he continued, 
to the remaining 
man, and the next 
minute the latter 
was busy with spirit- 
bottle and rubbers, 
touching up the old 
polished w ood w here 
necessary, and vastly u * jug iieek was hakt 

t m proving the 

appearance of the instrument as he brought 
out the grain, while the foreman opened the 
front and displayed the worn and yellow 
ivory keys and the satin-wood lining decked 
w-ith inlaid flowers* 

44 Mattam like do dry de biano? ” said the 
foreman, with a leer at the stern-looking 
housekeeper. 41 Nein ? Mattam is right,” 
he continued, thumping two or three keys 
and producing dismal, skeleton-like sounds. 

44 Ach!” he said, grimly. 41 Like an old 
gofiin in which zome old music was buried, 
and we dig it oop.” 

“Bah!” exclaimed the housekeeper. 

44 There, be quick, please.” 

44 My poy have nearly done, mattam. You 


like to look inside again at de vlowers all 
inlaid in w p ood ?” 

44 No,” said the housekeeper; U I have no 
taste for such old rubbish.” 

44 Mattam is fery w r ise laty,” said the man ; 
44 boot dere are voolish beobles who give one, 
dwo, dree hoondert bound for dot, Dere, I 
shut him oop. Dot will do, Hans, poy ; de 
bolish is goot.” 

The man replaced his bottle and rubbers 
along with the screw¬ 
drivers in the carpet¬ 
bag, and went to 
join his companions, 
who w'ere shutting 
up the van, 

44 Dot is all, mat¬ 
tam,” said the fore¬ 
man. 

The reiterated 
44 mattam,” joined 
with the respect 
paid to her, molli¬ 
fied Mrs. Dunby, 
who approved more 
of the German 
polish than the 
French just applied 
to the old instru¬ 
ment, and she be- 
ca m e condesce nd- 
ing* 

4t You and your 
men would like 
some beer, I sup¬ 
pose ? ” she said, 
tartly. 

411 Doze dings was 
fery he fly, mattam, 
and my poys are 
Sharman. Dey vould 
a ken up in the iiali ." be glad to trink 

your healt.” 

44 Then you do not drink beer, but 
schnapps, I suppose?” said the housekeeper, 
with a smile. 

44 Nein, mattam, nod at all. I huf been 
deedodal effer since I gome to London.” 

44 Oh 3 ” said the housekeeper, and she sent 
one of the maids for a jug of beer, which 
was partaken of in the hall, and then after 
a 44 Coot morning, mattam,” the foreman 
took his departure and the van was driven 
away, its gilt letters enlightening all whom 
it might concern upon the fact that 
Hoffmann Freres, of Paris, Berlin, and 
London, had delivered a heavy consign¬ 
ment of bric-&-brac at Ehrenberg’s, and 
that was all* 


Diqili 


led by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








THE BRIC-A-BRAC HUNTER, 


149 


II. 

The maids said that Mrs. Dun by was in 
one of her tantrums next morning; and, in 
truth, that lady was not in an amiable state 
of mind. It was quite natural that Mr. 
Berry, the butler, bad not returned from 
Brighton overnight, for it had been settled 
that he should pass four-and-twenty hours 
at the seaside ; but that Rimmer and Small, 
upon whom she looked with favour, should 
have taken advantage of her kindness and, 
in the absence of master and fellow-servant, 
stopped out all night too, was unpardonable, 
and she said so in the hearing of the maids, 
and, in addition, uttered threats about 
reporting their conduct to Mr. Ehrenberg 
on his return. 

“ Which she just won't,” said one of the 
housemaids; “ but fleas in their ears when 
they do come back is nothing to it.” 

“ My word, yes ! ” said another. “ There 
will be a shindy ! ” 

The said “ shindy ” occurred much 
sooner than the maids anticipated, for they 
had hardly spoken before there was a violent 
ringing of a bell. 

“ What bell's that ? ” said one. 

“Picture-gallery,” said the cook, who 
never answered bells, but had a very good 
ear for music. “ You gells have been leav¬ 
ing your brushes and brooms there after 
sweeping up yesterday when the men went 
away.” 

“ I didn’t,” said one housemaid. 

“ And I'll swear I didn't,” said the other. 

Jangle went the bell again, more violently 
than before. 

“ Why don't you answer the bell, Mary ? ” 
said the first speaker. 

“ Well, I'm sure, Sarah ! ” replied the other, 
tartly. “ It's not my place to answer the 
picture-gallery bells. Where are the foot¬ 
men ? ” 

Jangle went the tintinnabulation again, and 
cook spoke wisdom. 

“ She's in a regular fantigue, my dears, and 
I'd go up together and share it, if I was 
you. There, don't stand haggling.” 

Cook had great influence with her fellow- 
servants, and her advice prevailed, the two 
housemaids entering by the open picture- 
gallery door just as Mrs. Dunby had .placed 
her hand upon the bell handle with the 
intention of keeping it there till the summons 
was answered. 

“ Oh, there you are at last! ” cried the 
irate housekeeper. “ Now, then, if you 
please, have the goodness to explain that.” 

She stood in a tragedy-queen attitude, 

Diqilized by GoQQ lc 
* o 


pointing at a holland - covered chiffonnier, 
upon which stood a port-wine bottle and a 
tumbler, the first empty and displaying its 
patch of whitewash, and beside it, impaled 
upon a pocket corkscrew, a dissipated-look¬ 
ing, sodden cork, the glass holding still about 
a tea-spoonful of port-wine crust, showing 
that the bottle had been drained. 

The maids stared at the bottle and glass 
and then back at the housekeeper, before 
turning questioning eyes one upon the other. 

“Well, why don't you speak?” cried their 
questioner. 

“ I dunno what you mean, ma'am,” cried 
Mary. 

“And I'm sure I don’t neither,” said 
Sarah. 

“ No lies, if you please,” cried the house¬ 
keeper, angrily. “ If you'll take my advice 
you'll be open and confess.” 

“ Confess ! ” said Mary. “ I've nothing to 
confess.” 

“ And I'm sure I ain't,” said Sarah. 

“ Shame upon you both ! I've suspected 
it for long enough. Late at night, too, after I 
had gone up to bed ! ” 

“What do you mean, Mrs. Dunby?” said 
Mary, simply. 

“ I mean that you two took advantage of 
Mr. Berry being out and the men-servants 
away to go down to the butler’s pantry and 
steal that wine.” 

“ That I'm sure we didn't,” snorted Mary. 
“Nothing of the kind.” 

“ It's false ! ” cried the housekeeper. “ You 
two planned it, I'm sure, and had in I 
don’t know who—the grocer's man or the 
butcher, or some other two friends of yours 
—to drink your master’s wine; and as soon 
as he returns you may make up both your 
minds to be turned away without characters.” 

“ Oh, very well,” said Mary, loftily. 
“ Don't mind what she says, Sarah, dear ; 
good places are plentiful enough, and it 
won’t be much of a loss to leave a situation 
where the housekeeper drinks.” 

“ What ? ” cried the lady in question, turn¬ 
ing pale. 

“ And has in a German furniture-moving 
man to half finish a bottle of master’s port 
wine.” 

“ How dare you ! ” 

“ And has so much herself that she forgets 
to put the bottle and glass away.” 

“ You impudent hussy ! ” cried the house¬ 
keeper, almost foaming. 

“ Faugh! I saw you smiling at him 
yesterday, and him being sweet as sweet 
to you. Didn’t you, Sarah ? ” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


r 5 » 

“ Well, I did see something, certingly, 11 
said Sarah ; “and— ” 

“If you please, Mrs. Dun by,” said cook, 
entering the gallery, looking sharply from one 
to the other, “the front-door bell rang, and 
here's that German furniture-moving man 
come back, 51 

The two housemaids burst into a shriek of 
laughter and rushed out of the room, while 


“ Hoffmann Freres—Despatch, London. 
A mistake. The three cases not to be taken 
to my London house, but sent by S.W.R. to 
The Willows, Dalemond-on-Thames.” 

14 Ha!" said the housekeeper, coldly. 
“ But the cases are here.” 

14 Yes, mattam.” 

41 Then what do you propose to do?” 
“What dis delegrarn say, mattam.” 



" lirkE S THAT T'BRMAK FURNITURE-MOVING MAN COME UACK." 


the housekeeper's face became of the colour 
of fresh putty, 

14 Anything the matter, Mrs. Dunby ? ” 
said the cook. 

tfc The matter ? Oh ! ” cried the house¬ 
keeper. 

Few words, but intense of the in tensest, 
and she stalked into the hall, to find the 
foreman from Hoffmann Frferes waiting, hat 
in hand, just inside the door. 

II Goot morning, mattam,” he said, with a 
respectful bow. 41 I am zorry to drouble 
you, but there is a great misdake.” 

“And pray who has made it?” said the 
housekeeper, icily, and with tightened lips. 

II I subbose, mattam, it was de Herr 
Ehrenberg." 

11 My master ? ” 

“ Yes, mattam. If you would read dot 
delegrarn.” 

He placed the message in her hands, and 
she read: — 



“Take them to Mr. Ehrenberg’s country 
seat ? ” 

“No, mattam. I haf brought de van and 
de gase, and we shall dake all de dings to 
Nine Elms,” 

Mrs. Dunby looked very cold and stern, 
but her heart seemed to be on fire and 
burning with the unjust injuries she had 
received, as she read the telegram over again. 

“ Very well,” she said, coldly ; “ 1 suppose 
it is all right. Make haste, please, for I am 
busy.” 

“ I dank you, mattam,” said the foreman ; 
and he went slowly to the door, which was 
opened for him, to sign to the waiting men 
with the van, who immediately began to 
open the back of the great, lumbering vehicle 
and draw out the empty case. 

“ I am fery zorry do drouble you all over 
again, mattam,” said the foreman, politely. 

“ Never mind,” replied the housekeeper, 
coldly ; and then she stood on guard, as 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























THE BRIC-A-BRAC HUNTER, 


in duty bound, while the business of the 
previous day was reversed. She saw the 
heavy packages removed and the piano re¬ 
stored to its outer case, and neither of the 
statues could have been so stony as the aspect 
of Mrs. Dun by and her distance of manner 
towards the foreman, while when the two 
housemaids passed through the long gallery 
twice over—casually, of course—there was a 
flash from the housekeeper’s usually dull 
eyes that was absolutely withering. 

The moving took some time, for the men 
were very deliberate in their motions, and 
their foreman punctilious in the extreme 
over the relaying of the rolled-back carpet, 
and the filling up and signing of a printed 
form of receipt. 

But at last all was done, the cases were in 
the van, locked up, the men in their seats 
upon the lowered tail-board, and the foreman 
by the driver, ready to raise his hat to the 
housekeeper as the party were driven away. 

“ Ha ! ” said Mrs. Dunby just then, with 
a snort, as she caught sight of two tall, 
picked footmen out of livery coming down 
the side of the square. “There’s going to 
be something said about this.” 

Prophetic words. Ten minutes later 
Rimmer’s ears tingled, and Small, in despite 
of his 6ft, felt worthy of his name. 

“ Old cat ! ” he said to his fellow-servant, 
later on. “ I thought we’d pretty well got 
the length of her foot. Think she’ll tell the 
gov’nor when he comes back ? ” 

“ You bet! ” was the surly reply. 

The week which followed was not pleasant 
for anybody ; even Mr. Berry, the butler, did 
not seem benefited by his run down to 
Brighton, and the general consensus of 
opinion in the servants’ hall was that matters 
would be made warm when “ master ” re¬ 
turned. 

They were, and much sooner than was 
anticipated. For three days after there was 
a surprise—Ehrenberg came home in a cab, 
no notice having been sent so that the 
carriage might meet him and his lady; 
and consequently no preparations had been 
made. The shutters were still closed and 
the furniture remained decked in holland. 

“ Been awful,” whispered Mrs. Ehrenberg’s 
maid hastily to the housekeeper. “Nothing 
the matter, but she’s pretended that she was 
getting worse, and he was obliged to bring 
her home.” 

There was nothing for it but for all the 
staff to set to work to make the place pre¬ 
sentable for the travellers, and as soon as 
Ehrenberg had finished the scratch dinner 

Digitized by Google 
* o 


* 5 * 

and was sitting over his wine alone he sent 
for the housekeeper. 

“Well, Dunby,” he said, “is everything 
right?” 

“ Well, sir-” 

“ Stop ! ” cried the great collector, ex¬ 
citedly. “Don’t tell me there has been a 
burglary amongst my gems ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no, sir. Everything in the 
collection is all right. I was going to allude 
to the conduct of the servants during your 
absence.” 

“Is that all ?” said Ehrenberg, calmly. 

“Yes, sir; but it’s very serious, sir, and I 
feel it my duty to speak.” 

“ Go on, then, and get it over. You 
know I don’t like to be bothered about these 
petty domestic troubles.” 

“ Yes, sir, but this is very serious. I came 
down one morning, sir, to find that two of 
the women had been having visitors in the 
night, and there were traces of their carous¬ 
ing in the picture-gallery.” 

“ What traces ? ” said Ehrenberg, glaring. 

“ An empty port-wine bottle, sir, and 
glass.” 

“ In my gallery ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Confound their insolence ! But port 
wine? In the night? Where were the 
men? Were they in it?” 

“ No, sir; I am grieved to say that they 
had taken advantage of your absence and 
were out all night.” 

u Discharge the lot. A fresh staff of 
domestics, Mrs Dunby. With such a collec¬ 
tion of art treasures as mine I must have 
servants that I can trust.” 

“Yes, sir. I am sorry to complain, but 
the maids were most insolent to me.” 

“ Then speak out when you are applied to 
for their characters.” 

“ Yes sir ” 

“That’s all, then?” 

“ Yes, sir; I don’t think that I have any¬ 
thing else to say.” 

“Then be off and let me finish my wine 
in peace, for I’ve had precious little since 
I’ve been away.” 

“ I’m very sorry, sir. My mistress, then, 
has been so ill ? ” 

“ Rubbish ! There, that will do.” 

“Oh, there is one thing, sir. The three 
great cases arrived from Vienna.” 

“ The three great cases ? ’ 

“ Yes, sir ; by Hoffmann Freres ; and I had 
them placed in the picture-gallery.” 

“ Three great cases ! ” mused Ehrenberg. 
“ And you had them placed in the gallery ? ” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


1 5 2 


“Yes, sir; but tlie men came with your 
telegram saying that it was a mistake. 11 

“ Ah, of course!” cried Ehrenberg. “ I 
felt that there was nothing to come here,” 

44 Exactly, sir, and they took them away 
next day,” 

“Took them away next day?" said the 
collector, changing colour. “ My telegram ? 
Good heavens, woman ! I sent no telegram. 
Where is it ? ” 

“ Here, sir,” said the housekeeper, trem¬ 
bling, and she produced the delivery-note, 
the receipt for the packages, and the tele¬ 
gram, all neatly pinned together. 

Ehrenberg glanced at them and thumped 
his fist on the 
table. 

“ A conspiracy! ” 
he roared. 

“ Woman, do you 
mean to tell me 
you received these 
three great cases 
and had t h e m 
placed in the 
picture-gallery ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

11 And they were 
there all one 
night ? ” 

* 4 Y e s, sir; 

Tm-" 

".Silence!” 
roared Ehrenberg. 

41 And they were 
fetched next day ? " 

14 Yes, sir.” 

“What were 
they ? " 

“Statues, sir, in 
two cases, and a 
piano in the other.” 

14 How do you 
know?” 

“They opened 
the case and took 
the piano out.” 

414 A planner, Sammy! 1 ” groaned Ehren¬ 
berg, involuntarily quoting old Weller's words 
to iiis son. “ Oli, woman, woman, you've 
ruined me!” 

He upset his wine and ran out into the 
hall, bounded up the short flight of stairs, 
threw open the gallery door, and switched 
on the electric lights, to reveal a state 
of peace within, for the hoi land draperies 
met his eyes from end to end, and 
as the trembling housekeeper tottered 
in he dropped down upon a covered 



MV VELASQUEZ— WnhTH THOUSANDS 


settee and began to mop his streaming 
forehead. 

“ A false alarm, Dunby,” he said, huskily. 
“ I was afraid that—I thought—I don't 
understand—yes, I do!" he roared, spring¬ 
ing up and rushing to the nearest portion 
of the wall, to seize and whisk aside the 
hanging holland covering of a picture. 
“ I knew it! 1 knew it ! ” he cried, 

piteously, as an empty massive gilt frame 
met ins eyes. 44 My Velasquez — worth 
thousands ! ” 

He went to the next drapery and dragged 
it aside. 

44 That heavenly Rubens ! ” he cried, and 
rushed on. 

44 My Guido ! ” 
lie groaned. 

Before a n - 
other :—- 

“That glorious 
Vandyke E ” 

Then there was 
a yell of rage 
before the empty 
frame of a Botti¬ 
celli, another where 
a Murillo should 
have been seen, 
and so on, and so 
on— every w here a 
sharp knife had 
been in use. and 
the choice reputed 
works of the great 
artists had been 
neatly cut out and 
were gone. 

44 Get out of my 
sight before I 
murder you!” cried 
the collector, at 
last.— 44 No, stop ! ” 
44 Yes, sir. Oh s 
Mr. Ehrenberg, 
sir-— 

“ Don't talk to 
man. Here, quick ; 


^iqitize< 


d by Google 


me! I’m a ruined 
send for the police !" 

44 Yes, sir,” cried the woman, making for 
the door, glad to escape. 

“ Not the regular force.—Here, what am 1 
saying? Send Berry in a cab, and tell him 
he's to bring back the sharpest sergeant from 
Scotland Yard." 

The message was sent, and Ehrenberg 
calmed down over his wine, which he had 
finished and was well through a choice cigar 
before the lynx-eyed detective from the 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














THE BRIC-A-BRAC HUNTER, 


>53 


Metropolitan centre arrived, had a short 
conference with the collector, and then went 
over the place, saw the empty frames, and 
heard all that Mrs* Dun by had to say before 
being closeted in the study once more, 

“ Well, sergeant,” said Ehrenberg, u what 
do you think of it all ? ” 

11 The same as you do, sir/ 1 was the reply. 
“ What do you mean, sir,” cried Ehren¬ 
berg, stiffly, 

“Why, ids all plain enough, sir* Who¬ 
ever planned the job must have known of 
you and your doings quite well*” 

“ Then you think it was the servants ? n 
4i Tchah ! Not they, sir! Not in 'em. 
Bit of artful craft, sir, planned by someone 
with brains and a bit o' capital lo carry it 
out. There was the van painted and got up 
for the job ; the old piano they brought; the 
way it was all rehearsed like a play before¬ 
hand* 1 should say, sir, that this scheme 
was made in Germany. Those Dutchmen 
have been pretty busy here lately, and the 
pictures have gone there to be sold*” 

“ But the servants must have had something 
to do with it. Letting them in, for instance, 
that night” 


tall cases to let out his mates. Then they had 
it all to themselves* Sharp knives passed 
round the frames, pictures rolled up and 
tied with string. Plenty of room for the 
rolls in the corners of the cases, and in the 
piano, too. The job done, the two stepped 
into their places again and the third shut 
them up—locked 'em in, I dare say*—and 
then went to bed in his piano to wait until 
called for* Beg pardon, sir, but it's all as 
plain as the nose on your face.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Ehrenberg, bitterly, as he 
involuntarily raised his hand to the rather 
prominent organ* “ And now what do you 
mean to do ? ” 

“ Nothing, sir, but wait. The only thing I 
can suggest is to watch the sales if the 
pictures come to the hammer in Paris, Berlin, 
Vienna, or elsewhere; and all I can say as to 
that, sir, would be—is it worth while ? " 

Ehrenberg sat looking hard at the officer 
for some minutes, during which he ran over 
in his own mind the trifling sums he had 
paid for the different chefs d'&uvre of the 
great masters, and decided that the man was 
right. 


** The house¬ 
keeper did that 
by day, sir.” 

“ What do you 
mean ? ” 

“ Why, don't 
you see, sir? 
Those tall cases 
with the two 
statues in —live 
statues, sir, shut 
up ready to be 
let out.” 

“ Who by ?” 
“The little 
wiry chap in the 
old piano, sir, 
Sure to be a wiry 
one come out of 
that, sir* That 
sounding - board 
was like the lid 
—on hinges, sir* 
He only had to 
lift it up and step 
out to open the 
tops of the two 



v 


£H REN?ERG SAT LOOKING HARD AT THE OFFICER. 


Digitized by L^OOQ le 


Vpt sxiv.—20 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




A Night in the Crater of a Volcano. 

By Mrs. Alec-Tweedie. 


Author of “ Mexico as I Saw Iff* lt Through Finland in Cartsf etc. 



From, a] a view op poppcatapetIw [Photo. 


a close, the notes for my book were nearly 
completed, and there remained but two 
expeditions to make, when, unfortunately, 
one of those disasters to which one is liable 
in the tropics befell me* I was bitten by 
mosquitoes or poisoned by ivy—it matters 
not which—blood-poisoning was the result, 
and a terrible illness nearly claimed my 
bones to be left in that far-away land. Those 
expeditions, therefore, were never made, and 
Popocatepetl, so far as I am concerned, yet 
remains a terra incognita* 

“ I am extremely glad you couldn't go/ 
remarked Mr, J. Fletcher Too me r, an English 
engineer well known in Mexico, where he 
lived for many years in charge of the great 
drainage tunnel which finds its outlet by 
passing through the mountain range surround¬ 
ing the City of Mexico. 1 had so often been 
warned about the difficulties of Popocatepetl 
that I scornfully replied to this manager of 
mines and railways 

11 Well, I had quite meant to go, it was 
part of my programme, and had 1 been able 
to crawl it would have been done." 

"Crawling about suits that height," he 
said, laughingly, 11 for verily it amounts to that. 
It is a tremendous undertaking for anyone, 
and l know it was nearly my death, But 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


NE of the most famous 
volcanoes of the world stands 
in the great plain of Mexico; 
it is over 17,000ft. high, and 
rises into a sugar-loaf point of 
snow. Far away in the more 
southern and tropical parts of the Republic 
Popocatapetl may be seen rearing Ins 
majestic head. It is possible to go to the 
summit, but not easy. Having done a little 
mountain climbing invariably makes one 
anxious to do more, so I quite hoped before 
leaving Mexico to accomplish the ascent of 
this famous giant After many travels in 
many lands I feel that the view from the 
Castle of Chapultepec, formerly the strong¬ 
hold of Montezuma, near Mexico City, is the 
grandest panorama my eyes have ev er beheld ; 
the castle is only 8,ooofr* above the sea, so 
that, presumably, the view from the summit 
of one of the two famous volcanoes across 
the valley must be still more wonderful 
Amecameca is one of the quaint old 
Spanish towns of the Mexican Republic, and 
a run of a few hours along the Inter-Oceanic 
Railway brings travellers to this the nearest 
point for ascending Popocatapetl What a 
dear old town it is ! 

My stay in the Republic was drawing to 







A NIGHT IN THE CRATER OF A VOLCANO . 


*55 


then I spent a night in the bowels of the 
earth*” 

“ How ? ** I asked, in amazement 

“ Well, it came about in this wise. There 
was some idea of working the sulphur in the 
bottom of the crater, bits of which had been 
brought up at different times by the Mexican 
Indians in a primitive way, and I was asked 
if 1 dared go down and make an investigation 
into the possibility of working the mine for 
practical business purposes.’ 1 

“ Had no one been down before ? ” i 
inquired* 

“ No white man so far as £ know, and I 
don't suppose another is likely to go in a 
hurry, leastways to spend the night there, for 
it was not a pleasant experience.” 


41 We started from Amecameca very early 
in the morning,” said Mr* Toomer. 14 Of 
course, there was the usual delay with the 
Indian guides; the horses were not ready, 
the food was not prepared* and it was long 
past the appointed time before our little 
party was under way. At last w^e were all 
mounted and off for a ride of some hours, 
which ended in gradually ascending the 
mountain itself* Ten thousand feet above 
the sea we emerged beyond the timber-line, 
and in a little while reached a ranch called 
Tlacamas. It was a primitive enough little 
place, where there was a small sulphur 
refinery used for the product brought 
down the mountain by the Indians* This 
little hut was to be our night’s shelter, 



fi’Vm TKte A5CENT OF THE MOUNTAIN. [Phttfa 


From the south-east side, be it understood, 
the crater is accessible, but the height is so 
great, the climate so warm from which one 
ascends, and the Air so rarefied that mountain 
sickness makes it impossible for many people, 
otherwise good climbers, to ascend tins lofty 
peak ; indeed, several of the cities of Mexico 
stand nearly S,oooft. above the sea, and many 
folk cannot live even at such an altitude* 
After suffering a stifling sensation for an hour 
or twoJthey have to return to the train and 
descend to the plains below. 

It is a curious thing in Mexico, as in other 
tropical countries, that everything looks so 
near. The air is so clear, the sky so blue, that 
when standing in Amecameca I thought the 
giant peak was only a mile or two away ; it 
seemed just beside me, so to speak, but in 
reality it was nothing of the kind- 


and we slept amidst the fumes of sulphur, 
noticing that the very ferns and flowers could 
be thickly coated with the mineral after being 
dipped into the molten sulphur* It was 
only about five o'clock in the afternoon when 
we reached this spot, but when we asked our 
guide what programme he suggested his 
reply was that t if the senor ate nothing after 
a little light five o'clock supper and did 
exactly as he was told he would reach the 
top to-morrow .* Jt sounded an easy pro¬ 
gramme, but we were hungry after a long, 
dusty ride and wanted a good meal; never¬ 
theless, feeling that the man knew best, 
we implicitly obeyed his orders. We soon 
turned in, rolled ourselves up in our blankets, 
and slept on the floor quite happily. 

“At half-past two the following morning, 
with the darkest of blue skies overhead and 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


156 

twinkling stars high up in the heavens, we 
rose, but we were not allowed to eat or 
drink ere proceeding on our way.” 

This to the stranger sounds unkind, but 
it is a curious fact that at such high altitudes 
one is rarely anxious for food, and I know 
that during the months I spent in Mexico I 
seldom felt the pangs of hunger, and was 
content with far less sleep than usual The 
air acts like champagne, and, although very 
invigorating and 
delightful for a 
time, it tells in 
the end upon the 
constitution, and 
makes living in 
such altitudes 
difficult and dam 
gerous to people 
not brought up 
from their youth 
to doing so, 

“No boots,” 
called the guide 
to Mr. Toomer 
as he was com¬ 
pleting his toilet; 

“no boots, senor. 

Your feet must be 
wrapped in strips 
of heavy flannel.” 

Suiting the action to the word, the swarthy 
Indian proceeded to bind his companion 
up until his feet looked exactly like sacked 
hams, outside which he placed native 
“ guaraches,” the sandals of the country. 
These shoes are made of a piece of raw 
hide cut flat and more or less the shape 
of the foot, and a few thongs of leather 
across the toes and round the heel bind 
them on The natives never wear any¬ 
thing else than these saridals ; sometimes 
they are ornamented with brown or white 
leather alternating across the toe in chess¬ 
board fashion, but they are more often 
plain, for the Mexican Indian is generally 
poor. He finds his sandals sufficient protec¬ 
tion for his feet, as a rule, and many of the 
men of different tribes will jog-trot fifty miles 
a day with ease. They take letters and carry 
weights on their heads, are general carriers in 
fact, and, in spite of the heat, can endure 
great fatigue. 

For ascending a mountain strips of flannel 
are fastened outside the sandal, however, to 
prevent the traveller from slipping. 

How well I know those wound-up feet ! 
When mountaineering in Switzerland or 
$now shoeing in Norway the ordinary bout 


with a high heel is an impossibility, and the 
well-protected swathed foot is as necessary in 
the tropics as in the Arctic zone. 

“Three hours 1 ride,” continued Mr. 
Toomer, “ through that deep sand so com¬ 
mon in Mexico brought us to Las Cruces, 
which is not even a hut, but merely a rock 
beyond which point it is impossible for ponies 
to climb. The stars had disappeared, the 
deep indigo had turned to tighter blue, and 

the heat of the 
sun was already 
being felt in the 
valley below, but 
with us it was 
only pleasantly 
warm. 

“ 1 Walk very 
slowly, 1 said the 
guide; * t h e 
sefior must walk 
more slowly than 
he ever walked in 
all his life before, 
or the senor's 
heart will stop 
and he will not 
reach the top. 1 

* £ Not wishing 
the sehors heart 
to stop I took 
his advice, which was quite superfluous, 
for I quickly found that it would be im 
possible to walk at anything but a slow 
pace, to crawl in fact, stopping every 
few minutes to look at the view below. 
What a glorious panorama lay mapped 
out before us, making an excellent excuse 
for turning round to admire it constantly ! 
For two hours we trudged along, getting 
up higher and higher, until we left the 
sand behind and found ourselves in the 
region of perpetual snow. 

“*The senor must not go so quick/ 
exclaimed the Indian, buttoning his white 
shirt at the neck and pulling his blanket and 
red flannel zerape about him; * the sefior 
must stop again and look at the view/ and 
so I halted. He was right; the view was 
worth stopping for many times just to look 
at it There were the shining domes of the 
City of Mexico far away in the distance, 
and below us lay the quaint old town of 
Amecameca. I felt that a little refreshment 
would be acceptable after the climb, but the 
head guide was quite determined that l 
should neither eat nor drink until the work 
was done. 

“ It seemed suddenly to grow cold, 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE HUT ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


m a Photo. 







A NIGHT IN THE CRA TER OF A VOLCANO . 


l 57 


although the sun had been shining a moment 
before. Like a pantomime scene a sudden 
haziness surrounded us, a chill ran through 
me, the shining domes of the city dis¬ 
appeared, it grew perceptibly, colder even 
Amecameca became indistinct, and then in a 
moment, as if some magic wand waved 
around us, we were in a blinding blizzard of 
snow. How it snowed ! How cold it was ! 
We waited for the furies to spend themselves; 
half an hour, and it seemed to get worse—an 
hour, and the guide declared it was impossi¬ 
ble to proceed. This w-as not cheerful when 
we had come so far, but there was nothing 
for it but to turn and go back again to the 
little ranch at TIacamas and spend the 
night there, he said,” 

Those who have done any mountaineering 
will sympathize with the enterprising engineer, 
who, after all his struggles with elevation and 
climate, had to turn back. 

On their return to the hut the stern guide 
allowed them to partake of much-needed 
refreshment, which they thoroughly enjoyed. 
The next morning they were up quite as 
early as on the preceding day, and as the 
weather seemed more propitious they started 
on their way ; hut they got very little farther 
than on their first attempt, before they were 
overtaken by another blizzard and were 
again cruelly forced to return to the rough 
little hut The third day, unfortunately, did 
not bring better luck* for the snow was 
descending in masses at the hour appointed 
for the start, and consequently they never 
left their primitive quarters at all. 

It must have been very annoying, heart 
breaking almost, to make two attempts and 
wait a third day in idleness, but these are the 
sort of drawbacks 
that happen to 
travellers. in 
Mexico it is not so 
bad as elsewhere, 
as the native 
Indians are the 
most interesting 
people. They 
believe in witches 
and devils, have 
the quaintest ideas 
about evil spirits 
and many other 
subjects, and to 
a man like Mr* 

Tuomer, who is 
an excellent 
Spanish scholar 
as well as an 


interested traveller, they open out and do 
their best to amuse. The different tribes 
speak various languages of their own, but 
Spanish being the language of civilized 
society, many of the Indians are able to 
converse in that tongue. So, although it 
sounds dull to be shut up in a room 15ft. 
by roft. with half-a-dozen natives for several 
days, while storm raged without, Mr, Toomer, 
no doubt, had quite an interesting time. 

Happily, luck attended the party on the 
fifth day, and they reached the top in safety. 

The famous volcano of Popocatepetl 
raises its proud head nearly 18,000ft. above 
the sea, and the crater is 1,575ft in diameter, 
and supposed to be something like 1,300ft. 
deep. Figures give but a poor idea of size to 
the uninitiated; suffice it to say that the 
basin is of enormous dimensions. 

“What did it look like when you stood at 
the top ? ” I asked the adventurous traveller. 

“ From the edge on which we stood we 
peered down some 300ft, forming a sheer 
precipice of basalt rock, at the bottom of 
which there was a ledge 3ft or 4ft. wide 
running round part of the basin. From 
there the debris of ages had rolled con¬ 
tinuously down the crater until it had filled it 
up into a funnel shape, leaving its sides at 
an angle of about forty-five degrees. AH 
this rock and scoria, the snow and ice of 
thousands of years, had frozen, for to all 
practical purposes the volcano is extinct; 
that is to say, there have been no eruptions 
for centuries, although smoke and steam and 
bubbling fire continue, and have been more 
noticeable since the eruption at Martinique. 

u At the mouth ot the crater stood an old 
windlass or which, a very crude sort of 



fwwm *] the MOUTH ov the <; rates*. \Pkefa 

c \f \ n I c> Original from 

id by UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN- 








THE S TEA AH MAGAZINE. 


15 * 


arrangement, erected by the Indians for the 
purpose of letting down their most daring 
friends to fetch the raw sulphur* 

u Hanging from the windlass was an old 
rope, made of native fibre; the whole con¬ 
cern was extremely dilapidated in appear¬ 
ance, and the rope did not look particularly 
strong, but as there was no other means of 
reaching the bottom I had to trust myself 
to it and make the venture* The Indians 
placed a sort of sling round my body, under 
my arms, and round my thighs, in which I 
sat, and then, telling me to swing myself 
out into space, they 
proceeded to let me 
down. It was a 
curious sen¬ 
sation* The 
squeaks of that 
old windlass 
above were 
echoed in the 
cavernous 
depth of the 
crater I dan¬ 
gled in the air 
and swayed 
from side to 
side, bumping 
now and again 
against gigan¬ 
tic icicles, and 
only prevent¬ 
ing injuries by 
kicking out 
with my feet or 
a push with 
my hands 
“What an 
awful distance 
it looked 
below! There 
was nearly 
1 ,000ft. of 
cavern beneath 
me over which 
I was sw inging. 

Down, down, 
down I went 
until the men 
and the wind¬ 
lass above be- 
came mere 
specks, the air 
seemed to 
grow warmer, 
and I almost 
wished I had 
never pome* 


Then my feet touched the rocky ledge and I 
could stand again* I was quickly joined by 
the two Indians who Avere to continue the 
journey with me, the rest of the party remain¬ 
ing above* They were armed with picks and 
hatchets, and at once proceeded to cut steps 
in the frozen snow to enable us to reach the 
bottom of the crater. 1 suppose they must 
have made about a thousand of those steps, 
which I scrambled along after them as soon 
as there was foothold. 

44 By the time we reached the bottom it was 
about three o’clock, so I had time for three 
hours* investigation of the 
far-famed deposits of the 
crater. Night was now 
drawing on, and we could 
no longer see the other 
Indians, who had retired 
to the edge of 
the crater 
before they 
started back 
to a place of 
shelter for the 
night* They 
were to return 
to fetch us and 
wind us up in 
the morning.” 

W hat an 
extraordinary 
[josition for an 
Englishman to 
be in! He was 
to spend the 
night alone 
with two swar¬ 
thy descend¬ 
ants of the 
Aztec race — 
of which there 
are still half a' 
million repre¬ 
sentatives in 
Mexico — 
down, far away 
down in the 
interior of the 
earth! The 
Indians had 
been there 
before, but had 
never dreamed 
of doing any¬ 
thing so wreird 
as to pass a night below* 
Such a performance as 

Origins ti\Sfn a PP eared to then> 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




NIGHT IN THE CRATER OF A VOLCANO . 


madness, and was only shared by them after 
considerable bribery. The Mexican Indian, 
however, will do a good deal for the dollars 
with which he can procure pulque—the native 
drink—or gamble. He is a kindly soul unless 
fired by drink, and then he can become a 
veritable fiend. Never, never have I seen 
people so excitedly drunk as in Mexico, 
where the milk of the maguey plant seems 
to fire their bFains and distort their fancies. 

It must have been a creepy sort of ex¬ 
perience to roll up in a blanket and prepare 
to rest, especially as the Indians had arranged 
to stay reluctantly, and were consequently 
not in the best of tempers. It must have 
been horribly weird with each hour of the 
darkening night to watch the blow-holes of 
fire and flame grow brighter, to peer into the 
darkness around, the black inky distance, to 
listen to the hissing fire and watch the flicker¬ 
ing flames throwing strange shadows. There 
are several of these blow holes of spouting 
fire, and, as Mr. Toomer remarked :— 

“Their pulsating pouf, pouf, pouf sounded 
like the heavy breathing of some prehistoric 
monster, whose breath, sulphurous and 
yellow, faded away in dim clouds of mist 
above the blazing caldron. It was easy to 
conjure up all sorts of weird things in that 
strange spot. Now and then w r e heard a 
rumble or a crash as some great boulder or 
block rolled down the sides of the crater and 
found its last resting-place in the cone-like 
bottom where we sat. One of these would 
have been our death had we not sought pro¬ 
tection beneath two gigantic crags which 
stand in the middle of the basin.” 

“ How dared you sleep ? ” I asked. 

“Sleep? One could hardly sleep much, 
in spite of fatigue, in such surroundings ; 
the sulphur was too strong for that. Every 
moment it seemed to become stronger, and 
my lungs laboured more and more against 
the fumes. It was horribly cold, and yet 
when standing near the blow-holes the heat 
was tremendous; besides, the fumes of the 
sulphur were almost insupportable. One 
seemed to be peering into the infernal 
regions, to hear the wail of the lost soul in 
Hades and the shriek of the fiend. An extra 
puff from a blow hole, of which there are 
probably forty or fifty, or a snort, the rumble 
and the crash of rock, made it more weird 
than words can describe; the depression 
from the sulphur and fatigue were telling on 
me, and I began to feel that, if another snow¬ 
storm came on and those Indians could not 
return to wind us up, my strength would 
hardly hold put* 

Cl? 


*59 

“ I cannot depict the horror of that 
thought! 

“ The first streaks of daylight dawned, the 
first faint flicker of a new-born day gleamed 
above our heads. I continued my investiga¬ 
tions and took measurements of the crater, 
inspected the sulphur deposits round the 
blow-holes, turned over some of the stones 
forming the bottom of the crater, which 
exposed the yellow flour sulphur beneath 
which was solid rock sulphur, and tired, but 
happy, felt my work was completed, and then 
—oh, joy of it!—we saw, 1,300ft. above our 
heads, the Indians who had returned to fetch 
us waving their arms, to show us they were 
there. The night was over, the work accom¬ 
plished, but how dizzy and strange I felt as I 
clambered with difficulty up those snow steps 
which the Indian guides had cut, to the spot 
where the loose rope was waiting. 

“ ‘ The senor is not well,’ cried one of the 
guides, ‘ the sulphur has been too much ’; 
and he and his companion quickly pushed 
my body through the noose, and then I felt 
myself ascending, ascending. What was this 
terrible feeling of depression ? It seemed to 
be growing every moment. Was I losing 
consciousness, or what ? Then in my 
half-stupefied condition I realized that the 
Indians had not fixed the noose properly, 
and the cords were pressing upon my 
chest and were being tightened by my 
own weight, to the discomfort of my poor 
labouring lungs. It seemed as though I 
should never reach the top. How slowly 
those men on the ledge worked the winch ! 
Things began to swim, and the icicles— 
which had been bad enough going down— 
were a thousand times worse coming up, for 
their sharp, jagged points caught me in my 
ascent, and my legs were too tightly bound 
to enable me to keep off from the edges of 
the crater. My ears began to sing,, the walls 
of the crater seemed to be closing in upon 
me, those blow holes below roared more dis¬ 
tinctly, and then they seemed to stop : every¬ 
thing seemed to stop, a sort of hazy dulness 
came upon me, a suffocating feeling that I 
could not breathe, and then ! . . . . 

“ I found myself lying on the snow on the 
edge of the crater, near the winch, an Indian 
standing over me pouring aguardienta—a 
Mexican stimulant—down my throat. The 
physical fatigue, the mental strain, the want 
of food and sleep, the sulphurous fumes, and 
the altitude had been too much for me; but 
not for long, and by the time the other two 
guides reached the ridge I was all right 
again. How beautiful it all looked, hpw 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


160 


dear, how bright, and even at the altitude of 
so many thousand feet the air seemed pure 
and fresh compared to the stifling atmosphere 
of the sulphur caldron below/ 1 

The story was simply told—Mr. Toonier 
claimed no credit to himself for any part of the 
adventure. He undertook a piece of work 
and did it—that was all, according to his 
account ; but was it all ? Did it not show 
the pluck of the man, the powers of endur¬ 
ance, the dogged determina¬ 
tion of the Englishman to 
accomplish whatever lay be¬ 
fore him ? It is such men 
as this of whom a country is 
proud; it is our engineers 
who have done so much 
towards planting the British 
flag in many lands and have 
brought respect and admira¬ 
tion in its wake. 

The tall, well-made man 
before me told his tale so 
simply, yet I felt what agony 
of mind had lain behind, 
what physical torture those 
sulphur fumes meant. I 
knew his capacity, for only 
a year earlier I had seen him 
jump overboard a grounded 
steamer in one of those 
rivers of Southern Mexico, 
in which I was travelling with 
sixteen gentlemen — includ 
ing Mexican ministers, engi¬ 
neers, etc,, on an inspection 
trip—and, taking a long pole 
in his hand, help and direct 
the native sailors to get our 
boat off a sand-bank on which 
she had stuck, lie worked 
for hours in the water, which 
sometimes reached his arm- 
pits, directing here, arranging 
there, or giving a hand him¬ 
self somewhere else. He 
worked harder than any native — he, a 
European in a tropical land. He is not a 
man easily daunted, or he would never have 
spent a night in the crater of a volcano. 

“How did you ever get down the mountain 
again?” 1 inquired, 

“ Oh, that was easy enough ; the horror 
was over, the mission accomplished, and the 
delightful and perhaps the most exciting 
moment was then to begin. Placing our 
selves on little native grass mats, just the 


sort of mat that the Indian uses for carrying 
his load of sulphur, we tobogganed to the 
bottom. An Aztec placed himself in front 
of me, I sat immediately behind him with 
my legs round his body, and with a wild 
whoop we were off. The pace was splendid, 
it was like an express train as we sped 
over the freshly-fallen snow, and in a few 
minutes had actually passed the snow-line. 
It had taken us five hours to go up, it 



“^6 TOBOGGANED TO TH& BOTTOM.' 

took us five minutes to come down, and then 
we were speeding somewhat less quickly into 
the sand. A few minutes only, and we had 
descended several thousand feet; but, as we 
got lower, bumps and thumps over the sand 
with its rocky excrescences made it necessary 
to relinquish the mat and walk. Thoroughly 
revived by the fresh air and exhilarating 
descent, we were heartily ready for a meal 
after the weird wonders of a night spent in 
the crater of a volcano-” 


jilized by Ooooje 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



NY break in the monotony of 
life in the little seaside village 
of Pygwyllion was rare, and 
when posters were put up 
stating that Professor Schlaf- 
tnacher, of Berlin* the re¬ 
nowned hypnotist* would give a lecture in 
the schoolroom, and exemplify his powers on 
any who cared to go upon the stage* there 
was considerable excitement amongst all the 
population* All* that is to say, except 
Captain John Tompkins and myself* Robert 
Jones, both late of the merchant service. 
We had each, on our retirement, settled 
down in this remote little place, where 1 had 
purchased a small cottage, whilst Tompkins 
boarded in the schoolmaster's house. We 
had not previously known each other* but we 
naturally soon became acquainted* and our 
having been in the same profession, together 
with a community of taste in tobacco and 
other matters, had in the course of seven 
years ripened the acquaintance into a close 
friendship* and a day seldom passed in which 

Val Jtxiv.—2L 

Digitized by 


we were not to be seen in one another's 
company. Tompkins and I had* of course* 
seen a good deal of the world in our way* 
and we rather prided ourselves on being 
hard-headed, practical men of experience, 
who could see as far as most people and 
were not to he imposed on. Therefore, when 
the rest of the village was anxiously looking 
forward to the approaching lecture we re¬ 
mained cairn and unmoved, took our pipes, 
grog, and walks as usual, and betrayed no 
excitement. 

We talked about it to one another* though. 
“ Ever seen any of this hypnotism* Bob ? ” 
asked Tompkins, I said I had once been to 
a performance where a man had pretended 
to mesmerize a woman* and made her tell 
how many shillings someone in the audience 
—a confederate, no doubt — had in his 
pocket, and so on. 4t All arranged before¬ 
hand, of course," I concluded. 

Nothing genuine, eh ? " 

Well, not quite that* perhaps. He got 
two girls up on the stage and gave them 

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162 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


some beans, which he said were chocolate 
creams, and just as they were going to eat 
them he told them they were black beetles, 
and, by Jove ! you should have seen them 
drop those beans and jump on the chairs 
and shake themselves. I think that was 
genuine. They looked a mighty weak- 
minded lot.” 

“ That sort of thing wouldn’t do with you 
and me, would it, Bob ? ” 

“ Not much,” said I. “ I should like to 
come across the man who could hypnotize 
either of us, Jack ! ” 

“ It wouldn’t be a bad joke to go and see 
the show, would it ? ” said he. 

“ All right,” said I. “ Let’s go.” And so, 
when the afternoon arrived, to the astonish¬ 
ment probably of many of the audience, 
Tompkins and myself put in an appearance. 

Punctually to the moment the lecturer 
stepped on to the platform. He was a man 
of about forty-five, or perhaps fifty, and there 
was nothing remarkable about him except his 
eyes, which had a peculiar expression of 
depth which I cannot attempt to describe. 
I had never seen any eyes like them. He 
spoke in very good English with somewhat of 
a foreign accent, and his manner was perfectly 
quiet and free from affectation. In a few 
opening remarks he explained that he trusted 
we should not regard him as wishing to 
impose on us by any deception, but simply 
as the exponent of certain powers possessed, 
more or less, by all, but little known and less 
cultivated, which were capable of working 
the greatest benefits to the world when pro¬ 
perly exercised. Any confederation was, as 
we could see for ourselves, impossible, since 
the whole audience were practically known 
to one another, and it was from them only 
that the subjects of his experiments would 
be taken. He begged us to judge what we 
might see with impartiality, and then to ask 
ourselves whether he was in any sense 
exaggerating the tremendous possibilities 
which might result from a more general 
and intelligent recognition of his science. 

The lecturer then asked that some of the 
audience would come on to the stage. As 
there seemed to be some hesitation in com¬ 
plying with this, he said, “ Perhaps there is 
some lady present who will play us a little 
tune upon the piano ? Will anyone be so 
kind ? ” 

Hereupon a little girl, the daughter of the 
schoolmaster, stepped forward, after some 
urging from her mother, and was helped on 
to the platform by the professor. He opened 
the piano and placed a seat for her. But 

Digitized by GoOQ lc 
f o 


here a hitch occurred. It appeared that the 
intending performer could not recollect her 
piece, and her music was at home. 

“ Ach ! that is very awkward,” said the 
professor. “ But, tell me, is your music in 
a book ? ” 

She said it was, in a book “ about so big ” 
(holding out her hands), and with a green 
cover. 

There were some books on a shelf near 
the piano, and the professor, taking down 
one of about the size described, with a brown 
cover, on which was inscribed in large letters, 
“ Copy - Book,” placed it before her, and, 
touching her head lightly with his hand, said, 
“ Is this not the same book as yours ? 
Yes? That is very fortunate. Will you 
please find the place, for you see I do not 
know which is your tune ? ” The little girl 
turned over six or seven pages rapidly, and 
then, keeping her eyes fixed on a statement, in 
large text hand, that “Honesty is the best 
policy,” played her little tune through care¬ 
fully and correctly. When she had finished 
the lecturer thanked her politely, and, taking 
her hand, led her to the steps. 

“ I think,” he then said, “ that the piano 
will perhaps be in the way of the per¬ 
formances presently. Will anyone be so 
good as to help me to move it back a little? ” 

Two hulking youths at once started 
forward; but, to our great astonishment, 
no sooner had they mounted the platform 
than one immediately thrust his hand into 
his waistcoat after the manner of a sling, 
whilst the other limped to the nearest chair 
and, sitting down, put one foot on his knee 
and nursed it most tenderly; the faces of 
both wearing an expression of intense pain. 

“Dear me,” said the professor, “this is 
very sad, and so very sudden ! Please let 
me look at your foot” He went to the youth 
on the chair, and after looking at him a 
moment said, “ My young friend, you are 
either very foolish $r you play a little joke 
on me. You have not hurt this foot at all. 
It is the other one that pains you.” Instantly 
the young man dropped the foot to the 
ground with a crash of his heavy boot, and 
seizing the other i ne placed it most gingerly 
over the other knee, whilst he groaned 
heavily. 

“That is better,” said the professor; “and 
now, my friend, let me see your wrist. Ach! 
yes ! I must make you a proper sling for it.” 
He turned away for an instant, and then, 
facing them again, said, pointing to a corner 
of the stage, “Will you please move the 
piano over there ? I think that will be the 

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HO IV I COMMITTED MY MURDER. 


163 



best place/’ Both youths at once jumped 
up, and the instrument was placed in the 
desired position ; after which they returned 
to their seats in the room, apparently 
wondering what on earth there could be to 
excite the roars of laughter in which the 
audience indulged. 

I cannot give an account of all the experi¬ 
ments. Suffice it to say that people were 
made to shiver with cold, or wipe their fore¬ 
heads from heat; that they shot imaginary 
bears with walking-sticks, and ran from 
visionary mad dogs. Those sang, or at least 
tried to, who never sang before ; and the 
sexton, a preternatural ly solemn person. 


danced a hornpipe on the table. Tompkins 
and I regarded it all with Openly superior 
smiles. "The professor had got a wonder¬ 
fully soft lot 1 

After about an hour the lecturer again 
addressed us. Though such exhibitions 
might seem, he said, to some of us to have 
something of the marvellous about them, 
there was, he assured us, nothing of the sort 


in reality. All the results which we had seen 
were caused merely by the imposition of his 
will for the Lime on the person operated on. 
The strength of the will-power, like the 
strength of the muscles, could be greatly 
developed by constant practice. At the 
same time, as a very strong man might at 
some period or other be confronted with one 
still stronger, so it might happen that 
the trained hypnotist might meet with 
a subject with will - power equal to or 
greater than his own, over whom he might 
fail to exercise any influence. Such an 
occurrence at a lecture like the present 
was, of course, inconvenient; but any 
genuine professor of hypnotism 
who, as it were, challenged a whole 
audience must be, of course, pre¬ 
pared to face the possibility. Ad 
mitt mg the power of the operator 
to lie sufficient, he desired to call 
our attention to the fact that as it 
was possible, as we had seen, to 
induce sensations of pain, it 
was also possible in many 
cases to remove it by the same 
agency, often permanently. 
Such cures were, however, not 
suitable for public exhibition, 
and he was happy to think, 
judging from their appearance, 
that his present audience lyere 
not in need of such treatment. 
This was, however, a most 
important part of his science, 
and one which ought to 
receive far more attention 
than had been at present 
accorded to it rime was 
drawing on, and he must 
shortly leave; but he had 
still some minutes to spare, 
and would be pleased to see 
a few more of the audience 
on the stage, if any were dis¬ 
posed to come. 

Bob,” whispered Tomp¬ 
kins, “ I’m going up.” 

u Right, old man,” said I. 
11 I'm with you.” 

The professor bowed politely as we ap¬ 
peared on the platform, but looked at us, 
I thought, doubtfully, as at possibly difficult 
subjects, 

“ Kindly be seated, gentlemen,” he said. 

We took chairs on either side of the 
stage, and facing one another. The professor 
kept us waiting whilst he was apparently 
looking for something in his pockets. He 

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE SITXrTOhE, A J'HfiTEHNATUlMLLV SOLEMN DANLED A HOJiM'll-E 

QX THK TABLE." 





164 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


didn't seem to find it, and 1 got so tired of 
waiting to be operated on that I closed my 
eyes. I fancy that, strangely enough, I must 
have dozed off for a moment, for I woke 
up with a start just in time to see Tompkins 
open his eyes and stare at me, Just then 
the professor spoke. 

“I am extremely soiry, gentlemen, but I 
find that I have mistaken the time. Allow 
me to ask your pardon, and to express my 
great regret for the trouble I have given you ; 
I trust you will excuse me." 

Of course, we returned to our seats, and 
the professor, after briefly thanking the 
audience for their attention, hurried out to 
his cab and drove off to the nearest station, 

u Thought he wouldn’t tackle us, Bob,” 
said Tompkins, when we got outside, 
“Wouldn’t have done to fail just at the 
end. All bunkum 
about the time, you 
know* Had a quarter 
of an hour more, easy/' 

I agreed with him. In¬ 
deed, it was such a pal¬ 
pable case of running 
a way that 1 felt quite 
sorry for the professor. 

If I live to be a 
hundred I shall never 
forget the awakening 
the following morning : 
the first drowsy feeling 
that something had 
gone wrong, the clearer 
impression that the 
something was very 
serious, and then the 
full recollection of the 
whole horror. Could 
it be but a dream ? 

Alas! no. Too well 
did I recall the dreadful 
details. I sat up in 
bed, and the whole 
ghastly sequence of 
events repeated itself, 

1 had gone to bed, and 10 sleep, but had 
woke again. 1 had looked at my watch. It 
was just after eleven, I felt wide awake, and 
after tossing about restlessly a short time I 
determined, finding steep impossible, to go 
out for a stroll. 1 dressed, and let myself 
quietly out, I walked on slowly, without 
thinking where I was going, till 1 found 
myself on the small wooden pier that runs 
out into the bay—a favourite resort of 
Tompkins and myself. What wps my 

Digitized by GoOljlc 


astonishment to see Tompkins standing 
there. He explained that he, like myself, 
could not sleep, and preferred strolling out 
to a wakeful night in bed. I was very glad 
to see him, and we walked up and down 
and smoked together. The night was fairly 
light, but somewhat cloudy. Our conversa¬ 
tion turned presently on the lecture that 
afternoon. 

“ You did get just a little bit queer when 
you were on the stage, though, didn’t you ? '* 
said Tompkins. 

“ What do you mean ?” said 1. 

“Why, you shut your eyes,” said he. 

S( I didn’t,” said I—but I knew this was 
not true. 

“ 1 saw you,” said he. 

“ I saw you open yours,” said I, 

“ You didn’t,” said he. 


“ 1 did,” said I. 

“ That’s a lie,” said he. And then some 
devil got hold of me, and—we were walking 
by the edge of the pier and Tompkins was 
on the outside -1 gave him a push, and over 
he went into two fathoms of water. 

He couldn’t swim, and I can't either, and 
he fell too far out for me to reach him, even 
had 1 tried. But I didn't. I must have 
been mad, I suppose, I just stood there and 
saw him go under once, twice, and the third 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



“ ‘WHV, VOL! SHUT VOLK KVEf.,' SAIU Ht." 














NO IV I COMMITTED MY MURDER. 


time. The clock struck twelve as he sank 
finally. And then I had walked home and 
gone to bed. 

This was the recollection the morning 
brought me—I had committed a foul and 
dastardly murder. I had slain one who was 
as a brother to me, and the brand of Cain 
was on me for ever. 

How I got up and dressed I don’t know. 
My brain was all in a whirl, the one clear 
idea being that I must try to conceal my 
crime. There were no witnesses. No one 
had seen me go out or come in, and if 
Tompkins’s body were found there was no 
reason for supposing he had been thrown m 
by anybody at all. He might very easily 
have fallen in. No; I had only to keep 
cool and collected, and no suspicion could 
possibly attach to me. If anyone were sus¬ 
pected, it would certainly not be his best 
friend. 

I nerved myself, therefore, to swallow some 
breakfast, after which I took my hat and coat 
and told my servant I was going over for the 
day to the neighbouring town, where I had a 
httle business to attend to. I actually forced 
myself to turn back, as if by an afterthought, 
and say that if Captain Tompkins should call 
he was to be told that I might not be home 
till late, but would see him in the morning. 
Once clear of the village I walked as if my 
life depended on it. Where I went I hardly 
know. I believe I had some food some¬ 
where, but it was mostly walk, walk all day. 
1 knew I must return at night, and intuitively 
I made my way back in the evening. 

And then, as I neared the village, came 
the awful feeling that I must go down to the 
pier and see if Tompkins’s body were there. 
It was late for Pygwyllion—about ten—and 
there would be no one about. The more I 
resisted this gruesome impulse the stronger 
did it grow. The hideous attraction that the 
scene of his crime has for the murderer 
was upon me, and I was compelled to yield 
to it. 

I went down to the pier, and stood there 
with my eyes wide open for any observer, 
and my ears alert for any sound. There was 
neither one nor the other. Except for the 
soft plash of the water all was silent as the 
grave. I hesitated for an instant, and then 
stole softly on to the pier. The structure, 
as explained, was of wood and built on piles, 
and near its outer end there were steps at 
either side leading down to a sort of lower 
platform, used for a landing from boats. It 
was my idea to go down to this platform, where 
l might see the body if, as was very possible, 

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i6 5 

it had been washed in amongst the piles. I 
climbed carefully and quietly down the 
slippery steps—and there, standing against 
the railing and looking down into the water, 
was a dark form. 

The figure turned its head at the sound of 
my footsteps. Its face was of a ghostly 
pallor, and its features were the features of 
Tompkins. The eyes appeared to me to 
gleam with concentrated hate as it gazed at 
me, and I felt each individual hair of my head 
assume an erect position as 1 stared in turn 
at the awful apparition. 

“ Why are you here ? ” whispered the 
spectre, in scarcely audible tones, which 
seemed to tremble with rage. “Why are 
you here ? ” 

I hardly know how I forced myself to 
reply, but I managed to stammer out, “ I 
c—c—came to look for you.” 

“ To look for me ! ” echoed the apparition. 
“ Yes ! I have always heard so. There is no 
peace for the murderer. None ! Haunted ! 
Always haunted ! Haunted till he dies from 
the terror. Yes ! day and night I shall see 
you. No darkness can shut from the eye of 
the murderer the presence, the constant 
presence, of- his victim’s spirit. Oh ! the 
horror of it! ” 

I gave a dismal groan. It was awful. 

“ I’ll go to the police,” I began ; but the 
spectre interrupted me. * 

“I shall do that,” it said. “You forget 
that they wouldn’t see you ; no one sees you 
but me. You’re dead, you know : since last 
night, when I threw you over the pier. I 
saw you go down three times; and I never 
even tried to save you, when perhaps I might 
have done so. But I’ll give myself up in the 
morning. I’d rather be hanged than haunted. 
And when I am perhaps you’ll be at rest.” 

The sudden relief I felt was almost too 
much for me. It was evident that it was not 
Tompkins’s spirit, but Tompkins in the flesh 
that I had found, and I was therefore not a 
murderer in fact, although I certainly had 
been one in intention. On the other hand, 
it was clear that Tompkins, having in some 
way got out of the water (although I could 
have sworn I saw him drown), had lost his 
wits from the shock and become insane. 
This, however, was my salvation, for so long 
as he imagined himself to be the murderer 
and not the intended victim, as he really 
was, he certainly would not bring any charge 
against me. It was evidently my cue to 
avoid in any way disturbing this illusion, 
and, indeed, to foster it carefully. I should 
have, to explain to him that I was not dead, 

Original from 

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166 

but had escaped in some extraordinary way. 
Thereupon Tompkins would fall on my neck 
and shed tears of joy, whilst 1 should 
magnanimously forgive him and he would 
remain indebted to me for life. It seemed 
perfectly simple. I began at once, in a 
solemn voice. 

“ Why did you throw me off the pier last 
night? ” 

“Torture me not,” cried Tompkins, in a 
tone of agony. “ I know you will haunt me 
till I’m hanged, but don’t keep on like this. 


I—er—that I learnt to swim— er—last week, 
and that I—er—dived, just to frighten you— 
and climbed out when you went away ?” 

“ Don't mock me,” cried Tompkins, 
reproachfully, 11 I murdered you. You're 
dead ; and I’m going to give myself up.” 

“ I'm not dead,” I said. 

“ You are,” he persisted. 

11 Feel my hand,” said I, and I made a 
step towards him. 

He recoiled in horror. “ Keep off! ” he 
almost screamed. “I won't! I can’t! 



H k El fcJ 1 OFF 1 ' HE ALMOST SCREAMED.* 


Its not regular. You oughtn't to speak. 
Dead people don't talk, you know,” 

“Answer me,” I replied. “I command 
you.” 

“You know very well,” said he. “We 
quarrelled about that show yesterday, and 
you told me I'd been to sleep on the stage, 
and I told you it was a lie ; and then you 

said-- but what is the use of going over it 

again? I threw you in, and you’re dead.” 

“ What would you give to know I was 
alive ? " said h 

“Give? Why, anything. But you're as 
dead as Moses, you know. You can't swim 

1 mean, you couldn't when you were 
alive,” 

“ Tompkins,” I said, “ would you be 
surprised to hear that I'm not dead? That 

Digitized by Google 


You're only an appearance. You ought to 
vanish now and let me go home, and then 
come in the night again and stand over me. 
You shouldn't go on this way,” 

“ Look here,” I said, rather loudly, for I 
was getting irritated—a man who insists on 
calling himself a murderer when the body 
is alive and wanting to shake hands with 
him is an annoying person—“don’t call me 
an appearance. I'm as solid as you are. 
What's this?”and I sprang on him suddenly 
and gave him a couple of smart blows on 
the chest. 

Now this kind of thing is not usually 
soothing in effect, hut the look of intense 
relief that came over Tompkins's face as he 
received the thumps 1 have never seen 
equalled. The deadly pallor fied ; and, if 

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HOW I COMMITTED MY MURDER .. 


167 


he did not literally fall on my neck, he wrung 
my hands till they ached, and the moonlight 
showed something very like tears in his 
eyes. 

Soon, however, his face fell. “ Bob, old 
man,” he said, sadly, “ I meant to drown you. 
It’s no credit to me that you’re alive. I shall 
go and give myself up for attempted murder.” 

“ Don’t be an idiot,” I returned. “ You 
haven’t any proof. You don’t suppose I’m 
going to charge you, do you ? ” 

“ You must,” he said. 

“ Must, be blowed,” said I. “There is no 
harm done. That sort of thing is quite 
common—amongst friends. A little temper, 
that’s all. Why, I might have done it to 
you, instead.” 

“ Aren’t you going to do anything, then ? ” 
he asked, doubtfully. 

“Yes,” I said, “I am. I’m going home 
to have a drink, and you’re coming with 
me.” 

And so it happened that, ten minutes later, 
two retired merchant skippers, each of whom 
regarded himself as the would-be murderer of 
the other, might have been seen marching 
amicably up the little street of Pygwyllion, 
arm in arm, to the residence of one of them, 
on liquid refreshment bent 

On arriving at my cottage I called to my 
old servant, Mary, to bring whisky and 
glasses. Now, Mary had lived with us 
during my wife’s lifetime, and remained with 
me ever since, and on the strength of long 
service claimed privileges, one of which was 
to find fault with me whenever she pleased— 
which, to tell the truth, was pretty frequently. 
She always insisted on remaining up till I 
was at home and, as she considered, safe for 
the night, and held ideas about late hours 
which she made no scruple of expressing. 
Possibly my tone of voice was lacking in that 
humility suitable to a return home somewhat 
later than usual, and exhibited inappropriate 
cheerfulness. When a man suddenly finds 
that he has not committed a murder of 
which he believed himself guilty, and that, 
moreover, he is not to be called to account 
even for the attempt, there is undoubtedly 
something inspiriting in the situation, and it 
is possible that my voice may have been 
unduly jubilant. At any rate, old Mary 
appeared to think so. She set the bottle 
and glasses on the table with as much bang¬ 
ing as was consistent with their safety, and 
delivered herself of the following :— 

“ A nice hour for a respectable gentleman 
to come home, Captain Jones, certainly ! 
And I suppose you’ll be sitting up the best 

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of the night now. You’d better make the 
most of the whisky; there’s no more. And 
for goodness’ sake don’t forget to bolt the 
door after you’ve let Captain Tompkins out. 
Perhaps he’ll sleep on the sofa, though. And 
when you do go to bed I hope you’ll make 
less noise than you did last night, keeping 
me awake with your snoring and grunting 
and talking in your sleep till the clock 
struck twelve. And now I’ll wish you good¬ 
night.” 

“ Did you h~ar that, Bob?’’saidTompkins, 
when she had gone. “ Old lady had the 
nightmare badly. Why, at twelve o’clock 
last night you were just drow — I mean 
diving—down by the jetty.” 

“ Never mind that, old man,” said I. “ It’s 
all over. Take some grog.” 

Now, what glorious luck ! I thought to 
myself. If my dear friend here should ever, 
which Heaven forbid, find out the rights of 
the matter, what a witness for an alibi ! Un¬ 
solicited testimony to my being at home. 
And the old girl would swear to it with the 
best conscience. 

“ Bob, old chap, here’s your health, and 
Heaven bless you for a kind - hearted 
fellow!” 

Just then old Mary put her head in at the 
door and snapped out, as she threw a letter 
on the table, “ This came for you this even¬ 
ing ; I forgot it.” 

YVhen the door was closed I took the 
letter up and examined it. It was addressed 
in a strange hand, and bore the postmark of 
a town some miles distant. On opening the 
envelope an inner cover appeared, on which 
was the following inscription :— 

“ To Captains Jones and Tompkins, 

“ Pygwyllion. 

“ The writer begs that the enclosed may 
be read by the above-named gentlemen in 
the presence of each other.” 

The letter itself I here give in full:— 

“ Gentlemen, — In adopting the profession 
of a hypnotist, I did so not so much as a 
means of making money as from a desire to 
benefit my fellow-creatures, and to bring about 
a more extended belief in the marvellous 
powers of an art in relation to which such 
general ignorance prevails. With this end in 
view it has been my custom often to visit 
small towns and villages where the very 
existence of the science was perhaps unknown. 
It has been my good fortune to open the eyes 
of many to the enormous benefits offered to 
the human race by the legitimate practice of 
my profession, and I am thankful to say that 
I have in many cases effected radical cures 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



i6S 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



when the patient had been given up by the 
faculty. Towards honest, if sceptical, inquiry 
I have always been patient; but to the pig* 
headed, obstinate self-sufficiency of half- 
educated people-like yourselves, gentlemen 
—I have sometimes, as in your case, adminis¬ 
tered a sharp lesson. I will explain myself. 
When you came on the stage last night you 
did so in obedience to the exercise of my 
will, although you did not think so; and l 
may here inform you that you proved your¬ 
selves two of the easiest subjects to influence 
that I have met with. The smallest exertion 
only on my part was necessary. 1 must 
call to your recollection that you both felt 
a momentary sensation of sleepiness, after 
which I apologized for dismissing you. That 
instant, gentlemen, allowed me to impress on 
your minds (which in such matters are ab¬ 
normally weak) 
the idea that 
each of you had 
murdered his 
friend by throw¬ 
ing him off the 
jetty. But this 
is not all. I 
willed that this 
i mpression 
should not come 
into force until 


you were asleep last night. Whether this 
has happened as I intended I leave it to your¬ 
selves to say. I fear you may,.perhaps, have 
been inconvenienced, but I can assure you 
that after the receipt of this letter you need 
fear no further interference in your affairs 
from me. 

“ I will merely add that I should strongly 
advise you not again to oppose your puny 
and untrained wills to a power the extent of 
which your very narrow intellects are quite 
incapable of realizing. In the hands of an 
unscrupulous operator the results to you 
might be much more serious than those 
caused by “ Yours faithfully, 

"Karl Schlafmacher, 

** Professor of Hypnotism.* 

We looked at one another, but for some 

time nothing was 
said. When at 
length Tomp¬ 
kins broke the 
silence his 
remark seemed 
to be somewhat 
wanting in rele¬ 
vancy. 

He said/ 4 Bob, 
my boy, pass the 
grog/ 


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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





rcflrq 




FAR-AWAY gun-shot reminds 
the wild duck that shooting 
begins to-day, ist August: and 
with a warning word she calls the 
whole fleet of nine inexperienced 
flappers and convoys them to safety in 
among the reeds. 

“ The Twelfth ” comes round, and the 
maternal grouse, collecting her brood about 
her, makes for the steep hillside; her idea, 
apparently, is to give the sportsmen a 
“gruelling” over rough, steep ground, that 
they shall not be able to shoot straight. It 
must be a nervous moment for the family 
when mamma peeps over the heather and 
comes down, saying: “That wretched old 
liver and white pointer scents us ; he’s stand¬ 
ing like a rock! ” but they wait until the 
humans come up before they 
go — each for himself and 
Heaven help the hindmost. 

There is unusual stir in 
the bee-hive: all the 



workers, females who don’t lay eggs, are 
moving around with an air of eager senten¬ 
tious rectitude tempered by display of 
pocket-handkerchief; and all the drones, 
males who do not work, but without whom 
the species would die out in one season, are 
standing about in sullen resignation. The 
word has gone forth and the drones are to 
be executed to-day. “It is our duty,” say 
the worker bees, firmly but tearfully; and 
they take the drones, one after another, sting 
them to death, and throw their bodies out of 
doors for disposal as beetles, ants, and mice 
may think fit. It is strange that such a 
barbarous practice should obtain in highly- 
civilized society, the more so when we 
remember that the queen bee, in the exercise 
of an enviable prerogative, can lay as many or 
as few drone - producing 
eggs as she pleases. The 
bumble-bees are busy as 
usual. The bumble-bee 
occasionally varies industry 







Vol. jucir.—22. 


EXECUTION OF THE DRONES. 


UICMIZG'U G) 


GooqIc 

o 


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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


170 



driving whip with a rag 
lash ; and from this instru¬ 
ment and the use the owner 
makes of it the angler 
obtains his name, 

Why Nature, when she furnished 
us with both a rod and line, 
Could not complete the outfit 
nor afford 11s chance to ask it, 
Has always been a mystery to 
me and friends of mine, 

Who have to go a-fishing with¬ 
out landing-net or basket. 

We do our Utile best, of course ; 

each by sonic rocky shelf 
Sits dangling out his little bait 
where little fishes swim. 

Each contemplative angler is a 
Isasket for himself, 

And never ceases fishing till he ? s 
filled him to the brim. 

He has an equally cordial 
welcome for a dead cat or 
a ship’s mop* His inhospit¬ 
able portals are always 
open, and this, when lie 
comes beach wards, works 



with over-indulgence, but habitual intoxica¬ 
tion is unknown ; for this excellent reason, 
that he who weakly yields to the seduction of 
such strong waters as the honey-dew oil the 
lime-leaf falls drunk and incapable to the 
ground and dies without a chance of re¬ 
formation. 

The only reason for referring here to the 
angler is that most people make acquaintance 
with his remains in August. The angler 
looks as though he had escaped from a 
sailor's nightmare or the property-room at 
Drury Lane. Starting from a very presentable 
tail the fish widens steadily, to concentrate 
all his physical powers in 
a grin of the broadest; 
a ghastly grin it is, too. 

Nature in sportive mood 
set upon tlie head of the 
fish a filament like a limp 


his undoing. The receding waves carry 
quantities of sand into his mouth and the 
tide goes out leaving him stranded, a pitiable 
example of sand ballast misapplied. 

The cuckoos are packing up to go south ; 
they have so much confidence in the nurses 
who took charge of their children that they 
need not wait. The young cuckoos will find 
their own way to Africa as their parents and 
grandparents did. The good people of 
Borrowdale, in Cumberland, are said to have 
attempted to detain the cuckoo for the winter 
by building a wall; which proceeding, if true, 
said more for the hearts than the heads of 
the Borrowdalians. 
Many of our song¬ 
birds have moulted 
now and are begin- 
ning to recover 
spirits, though 


: *THK cuckoo's PARSWEU TO HER Yip^-|‘ f|- r -||-|i 

°8 le UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








































THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR, 




there is little singing done* Birds who 

leave early for the south put off chang¬ 
ing their clothes till they reach their 
destination, preferring, like sensible people, 
to travel in shabby comfort; the cuckoos, 
for instance, do not change before they 
go, nor does the swallow. The flight 

feathers of the wings are shed in pairs, 
and as a bird must be fully equipped 
for such a long journey it must postpone 
moulting if it has to leave early in the 
autumn* The young robins are putting on 
their red waistcoats and the appropriate airs 
and graces ; till his first moult the young 
cock wears a spotted waistcoat. Late indi¬ 
viduals of vari¬ 
ous species have 
eggs or children 
to occupy their 
time. The ring- 
ouzels are still 
weighed down 
with nursery 
cares if they 
decided to rear 
a second brood ; 
the house-martin 
and the yellow- 
hammer are en¬ 
gaged with family 
number two; the 
stockdove who, 
like the shelduck 
and puffin, has 
a fancy for billet¬ 


ing herself on a rabbit, may still * be 
tending her twins in the burrow* It must 
be an irritating thing for the rabbit to 
come home and find the lodger giving her 
children tea in the passage, so that he cannot 
get beyond his own hall-door mat. The 
kith wake gulls, dilatory creatures, have pro¬ 
bably still some children in arms to look 
after 

The octopa--pardon the convenient inac¬ 
curacy—has hatched out the ropes of eggs 
she has been watching over so jealously for 
the last fifty days in the rocky retreat she 
calls her nest; the youngsters are lively, but, 
being no larger than fleas at birth, are likely 

to escape notice 
for some time 
to come. The 
maternal octopus 
gives herself 
up so whole¬ 
heartedly to her 
nursery duties, 
which consist 
chiefly of sitting 
still and blowing 
water over the 
egg - ropes, that 
her healthsuffers; 
and by the time 
the children are 
born she is not 
the creature she 
was when, newly 

"the LODGKR GIVING IIXH CHILDREN TEA IN Tilt UJCtakftjSl rrom wedded, she left 

myvjtnjsre: UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




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THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



home with her husband in June. The 
sternest octopus papa must feel himself 
at a loss if once a wayward daughter and 
her lover hurl themselves into each other's 
arms 

What can I do? Eight arms on either side 
Make more & Gordian than a lovers 1 knot* 

I can't undo il, hard as I have tried, 

I must consent to give him what he's got. 


(only a couple of 
hundred, hut pipe¬ 
fishes have few 
foes, thanks to 
their mail, and 
their nursery 
methods forbid 
needless pro¬ 
fusion) she makes 
them over to her 
busband t who 
arranges them in 
rows along his 
underside and 
keeps them till 
they hatch out. 
The pipe-fish is 
not intelligent. 
He will wind his 
prehensile tail 
about any buoy- 
rope or drifting 
stick without 
the elementary precaution of inquiring what 
the thing is: and holds on in foolish faith 
till lifted into boat or stranded on shore. 
The hippocampus, or sea-horse — one of 
Nature's most successful efforts in the gro¬ 
tesque, by the way—is even more advanced 
than the pipe-fish. The sea-horse is equipped 
with a sac under his tail, and when the sea- 
mare lays her eggs she packs them into that 


Bless yon, then, children I Stem 
those floods of—tears, 

Conscience must prick you very 
hard, I think ; 

Don't fog the water round you thus, 
my dears, 

Surely betrothals are not sealed 
with—ink. 


The octopus, as a rule, is 
sparing of his ink, and does 
not discharge it without good 
reason. His relative, the 
cuttlefish, on the other hand, 
will envelop himself in a cloud 
of the very best sepia if you 
even look at him — this ex¬ 
travagance is the outcome of 
shyness. Stranded on the 
beach you may occasionally find 
the shrunken remains of one 
of the pipe-fish — a strange 
creature, like a young eel in 
plate armour with a long tube¬ 
like snout ending in the small¬ 
est of undassically-cut mouths* 
The male pipe - fish is the 
victim of Woman's Rights. 
When his wife lays her eggs 

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THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 173 . 


What says my brother? In the 
jam you sink, 

Von grow more feeble? 
Death is very near ? 

Your fate’s my warning, but I 
rather think 

That I may safely taste the 
jam from here. 

Let me avoid the spots that 
sticky fed— 

Peace, brother, peace! Re¬ 
frain from sob and groan \ 

1 am at breakfast, don’t disturb 
my meal 

Light on my breast lie sorrows 
not my own I 


pajuy re r form a sc es by tub porpoises during the season. 


and leaves to her mate all the responsibility 
of hatching. Although the sea-horse is thus 
imposed upon by his wife, the pair appear to 
be on the most affectionate terms. They 
hold on to weeds by their tails and cling 
lovingly to one another: Dr. Day has even 
seen them rubbing their heads in a sea-horse 
kiss, and has heard them coughing exchange 
of endearments. The amiable porpoise is 
playing leap-frog with a party of friends 
within hail of the beach : porpoise existence 
appears to be one giddy whirl of gratuitous 
acrobatic performance for the benefit of 
visitors to the seaside: this animal — the 
meekest porpoise would resent being 
called a fish—does not go out to sea, pre¬ 
ferring the excitements, and fish, of inshore 
waters, and is equally cheerful and irrepres¬ 
sible whether you meet him off Greenland 
or in the tepid Mediterranean. 

The wasps are abroad in 
their hundreds: the wasp 
is an intelligent fellow, as 
witness the discretion 
which bids him come out 
of a hole in pear or plum 
business end first; but his 
selfishness is something 
monumental. When he 
finds food, though there 
be enough to supply a 
thousand wasps for the 
whole summer, he never 
tells a friend — but you 
can read his character for 
yourself any morning on 
the breakfast table:— 


It is a curious thing, but 
birds appear to enjoy im¬ 
munity from wasp sting. 
Blackbirds, tits, and mar¬ 
tins eat them greedily; 
the two former will 
hang on to the paper¬ 
like nest and devour the 
insects by the dozen. 

The hen lobster’s eggs generally hatch out 
in July or August: for a time she carried 
them —12,000 or more — about with her, 
stuck upon the underside of her body, but 
as the “ berry ” swelled locomotion became 
difficult, and she regretfully buried them in 
the sand. She is an exemplary parent, and 

sometimes keeps about her such of her 

family as survive the perils of infancy till 
they attain to a length of six inches, by which 
time they are hardened enough to face the 
world on their own account. The hen lobster 
produces a family and gets a new dress in 
alternate years : this latter sounds like a hard¬ 
ship, but no question of hen lobster’s rights 
is involved, though the cock does get a new 
suit every August. Changing his or her coat 
of mail is a serious business; when the old 
one is coming off the patient is sick, sorry, 


OO 


0 


mr. wasp drops QrWtftlUjflaR* 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












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THE STRAND MAGAZINE 



J * k 


and retiring* As soon as it is east 
and the lobster has drawn off the 
last pair of his thigli - boots, he 
devotes all his time and energies 
to growing as fast as he can ; the 
only chance he has of growing is 


u THE VOtJfig FJtAWNS REQUIRE NEW SHELL-JACKETS EVERY TWELVE DAYS—MORE EXPENSE FOR FATHER PRAWN.* 


after laying off his old coat and before the 
nevv mail shall harden, so he grows with a 
will As soon as the new coat is hard he 
begins to make up for lost meals, feeding 
ravenously* The lobster seems to suffer 
from nerves—at all events, fishermen who 
are on intimate terms with him say that 
a loud clap of thunder or the boom of a 
ship’s gun will make him shed a claw; all 
crustaceans set little value on their limbs, 
as they can grow new ones to replace those 
lost* The lobster suffers a good deal when 
his armour gets too small for him* but as 
that happens only once a year we may keep 
our sympathy for the unfortunate young 
prawns, who grow so fast that they require 
new shell-jackets every twelve days. 

The field-cricket, who has been shrilling 
with tireless energy since he got up in the 
spring, shows symptoms of weariness about 
the beginning of August: his song is less 
continuous, less strident; and gradually he 


gives up singing for the year, 
summer of discontent for the 
harvest-mouse, who, by the 
way, is the only British 
mammal who possesses an 
even partially prehensile tail; 
he uses that organ as a fifth 
hand, more particularly when 
descending the wheat stem 
in a hurry* Much addicted 
to weaving his beautiful ball 
of a nest among the stems of 
standing corn, and fond of 

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Now- is the 



cog le 


climbing to the ears of wheat on which he sits 
to lunch and enjoy the scenery, the harvest- 
mouse views the reaping machine with par¬ 
donable disapprobation* He doubtless owes 
his name to the fact that 
harvesting operations are so 
generally instrumental in 
revealing, and bringing ruin 
to, his domestic hearth ; the 
chances are in favour of there 
being babies in the nest when¬ 
ever it be brought to light, 
for, like the rest of his kind, 
he is an enthusiastic family 
man who loves to surround 
himself with children, grand¬ 
children, and great-grand¬ 
children to the fifth and 
sixth generation. When the 
corn is stocked the tawny 
and barn owls come from 
far and near to range the 
fields, self-appointed special 
constables in the agricultural 
interest. Every mouse is de 
facto an offender, and if he 
fall into the clutches of the 
* law as personified by an owl 

his fate is sealed* The phea¬ 
sant sometimes amuses him¬ 
self by killing and eating 
mice; it is an injudicious 
practice, as the dead mouse 
frequently sticks in his gullet 

Origii^ftMfes him. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


Ml 











THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


175 



"the buck rabbit’s return.' 

Stoats and weasels at this season occa¬ 
sionally get up hunting parties of fifteen 
or twenty — perhaps two families combine 
for sport — and display reckless courage ; 
a party of twenty weasels has been known 
to attack a* collie dog, either from sheer 
bravado or downright savagery; they are, 
as we know, prone to kill from wanton 
love of slaughter, and twice twenty weasels 
would hardly know how to dispose of a 
5olb. dog when they had worried him to 
death. The rabbit is 
still engaged on pri¬ 
vate affairs, which 
indulgence itself can 
hardly admit as 
urgent, in view of the 
fact that they have 
been recurrently on 
hand ever since 
March. The con¬ 
duct of the buck- 
rabbit suggests that 
he regards these 
superabundant chil¬ 
dren with disappro¬ 
val ; for if, in despite 
of his wife, he makes 
his way into the 
nursery he is likely 
to kill a few of them. 

There is no excuse 
for this behaviour; 
the mind of the most 
intellectual rabbit is 
hardly likely to be 
influenced by the 
doctrine of Mai thus, “nature takes ofp the 

uolizeti oy vjiV-'Ux i^- 



and he cannot 
plead over-work, for 
his wife does every¬ 
thing ; she even 
tears off her own 
clothes to make her 
babies warm and 
comfortable. 

The 23rd of 
August comes 
round and the 
punctual puffins 
leave the breeding 
grounds to fly sea¬ 
ward and distribute 
themselves on dis¬ 
tant rocks and islets: 
thp puffin has more 
reason than most 
birds to withdraw 
from society during 
the autumn moult. There is no great differ¬ 
ence between the clothes he takes off 
and the dress he will put on, it is true: 
but there is that wonderful bill to be 
considered. Nature bestows upon him the 
beautiful red and blue arrangement with 
chaste yellow stripes as a wedding gift that he 
may be pleasing in the eye of hen puffins—it 
doesn’t say much for their taste, but let that 
pass. The breeding season over, Nature, 
with callous disregard of the cock’s feelings 
and without reflect¬ 
ing on the shock it 
must give his wife, 
takes off the puffin’s 
bill in pieces, as 
though it were after 
all a false nose to 
hide the neutral- 
tinted and insignifi¬ 
cant snub beneath. 
Consider, I pray you, 
the emotions of the 
young puffin whom 
this loss befalls for 
the first time. 

The guillemots are 
leaving their rock- 
ledges also, to scatter 
for the autumn and 
winter: there is, in 
point of fact, a general 
breaking up for the 
holidays, the educa¬ 
tion of the young 
birds being finished. 
•The herons leave 
puffin’s bill WfeUI&rl the heronry and 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















176 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



resort to the marshes and 
streams. The curlews 
send their children to 
the waterside to learn the 
science of mud-probirig, 
and go thither them¬ 
selves, keeping apart 
from the young people, 
however Thanks to 
their long bills the cur¬ 
lews live better and keep 
in fatter condition in 
winter than other mud- 
larking species who can¬ 
not explore so deeply. 

The end of the month 
draws near and the swifts 
go. There is no prepara¬ 
tion, no assemblage of 
travelling companions: 
the company about the 
steeple have been growl¬ 
ing more restless and 
soaring in loftier realms 
than usual for a few days, 
and one evening the 
silence tells you they are 
gone. Cruel is the fate of 
the backward young swift 
who has not learned to 
fly perfectly by the time 
his people start for the 
south ; he is left behind to die of cold and 
starvation, if he cannot find his way to Africa 
all by himself. The young swallows and the 


before retiring for the 
winter. The active career 
of most butterflies in the 
winged state of existence 
is short; the large tor¬ 
toiseshell who came out 
in the middle of July is 
quite content to go to bed 
for the winter in the 
middle of August; and, 
like other butterflies who 
hibernate in the complete 
state, will get up about 
May to lay eggs and die. 
Some of the butterflies, 
as we might expect of such 
giddy, undomestic crea¬ 
tures, have no idea of 
home comfort, and spend 
the winter in the chilliest 
fashion. A small tortoise¬ 
shell was observed by a 
parson one Sunday in 
August to enter his 
church during the 
service and settle on 
the ceiling;, and there 
the clerico-entomo¬ 
logical eye marked the 
insect, Sunday after 
Sunday, hanging to the 
naked beam for nine 
months, a sound sleeper. 

The Red Admiral appears in August: his 
steadiness of character is open to criticism, 


SLEEPING THROUGH sEKMONS FOR NINE MONTHS,' 


house-martins of 
the first brood 
are congregating 
on the roofs to 
discuss in eager 
twitterings the 
wonders of the 
new country 
their parents 
have described, 
The great 
caterpillar of the 
Death's Head 
moth seeks 
seclusion under¬ 
ground in August 
to pass into the 
chrysalis state. 
The peacock 
but t e r f1 y 
emerges from 
the chrysalis to 
enjoy a few 
weeks' gaiety 





for he is rather 
addicted to 
going out at 
night when well- 
conducted 
butterflies are 
in bed. The 
Tainted Lady is 
expected at this 
season loo, but 
she is so irregu¬ 
lar in her habits 
that entomo¬ 
logists i m- 
patiently declare 
ii impossible to 
lay down any 
precise rules 
for her meta¬ 
morphoses : she 
is even more 
i r res po risible 
than other 


THE PAINTED LADY. 


’ Original from butterflies. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














ENIA TURNBULL in a 
quiets unobtrusive fashion was 
enjoying herself* The cool 
living-room at Turnbull’s farm 
was a delightful contrast to 
the hot sunshine without, and 
the drowsy humming of bees floating in at 
the open window was charged with hints of 
slumber to the middle-aged. From her seat 
by the window she watched with amused 
interest the efforts of her father—kept from 
his Sunday afternoon nap by the assiduous 
attentions of her two admirers—to maintain 
his politeness* 

Father was so pleased to see you both 
come in/ 1 she said, softly; “ it's very dull for 
him here of an afternoon with only me.” 

“I can’t imagine anybody being dull with 
only you,” said Sergeant Dick Daly, turning 
a bold brown eye upon her, 

Mr John Blundell scowled ; this was the 
third time the sergeant had said the thing 
that he would have liked to say if he had 
thought of it* 

“ I don't mind being dull,” remarked Mr* 
Turnbull, casually. 

Neither gentleman made any comment. 

“I like it/* pursued Mr* Turnbull, long- 
ingly ; “ always did, from a child,” 

The two young men looked at each other , 

Vol. xuv.— 23 - Copyrighi, 190a. by W. W* Jacobs, 

Diailized bv t xOOQ C 


then they looked at Verna; the sergeant 
assumed an expression of careless ease, while 
John Blundell sat his chair like a human 
limpet. Mr* Turnbull almost groaned ‘as he 
remembered his tenacity* 

41 The garden’s looking very nice,” he said, 
with a pathetic glance round. 

14 Beautiful," assented the sergeant, “I 
saw it yesterday*” 

‘‘Some o* the roses on that big bush 
have opened a bit more since then,” said the 
farmer. 

Sergeant Daly expressed his gratification, 
and said that he was not surprised It was 
only ten days since he had arrived in the 
village on a visit to a relative, but in that 
short space of rime he had, to the great 
discomfort of Mr. Blundell, made himself 
wonderfully at home at Mr* Turnbull's* To 
Venia he related strange adventures by sea 
and land, and on subjects of which he was 
sure the farmer knew nothing he was a 
perfect mine of information* He began to 
talk in low tones to Venia, and the heart of 
Mr. Blundell sank within him as he noted 
her interest* Their voices fell to a gentle 
murmur, and the sergeant's sleek, well- 
brushed head bent closer to that of his 
listener, Relieved from his attentions, Mr, 
Turnbull fell asleep without more ado. 

in tht United Stile* of j 


rro m 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









78 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Blundell sat neglected, the unwilling 
witness of a flirtation he was powerless to 
prevent. Considering her limited oppor¬ 
tunities, Miss Turnbull displayed a proficiency 
which astonished him. Even the sergeant 
was amazed, and suspected her of long 
practice. 

“ I wonder whether it is very hot outside ? ” 
she said, at last, rising and looking out of the 
window. 

“ Only pleasantly warrtn,” said the sergeant. 
“ It would be nice down by the water.” 

“ I'm afraid of disturbing father by our 
talk,” said the considerate daughter. “ You 
might tell him we’ve gone for a little stroll 
when he wakes,” she added, turning to 
Blundell. 

Mr. Blundell, who had risen with the idea 
of acting the humble but, in his opinion, 
highly necessary part of chaperon, sat down 
again and watched blankly from the window 
until they were out of sight. He was half- 
inclined to think that the exigencies of the 
case warranted him in arousing the farmer 
at once. 

It was an hour later when the farmer 
awoke, to find himself alone with Mr. 
Blundell, a state of affairs for which he 
strove with some pertinacity to make that 
aggrieved gentleman responsible. 

“ Why didn't you go with them ? ” he 
demanded. 

“Because I wasn't asked,” replied the 
other. 

Mr. Turnbull sat up in his chair and eyed 
him disdainfully. “For a great, big chap 
like you are, John Blundell,” he exclaimed, 
“ it's surprising what a little pluck you’ve 
got.” 

“ I don't want to go where I’m not 
wanted,” retorted Mr. Blundell. 

“That’s where you make a mistake,” said 
the other, regarding him severely ; “girls like 
a masterful man, and, instead of getting your 
own way, you sit down quietly and do as 
you’re told, like a tame—tame ” 

“Tame what?” inquired Mr. Blundell, 
resentfully. 

“ I don't know,” said the other, frankly ; 
“ the tamest thing you can think of. There’s 
Daly laughing in his sleeve at you, and talk¬ 
ing to Venia about Waterloo and the Crimea 
as though he’d been there. I thought it 
was pretty near settled between you.” 

“So did I,” said Mr. Blundell. 

“You’re a big man, John,” said the other, 
“ but you’re slow. You’re all muscle and no 
head.” 

“ I think of things afterwards,” said 

Diqilized by CiOO^ le 
* o 


Blundell, humbly ; “ generally after I get to 
bed.” 

Mr. Turnbull sniffed, and took a turn up 
and down the room ; then he closed the 
door and came towards his friend again. 

“ I dare say you're surprised at me being 
so anxious to get rid of Venia,” he said, slowly, 
“ but the fact is I'm thinking of marrying 
again myself.” 

“ %You 1 ” said the startled Mr. Blundell. 

“ Yes, me,” said the other, somewhat 
sharply. “ But she won’t marry so long as 
Venia is at home. It's a secret, because if 
Venia got to hear of it she’d keep single to 
prevent it. She’s just that sort of girl.” 

Mr. Blundell coughed, but did not deny it. 
“ Who is it ? ” he inquired. 

“ Miss Sippet,” was the reply. “ She 
couldn’t hold her own for half an hour against 
Venia.” 

Mr. Blundell, a great stickler for accuracy, 
reduced the time to five minutes. 

“And now,” said the aggrieved Mr. 
Turnbull, “ now, so far as I can see, she’s 
struck with Daly. If she has him it’ll be 
years and years before they can marry. She 
seems crazy about heroes. She was talking 
to me the other night about them. Not to 
put too fine a point on it, she was talking 
about you.” 

Mr. Blundell blushed with pleased 
surprise. 

“ Said you were not a hero,” explained 
Mr. Turnbull. “Of course, I stuck up for 
you. I said you’d got too much sense to go 
putting your life into danger. I said you 
were a very careful man, and I told her how 
particular you was about damp sheets. Your 
housekeeper told me.” 

“ It’s all nonsense,” said Blundell, with a 
fiery face. “ I’ll send that old fool packing 
if she can’t keep her tongue quiet.” 

“ It’s very sensible of you, John,” said 
Mr. Turnbull, “ and a sensible girl would 
appreciate it. Instead of that, she only 
sniffed when I told her how careful you 
always were to wear flannel next to your 
skin. She said she liked dare-devils.” 

“ I suppose she thinks Daly is a dare¬ 
devil,” said the offended Mr. Blundell. “And 
I wish people wouldn’t talk about me and 
my skin. Why can’t they mind their own 
business ? ” 

Mr. Turnbull eyed him indignantly, and 
then, sitting in a very upright position, slowly 
filled his pipe, and declining a proffered 
match rose and took one from the mantel¬ 
piece. 

“ I was doing the best I could for you,” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




BLUNDELL'S IMPROVEMENT 


179 


he said, staring hard at the ingrate, “ I was 
trying to make Venia see what a careful 
husband you would make. Miss Sippet 
herself is most particular about such things 
—and Yenia seemed to think something of 
it, because she asked me whether you used a 
warming-pan.” 

Mr, Blundell got up from his chair and, 
without going through the formality of 
bidding his host good-bye, quitted the room 


and dosed the door violently behind him. 
He was red with rage, and he brooded darkly 
as he made his way home on the folly of 
carrying on the traditions of a devoted 
mother without thinking fur himself 

For the next two or three days, to Venia’s 
secret concern, he failed to put in an 
appearance at the farm—a fact which made 
flirtation with the sergeant a somewhat un¬ 
interesting business. Her sole recompense 
was the dismay of her father, and for his 
benefit she dwelt upon the advantages of the 
Army in a manner that would have made the 
fortune of a recruitmg-sergeant, 

“She's just crazy after the soldiers,” lie 
said to Mr, Blundell, whom he was trying 
to spur on to a desperate effort. (< I've been 


watching her close, and I can see what it is 
now ; she's romantic. You’re too slow and 
ordinary for her. She wants somebody more 
dazzling. She told Daly only yesterday 
afternoon that she loved heroes. Told it to 
him to his face, I sat there and heard her. 
It's a pity you ain't a hero, John." 

Yes,” said Mr, Blundell; “ then, if I was, 
I expect she'd like something else,” 

The other shook his head. “ If you could 
only do something 
daring,” he murmured; 
** half-kill somebody, or 
save somebody’s life, and 
let her see you do it. 
Couldn't you dive off the 
quay and save somebody's 
life from drowning?” 

“ Yes, I could,” said 
Blundell, “if somebody 
would only tumble in.” 

“You might pretend 
that you thought you saw 
somebody drowning,” 
suggested Mr. Turnbull. 

“And he laughed at,” 
said Mr. Blundell, who 
knew his Venia by heart. 

“ You always seem to 
be able to think of objec¬ 
tions,” complained Mr, 
Turnbull; “I’ve noticed 
that in you before.” 

“ Fd go in fast enough 
if there was anybody 
there,” said Blundell. 
“ I'm not much of a 
swimmer, but——” 

“ All the better,” inter¬ 
rupted the other; “ that 
would make it all the 
more daring.” 

“ And I don't much care if Fm drowned,” 
pursued the younger man, gloomily, 

Mr. Turnbull thrust his hands in his 
pockets and took a turn or two up and down 
the room. His brows were knitted and his lips 
pursed. In the presence of this mental stress 
Mr. Blundell preserved a respectful silence, 

11 Well all four go for a walk on the quay 
on Sunday afternoon,” said Mr. Turnbull, at 
last. 

“On the chance?” inquired his staring 
friend. 

“ On the chance,” assented the other ; ** it’s 
just possible Daly might fall in.'’ 

“He might if we walked up and down 
five million times,” said Blundell, un¬ 
pleasantly. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



11 SlfE ASKED ME WHETHER YOU UfiED A WAR M [Kt^PAN." 



























i8o 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“ He might if we walked up and down 
three or four times,” said Mn Turnbull, 
u especially if you happened to stumble.” 

“ I never stumble,” said the matter-of-fact 
Mr. Blundell. •“ I don’t know anybody more 
sure-footed than I am.” 

. “ Or thick-headed,” added the exasperated 
Mr. Turnbull. 

Mr. Blundell regarded him patiently ; he 
had a strong suspicion that his friend had 
been drinking. 

“ Stumbling,” said Mr. Turnbull, con¬ 
quering . his annoyance with an effort — 
“stumbling is a thing that might happen 
to anybody. You trip your foot against a 
stone and lurch up against Daly ; he 
tumbles overboard, and you off with your 
jacket and dive in off the quay after him. 
He can’t swim a stroke.” 

Mr. Blundell caught his breath and gazed 
at him in speechless amaze. 

“ There’s sure to be several people on the 
quay if it’s a fine afternoon,” continued his 
instructor.. “You’ll have half Dunchurch 
round you, praising you and patting you on 
the back—all in front of Venia, mind you. 
It’ll be put in all the papers and you’ll get a 
medal.” 

“ And suppose we are both drowned ? ” 
said Mr. Blundell, soberly. 

“Drowned? Fiddlesticks!” said Mr. 
Turnbull. “ However, please yourself. If 
you’re afraid-” 

“ I’ll do it,” said Blundell, decidedly. 

“And mind,” said the other, “don’t do it 
as if it’s as easy as kissing your fingers; be 
half-drowned yourself, or at least pretend to 
be. And when you’re on the quay take your 
time about coming round. Be longer than 
Daly is ; you don’t want him to get all the 
pity.” 

“All right,” said the other. 

“After a time you can open your eyes,” 
went on his instructor; “ then, if I were you, 
I should say, ‘ Good-bye, Venia,’ and close 
’em again. Work it up affecting, and send 
messages to your aunts.” 

“ It sounds all right,” said Blundell. 

“ It A all right,” said Mr. Turnbull. “That’s 
just the bare idea I’ve given you. It’s for 
you to improve upon it. You’ve got two 
days to think about it.” 

Mr. Blundell thanked him, and for the 
next two days thought of little else. Being 
a careful man he made his will, and it was in 
a comparatively cheerful frame of mind that 
he made his way on Sunday afternoon to 
Mr. Turnbull’s. 

The sergeant was already there conversing 

Digitized by Google 

f o 


in low tones with Venia by the window, 
while Mr. Turnbull, sitting opposite in an 
oaken armchair, regarded him with an 
expression which would have shocked Iago. 

“ We were just thinking of having a blow 
down by the water,” he said, as Blundell 
entered. 

“ What ! a hot day like this ?” said Venia. 

“I was just thinking how beautifully cool 
it is in here,” said the sergeant, who 
was hoping for a repetition of the previous 
Sunday’s performance. 

“ It’s cooler outside,” said Mr. Turnbull, 
with a wilful ignoring of facts ; “ much cooler 
when you get used to it.” 

He led the way with Blundell, and Venia 
and the sergeant, keeping as much as possible 
in the shade of the dust-powdered hedges, 
followed. The sun was blazing in the sky, 
and scarce half-a-dozen people were to be 
seen on the little curved quay which consti¬ 
tuted the usual Sunday afternoon promenade. 
The water, a dozen feet below, lapped 
cool and green against the stone sides. 

At the extreme end of the quay, under¬ 
neath the lantern, they all stopped, ostensibly 
to admire a full-rigged ship sailing slowly by 
in the distance, but really to effect the change 
of partners necessary to the afternoon’s busi¬ 
ness. The change gave Mr. Turnbull some 
trouble ere it was effected, but he was 
successful at last, and, walking behind the 
two young men, waited somewhat nervously 
for developments. 

Twice they paraded the length of the 
quay and nothing happened. The ship was 
still visible, and, the sergeant halting to gaze 
at it, the company lost their formation, and 
he led the complaisant Venia off from 
beneath her father’s very nose. 

“You’re a pretty manager, you are, John 
Blundell,” said the incensed Mr. Turnbull. 

“ I know what I’m about,” said Blundell, 
slowly. 

“ Well, why don’t you do it ? ” demanded 
the other. “ I suppose you are going to 
wait until there are more people about, and 
then perhaps some of them will see you 
push him over.” 

“ It isn’t that,” said Blundell, slowly, “ but 
you told me to improve on your plan, you 
know, and I’ve been thinking out improve¬ 
ments.” 

“ Well ? ” said the other. 

“ It doesn’t seem much good saving 
Daly,” said Blundell; “ that’s what I’ve been 
thinking. He would be in as much danger 
as I should, and he’d get as much sympathy; 
perhaps more.” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




BLUNDELL’S IMPROVEMENT 


181 



‘bah! VOU AHE BACKINQ OUT OP IT,' SAllJ THL IHHITATEP MH, TUM\MLJLU ' 


“ Do you mean to tell me 
that you are hacking out of 
it ?” demanded Mr. Turn- 
bull. 

“No,” said Blundell, 
slowly, “but it would be 
much better if l saved some¬ 
body else. 1 don't want 
Daly to be pitied.” 

“ Bah ! you are backing 
out of it,” said the irritated 
Mr. Turnbull, “ You + re 
afraid of a little cold water,” 

“No, Pm not," said 
Blundell; “ but it would be 
better in every way to save 
somebody else. She’ll see 
Daly standing there doing 
nothing, while I am strug¬ 
gling for my life. Ive 
thought it all out very care- 
fully. 1 know Tm not quick, 
but I'm sure, and when I 
make up my mind to do a 
thing, I do it. You ought 
to know that,” 

“ That’s all very well,” 
said the other ; “ but who 
else is there to push in ? IJ 

“ That's all right,” said Blundell, vaguely. 
“ Don't you worry about that; I shall find 
somebody.” 

Mr. Turnbull turned and cast a specula¬ 
tive eye along the quay. As a rule, he had 
great confidence in Blundell s determination, 
but on this occasion he had his doubts. 

“ Well, it’s a riddle to me,” be said, slowly. 
“I give it up. It sepms—- Halloa! 
Good heavens, lie careful. You nearly had 
me in then.” 

“Did I?” said Blundell, thickly. “Pm 
very sorry.” 

Mr. Turnbull, angry at such carelessness, 
accepted the apology in a grudging spirit 
and trudged along in silence. Then he 
started nervously as a monstrous and 
unworthy suspicion occurred to him. It 
was an incredible thing to suppose, but at 
the same time he felt that there was nothing 
like being on the safe side, and in tones not 
quite free from significance he intimated his 
desire of changing places with his awkward 
friend. 

4fi Ids ail right,” said Blundell, soothingly. 

“ I know it is,” said Mr. Turnbull, regard- 
mg him fixedly ; “but I prefer this side. 
You very near had me over just now," 

“I staggered,” said Mr. Blundell. 

* 4 Another inch and I should have been 



overboard,” said Mr. Turnbull, with a shudder, 
“ That would have been a nice bow d'ye 
do.” 

Mr, Blundell coughed and looked seawards. 
“ Accidents will happen,” he murmured. 

They reached the end of the quay again 
and stood talking, and when they turned once 
more the sergeant was surprised and gratified 
at the ease with which he bore off Verna. 
Mr. Turnbull and Blundell followed some 
little way behind, and the former gentleman's 
suspicions were somewhat lulled by finding 
that his friend made no attempt to take the 
inside place. He looked about him with 
interest for a likely victim, but in vain, 

“ What utc you looking at ? ” he demanded, 
impatiently, as Blundell suddenly came to a 
stop and gazed curiously into the harbour, 

“Jelly-fish,” said the other, briefly. “I 
never saw such a monster. It must be a 
yard across.” 

Mr. Turn bull stopped, but could see 
nothing, and even when Blundell pointed 
it out with his finger he had no better 
success. He stepped forward a pace, and 
his suspicions returned with renewed vigour 
as a hand was laid caressingly on his 
shoulder. The next moment, with a wild 
shriek, he shot suddenly over the edge and 
disappeared. Venia and the sergeant, turn- 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE STRAND MAGAZINE* 


182 


ing hastily, were just in time to see the 
fountain which ensued on his immersion, 
“Oh, save him ! n cried Venia* 

The sergeant ran to the edge and gazed in 
helpless dismay as Mr, Turnbull came to the 
surface and dis¬ 
appeared again, At 
the same moment 
Blundell, who hud 
thrown off his coat, 
dived into the har¬ 
bour and, rising 
rapidly to the sur¬ 
face, caught the fast 
choking Mr, Turn- 
bull by the collar, 

“ Keep still/' he 
cried, sharply, as 
the farmer tried to 
clutch him ; 41 keep 
still or I'll let you 
go. 1 ' 

“Help!” choked 
the farmer, gazing 
up at the little knot 
of people which 
had collected on 
the quay, 

A stout fisherman 
who had not run for 
thirty years came 
along the edge of 
the quay at a sham¬ 
bling trot, with a 
coil of rope over 
his arm. John 
Blundell saw him 
and, mindful of the 
farmer's warning 
about kissing of 
lingers, etc., raised 
his disengaged arm 
and took that fren¬ 
zied gentleman 
below the surface 
again. By the time they came up he was 
\ery glad for his own sake to catch the line 
skilfully thrown by the old fisherman and be 
drawn gently to the side. 

“ I II tow you to the steps,” said Lhe fisher¬ 
man ; “ don’t let go o’ the line,” 

Mr. Turnbull saw to that; he wound the 
rope round his wrist and began to regain his 
presence of mind as they were drawn steadily 
towards the steps. Willing hands drew them 
out of the water and helped them up 
on to the quay, where Mr, Turnbull, sitting 
in his own puddle, coughed up salt water 
and glared ferociously at the inanimate form 

Digitized by GoOslc 


of Mr* Blundell Sergeant Daly and another 
man were rendering what they piously 
believed to be first aid to the apparently 
drowned, while the stout fisherman, with both 
hands to his mouth, was yelling in heart¬ 
rending accents for a barrel. 

“He—he—push—pushed me in,” 
gasped the choking Mr, Turnbull, 

Nobody paid any at¬ 
tention to him ; even 
Venia, seeing that he 
was safe, was on her 
knees by the side of the 
unconscious Blundell 
e —he’s sham¬ 
ming/’ bawled the 
neglected Mr, 
Turnbull 

“Shame!” said 
somebody, without 
even looking round, 
“He pushed me 
in/' repeated Mr* 
Turnbull* “He 
pushed me in,” 
“Oh, father/' said 
Venia, with a scan¬ 
dalized glance at 
him, “how can 
you?” 

“Shame!” said 
the bystanders, briefly, 
as they watchedanxiously 
fur signs of returning 
life on the part of Mr* 
Blundell. He lay still 
with his eyes closed, but 
his hearing was still 
acute, and the sounds 
of a rapidly-approaching 
barrel trundled by a 
breathless Samaritan 
did him more good than 
anything* 

“ Good-bye, Venia,” 
he said, in a faint voice; “good-bye.” 

Miss Turnbull sobbed and took his hand. 
“ He’s shamming/* roared Mr. Turnbull, 
incensed beyond measure at the faithful 
manner in which Blundell was carrying out 
his instructions* “He pushed me in*” 

There was an angry murmur from the 
bystanders* 

“Be reasonable, Mr. Turnbull,” said the 
sergeant, somewhat sharply. 

“ He nearly lost 'is life over you,” said the 
stout fisherman. “As plucky a thing as ever 
I see* If I adn t ha’ been T andy with that 
there line you'd both ha* been drownded*” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



WITH A WELD SMR LEK 19 K SHUT SUDDENLY OYER 
THE tDOE*" 






















BLUNDELLS IMPROVEMENT 





44 Give—my love—to everybody/ 1 said 
Blundell, faintly. “Good-bye, Verna. 
Good-bye, Mr. Turnbull/ 1 
“Where's that barrel?' 1 demanded the 
stout fisherman, crisply. “Going to be all 
night with it? 

Now, two of . 

T| - 

vou- 


Mr. Blundell, 
with a great effort, 
and assisted by 
Venia and the 
sergeant, sat up. 

He felt that he 
had made a good 
impression, and 
had no desire to 
spoil it by riding 
the barrel With 
one exception, 
everybody was 
regarding him 
with moist-eyed 
admiration. The 
exception's eyes 
were, perhaps, 
the moistest of 
them all, but 
admiration had 
no place in them. 

11 You’re all being made fools of,” he 
said, getting up and stamping. “ I tell 
you he pushed me overboard for the 


advice and get ’ome and get to bed, and the 
first thing you'll do when you get your senses 
back will be to go round and thank Mr. 
Blundell for all 'e’s done for you/’ 

Mr. Turnbull looked at them, and the 
circle of intelligent faces grew misty be¬ 
fore his angry eyes. One man, ignoring 
his sodden condition, recommended a 
wet handkerchief tied round his brow* 


VOU TAKE MV ADVICE AND GET OME AND GET TO BED* 


purpose/' 


“Oh, father! how can you? 11 demanded 
Venia, angrily. “He saved your life.” 

“He pushed me in,” repeated the farmer. 

" Told me to look at a jelly fish and pushed 
me in." 

“ What for?" inquired Sergeant Daly. 

“Because-” said Mr. Turnbull He 

looked at the unconscious sergeant, and the 
words on his lips died away in an inarticulate 
growl. 

“ What for ? ” pursued the sergeant, in 
triumph. “ Be reasonable, Mr. Turnbull 
Where’s the reason in pushing you overboard 
and then nearly losing his life saving you ? 
That would be a fools trick. It was as fine 
a thing as ever I saw." 

“What you 'ad, Mr. Turnbull/' said the 
stout fisherman, tapping him on the arm, 

11 was a little touch o’ the sun.” 

“What felt to you like a push," said 
another man, ** and over you went." 

“As easy as easy/' said a third. 

“You're red in the face now," said the 
stout fisherman, regarding him critically, 
“and your eyes are starting. You take my 

Digitized by CiOOqle 


“ I don't want any thanks, Mr. Turn bull,” 
said Blundell, feebly, as he was assisted to 
his feet. “ I’d do as much for you again." 

'The stout fisherman patted him admiringly 
on the back, and Mr. T urnbull felt like a 
prophet beholding a realized vision as the 
spectators clustered round Mr. Blundell and 
followed their friends 1 example. Tenderly 
but firmly they led the hero in triumph up 
the quay towards home, shouting out eulo¬ 
gistic descriptions of his valour to curious 
neighbours as they passed. Mr. Turnbull, 
churlishly keeping his distance in the rear of 
the procession, received in grim silence the 
congratulations of his friends. 

T he extraordinary hallucination caused hy 
the sunstroke lasted with him for over a week, 
but at the end of that time his mind cleared 
and he saw things in the same light as 
reasonable folk. Venia was the first to con¬ 
gratulate him upon his recovery; but his 
extraordinary behaviour in proposing to Miss 
Sippet the very day on which she herself 
became Mrs. Blundell convinced her that his 
recovery was only partial 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






From Behind the Speaker's Chair . 

LXXVI. 

(VIEWED liV HENRY W* LUCY*) 


. DrHrvpc THE manuscripts preserved at 
archives welbeck Abbey by the Duke of 

Portland contain some interest- 
Frilly ing references to the representa¬ 
tive of the Harcourt family in 
the classical times of Queen Anne. On the 
28th of November Simon Harcourt, Lord 
Keeper, took possession of Newnham, to-day 
the home of the head of the Harcourt clan. 

“ It is,” writes Canon Stratford to Edward 
Harley, later second Earl of Oxford* “a very 
pleasant situation and a fine estate* Lord 
Keeper pays for it ^17,000, and 'lom 
Rowney, who managed 
this bargain for him, tells * 
me it is the cheapest 
pennyworth that ever was 
bought in Oxfordshire/' 

The Lord Keeper had 
previously lived at Cock- 
rop, where within two 
years he laid out ^4,000, 

“ He has bought,” adds 
the envious Canon, Sir 
Edmund War cop's estate 
that joins to Cockrop for 
0,000 and now this 
purchase for ^’17,000* 

It is plain there is money 
to be got by the Seals, 
and formerly money was 
got in the Treasury,” 

^ TTr ,,_ The Lord 

' Keeper had 

a sou who 

bore the baptismal name of 
Simpkin, The Lord Keeper put him up as 
a candidate for Oxford University. “ Har¬ 
court,” writes the Canon, “has been in 
town since Sunday, He spent Sunday 
evening at the Deanery, He dined there 
yesterday* He passed by my lodgings both 
times without calling. 1 am not much 
mortified- [Oh ! Canon, Canon !] I have 

known the time w r hen father as well as 
son would have been glad to come here 
when they could be admitted into no other 
house.” 

Live days later Loulou — I mean Simpkin 
—mindful that the Canon had a vote and 
some influence, remembered his old friend* 



SIR WILI-IAH IIAHCOUHT AS LORD KFE1EB 
IN THfc TH E OF QUEEN ANNE. 


ANNE 
LOU LOU* 


** Young Harcourt sups with me to-night,” 
the Canon writes, under date 7th December, 
1712, “He called on me last night I asked 
him if he had not gone by my door every day 
this week. He owned it, but said that he 
still designed to call on me before he left the 
town. 1 told him I believed 1 was obliged 
to the weather for seeing him* After a short 
visit he appointed to come with T, Rowney 
and sup with me this evening. 1 hope,” adds 
the Canon, always ready, so to speak, to “go 
off” when the image of the Lord Keeper 
crosses his mind, “you will allow me to 
hatffe learned somewhat 
since 1 belong to the 
Court when I can be 
upon a point of com¬ 
pliments with the son 
after I have been used so 
by the father* If I go 
on to improve in this 
way, 1 may in time be 
qualified for better pre¬ 
ferment.” 

Through the corre¬ 
spondence flash many 
glimpses of Queen Anne’s 
Lord Keeper, a big, 
bustling, competent, suc¬ 
cessful man, carrying 
everything before him in 
private company and in 
public life, A masterful 
spirit, with great con¬ 
tempt fur mediocrity, and 
no cultured gift of reticence in expressing 
his views about it. As a study of heredity 
this is interesting and valuable, showing to 
the present generation how, in the couise of 
three centuries, a family type may be abso¬ 
lutely altered. 

At Newnham there hangs at 

TORI) 0 

this day a portrait of Lord 
ALSH ' Keeper Harcourt* When, a 
few years ago, a historic fancy 
dress ball was given at Devon- 
shire House, Sir William llarcourt went in 
the character of his ancestor. The arrange¬ 
ment was not difficult, since the gown of the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer of to-day is, in 
nearly every respect, identical with that worn 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


AS QUEEN 
ANNE. 


FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR. 


iS S 


Coming 


by the Lord Keeper two hundred years 
ago* 

Amongst the stories treasured in connec¬ 
tion with the social triumph planned and 
carried out by the Duchess of Devonshire 
is one relating to the present Lord Chancellor 
and Simon Hareourt’s distinguished descend¬ 
ant. Lord Halsbury went to the ball 
in the character of George TIL 
across Sir William Harcourt, 
and a little mixed in his dates, 
be, with his habitual play¬ 
fulness, said: — 

“Are you my Lord Chan¬ 
cellor ? " 

“ Yes/ 1 said Sir William 
Harcourt, 14 if your Majesty 
chances to be Queen Anne*” 

It was said at the time of 
the ball that Lord Halsbury's 
philandering as George 11 L 
was coldly looked upon in the 
highest quarter* “ A little too 
near the family/* Queen 
Victoria said, when she heard 
of the Jx>rd Chancellor’s selec¬ 
tion of an otherwise not 
inappropriate character* 

The gown of the 
a historic Chancellor of the 
gown. Exchequer is rarely 
seen by the public, 
which is a pity. It is as hand¬ 
some as it is costly, lending a 
stateliness to the figure un¬ 
approachable by the art of the 
modern tailor* I have a vivid 
recollection of seeing Mr. Glad¬ 
stone arrayed in it on the occasion of the open- 
ing by the Queen of the new Law Courts* 
Striking in appearance, even when he wore a 
shabby old cape endeared by association of 
two score years, he in this gracious robe of 
silk took on a new dignity* A new gown 
costs ^£150, and as it may not be worn out 
of office it is customary for the incoming 
Chancellor to purchase his predecessor’s robe 
at a suitable reduction. In recent times 
there have been two notable exceptions to 
the rule, When, in February, 186S, Mr* 
Gladstone succeeded Mr* Disraeli at the 
Treasury the outgoing Chancellor declined to 
sell his raiment to his successor. There 
was a very good reason, which precludes the 
necessity of searching for personal animus to 
account for the departure from custom. The 
robe had originally belonged to Mr. Pitt, and 
Disraeli preferred possession of the historic 
relic to a cheque for ^100* 

Vcrf. xji v.— 24, 

Digitized by GoOQ lc 



JOHN 

bright’s 

SPEECH¬ 

MAKING* 


THE l,ORD CHANCKLf.OR 

as ti£j:JH C.j 1C lit* 


The other case was that of Lord 
Randolph Churchill, who possessed himself 
of Mr. Gladstone’s Chancellor's gown* Mr* 
Goschen, who when playing his List card for 
supremacy in the Cabinet Lord Randolph 
41 forgot,” would have taken the Chancellor 
of the Exchequer’s gown with his office* 
Lord Randolph would hold no truck 
with his successor* 

I felt it due to Mr. 
John Albert Bright 
to give publicity to 
his letter calling in 
question a state¬ 
ment made some months ago 
in these pages with respect to 
his father’s practice in prepar¬ 
ing his speeches. Mr* Bright, 
in support of his assertion 
that his father never wrote out 
liis speeches, or even prepared 
voluminous notes, quotes a 
statement to that effect pub¬ 
lished by the great orator in 
the volume of his speeches. 
Whilst giving currency to the 
contradiction I am bound to 
say something in defence of 
the original statement, or 
rather I will let others speak* 
The paragraph, widely quoted, 
drew the following testimony 
from Mr. I^abouehere* “Al¬ 
though/ 1 the editor of Truth 
writes, 44 1 have often heard 
Mr. Bright speak well with¬ 
out a note, he generally had 
very copious notes in his 
hand when he spoke* I remember once 
in 1866 sitting with him in the smoking-room 
of the House of Commons* He was going to 
make during the evening a set speech, and he 
had before him a bundle of sheets of paper 
with which he had come provided* He 
happened to say that he wished that his 
speech was over, on which I asked him how 
far he prepared his speeches. On this he 
handed me the bundle and told me that I 
might read his notes if I pleased. They were 
very copious, and every now and then a 
lengthy phrase was inserted. This, he told 
me, was his usual hnbit. When speaking he 
held the bundle before him in one hand, and 
as soon as one sheet was exhausted he threw 
it away* There was no sort of concealment 
in this, although he seemed able to follow the 
notes closely without apparently reading 
them.” 

A correspondent signing himself C P. H* 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



*86 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


wrote to the Westminster Gazette; “In 1S35, 
I think it was, St. Crispin’s Hall at Street, in 
Somerset, was opened by Mr. Bright, and I 
had the honour lo preside and to have him 
close to me on my right side. On this 
occasion he certainly used very voluminous 
notes, and constantly referred to them, and 
occasionally seemed to read whole passages 
out of them. And when each note had 
served its purpose he put it into his hat, 
which he had placed just below the table at 
which I was seated.” 

I may add that the long-time Cabinet 
colleague of Mr. Bright upon whose testi¬ 
mony the debated point was made tells me 
I correctly interpreted his recollection that 
when, nearly forty years ago, he 
accompanied the Tribune on 
a campaign in Lancashire, Mr. 

Bright habitually prepared his 
speeches in MS, before deliver¬ 
ing them from the platform. 

The probability is we are all 
right. At the outset of his 
illustrious career, and for some 
time after, John Bright labori¬ 
ously prepared in advance his 
speeches, fully written out. letter 
he learned to swim without the 
corks. 

HON. AND Dl * ring deba,CS 

LEARNED 


A REVOLU¬ 
TIONARY 
CHANCE. 


on 


MEMBERS. 


the alteration of the 
hours of sitting in the 


House of Commons 
especial notice was taken of the 
inconvenience that would accrue 
to what Mr, Disraeli, with charac¬ 
teristic magniloquence, called the 
gentlemen of the long robe by 
the call to Westminster at half¬ 
past two in the afternoon. 

Obviously, men actively engaged 
at the Bar could not keep the 
appointment When we con¬ 
sider the exceptional proportion 
of barristers in the present House 
the difficulty becomes serious. They con¬ 
siderably exceed one-sixth of the whole. It 
is true that all, or even a majority, of the 116 
gentlemen who rank as barristers do not find 
their business at the Bar seriously clash with 
their patriotic duties at Westminster. Next 
to undertaking commissions for the sale of 
wine, being called to the Bar is the most 
attractive form of appearing to do business 
known to this generation, Irish members 
are peculiarly susceptible to the temptation. 
When Mr, Arthur Balfour is not quite cer¬ 
tain of the status of an Irish member to 



M.P. OF THE EAECV 
JQTH CENTVItV — 
“ NO CONNECTION 
WITH TRADE-" 


Digiliz 


ed by Google 


whom he alludes in debate he, with instinc¬ 
tive desire to charm, always alludes to him 
as “the honourable and learned gentleman.” 
In three cases out of five the mode of 
reference turns out to be correct. In addi¬ 
tion to barristers there are twenty-four 
solicitors, giving us 140 legal gentlemen out 
of a total of 670. 

I once heard Mr. Gladstone say 
that when he entered the House 
of Commons, nearly seventy 
years ago, there were not five 
members of the Tory party who were con¬ 
nected with trade or industry. The assembly, 
on the Tory side almost exclusively com¬ 
posed of the gentry and landowners, on the 
Liberal wing drew its strength in 
the main from the same source. 
In the present House there are 
only sixty-five members who rank 
as belonging to the once 
dominant class. In point of 
numbers they arc run close by 
fifty-two manufacturers and dis¬ 
tillers, forty-four merchants, not 
to mention, even in a whisper, 
thirteen shopkeepers and traders. 
One notable feature in the pre¬ 
sent House is the record number 
of newspaper proprietors and 
journalists. There are thirty-three 
all told. Taking in printers and 
booksellers, they almost suffice 
to form a quorum. “ The trade " 
has twenty-three direct represent¬ 
atives, one more than banks and 
finance. The number is grow¬ 
ing, being an increase of four 
compared with the muster at the 
last Parliament. 

One of the odd sidelights 
thrown on the constitution of 
the House of Commons is the 
comparative predominance of 
Quakers, The Society of 
Friends, according to the latest 
return, numbered 13,000 members. They 
are represented in the present House 
of Commons by no fewer than eleven co¬ 
religionists, a number far out of proportion 
to the position of any other religious de¬ 
nomination. 

With the courage and originality 
that distinguish new members, 
Mr. Horner this Session brought 
forward the question of removing 
the grille from the Ladies 1 Gallery in the 
House of Commons. It is curious what 
fascination this topic has for new members, 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE 

ladies' 


GALLERY. 


FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR. 


and how genuine is their belief that in 
broaching it they are making fresh discovery 
of debatable land. Since another member 
of the family, Little Jack Horner, sat in a 
corner, his research and his self-appreciation 
crowned by the unexpected discovery of a 
plum in a Christmas pie, nothing has ex¬ 
ceeded the complacency of 
the member for North Lam* 
beth in fathering this fad. 

The rights of women at 
Westminster is a cause far 
older than members of the 
reformed House of Com¬ 
mons can recall Seventy 
years ago West Gloucester¬ 
shire was represented by 
Mr. Grantley Berkeley. The 
Commons at that time sat 
in the old House, which 
provided no special accom¬ 
modation for ladies attend¬ 
ing the debate. All the 
same, after their attractive, 
indomitable manner, they 
got there. But it was only 
by climbing up to the roof 
and seating themselves in 
a contracted space construc¬ 
ted for purposes of ventila¬ 
tion Here they could see 
a little, hear most things that 
were said, themselves un¬ 
seen. Mr. Gladstone once 
told me he had perfect 
recollection of a fan fluttering down 
from this height, dropped from the hand 
of one of the unsuspected onlookers. Mr. 
Grantley Berkeley, pained at the incon¬ 
venience to which ladies were put, moved a 
resolution authorizing their admission to the 
gallery reserved for strangers of the other 
sex. This he made an annual, after the later 
fashion of Mr. Cobden with his motion for 
the abolition of the Corn Laws. Every 


187 

Session the member for West Gloucestershire 
moved that ladies be admitted to the gallery, 
and every Session an ungentle majority voted 
him down. 

The effects of his advocacy were seen 
when the new Houses of Parliament 
included a gallery for the occupation 
of ladies. That it should 
be shut off from the 
rest of the House by 
a lattice - work, a device 
common enough in Moham¬ 
medan lands, testifies to 
the timidity with which the 
innovation was authorized. 
For many years new mem¬ 

bers have in succession 
brought the subject up and 
proposed to remove the 
grille. Mr. Heibert Glad¬ 

stone being First Com¬ 
missioner of Works (and 
not yet married) was the 
first and last Minister who 
showed disposition to yield 

to the appeal avowedly put 
forward on behalf of ladies 
frequenting the House. 
He speedily discovered be 
had made a mistake and 
tire subject dropped. Mr. 

Horner, sitting in his 
corner above the gangway, 
once more discovered the 
long familiar. 

Personal information gleaned over a 
pretty wide field of acquaintance with 

hahituf.es of the Indies’ Galleries — for 

there are two, one pertaining to the 
dominion of the Speakers wife—leads me 
to the conviction that by a considerable 
and important majority the privacy be¬ 
stowed by the grille more than com¬ 
pensates for any inconvenience inseparable 
from the arrangement. 



AM M.JV 


Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



^ome Dining pieces - 



OW, here is a subject I can 
talk about with some authority. 
In the course of a career 
chequered beyond the average 
I have dined as variously as 
most men, and at as varied 
art assortment of places ; also I have failed 
to dine at all of them in turn, owing to 
“ leaving my purse on the piano,” as they 
say in the East-end when they wish to give 
harduppedness a respectable flavour. I have 
dined at the ——, but there, why should I 
mention their names, and so advertise them 
for nothing? Did they ever give me a 
dinner on such terms, or anything like? 
Not a bit of it ; then let them seek the 
pages at both ends of this magazine if 
publicity is what they want. I have dined, 

then, at the-and the-and the- 

and one or two others : places where I have 
paid for my dinner with a sum that has fed 
me for a month in leaner times. These are 
the only earthly spots where in one’s working 
hours it is possible to reproduce the bewildered 
consternation of a nightmare. Were you 
never, in a dream, dismayed at finding your¬ 
self somehow walking down Bond Street at 

Digitized by Google 


4 p.m, in your nightshirt, and nothing else 
whatever—not so much as a watch-chain or a 
boot-lace? Well, one evening, go into one of 
these noble institutions in morning clothes, 
and you will feel exactly like that 

I don't think I shall say very much about 
such magnificent places as these. In the 
first place, there would be no instruction in 
it, for who more familiar with these halls of 
dazzling light than the readers of The Strand 
Magazine? And in the second and last 
place, the whole performance, from hors 
d'&uvrts to coffee, and beyond—even to the 
paying of the bill and the waiter's bow—is, 
in strict fact, dull. It is rather too decorous 
to be amusing. Reader, are you one of 
those unfortunates who are sometimes seized 
with an almost overpowering impulse to mis¬ 
behave on solemn occasions—a mad desire 
to shout and turn a somersault in the 
middle of your own wedding service, or 
christening, or vaccination, or what not? I 
am. I have hurried out of church in the 
middle of a sermon because there was a 
large bald head in the seat before me, and I 
knew I could not hold out one minute longer 
against the horrible temptation to bang it 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





































SOME DINING PLACES. 


189 


with a hassock. It is terrible. Well, just in 
the same way I suffer at these aristocratic 
dining places, where you get a good dinner 
at about the price of a decent coat. I 
somehow long, burn, madly crave, just 
when my perdrix aux truffes or beignet 
scuffle is approaching in solemn state, 
to bawl aloud for a penn’orth of whelks. 
I have a sort of morbid, unwholesome 
craving to know what would happen. 
But the outrage would be something sur¬ 
passing in enormity anything possible with 
a hassock in a church, and my courage 
has always failed at the critical moment 
Some day, after an extra glass of Burgundy 
or something, I shall do it. I shall—I know 
I shall; and I cannot guess what will become 
of me then. I think I shall feel a little like a 
criminal whom a judge has condemned to be 
hanged, neglecting to mention the date. 
But I shall have one moment of wild, 
delirious joy first Nobody can deprive me 
of that 

But, of course, I have had my penn’orth of 

whelks. Oh, yes. Not at the-well, the 

places I won’t advertise for nothing ; but in 
the New Cut on Saturday night, in Shore¬ 
ditch High Street, and in Camden Town. 
It is an experience well worth the penny, if 
you don't mind what happens to your 
stomach. If you do, it is best to begin with 
pepsine powder. I don’t quite know the 
precise quantity necessary to digest a 
penn’orth of whelks, but I should think that 
about a quarter of a hundredweight ought to 
be enough, if you get it strong. 

Whelks are eaten with vinegar, pepper, 
and a flavouring of naphtha-smoke. It is 
customary to take them standing, and at all 
the more recherche stalls they are served in 
saucers of three or four inches diameter. 
Fashionable circles have long been divided 
on the question of strict etiquette in con¬ 
suming whelks. Formerly it was considered 
dc rigueur to fish them up between the finger 
and thumb, though even then some leaders 
of society preferred plunging the muzzle 
boldly into the saucer and gobbling. It 
is now, however, generally conceded that 
the correct mode is to throw the head back 
and shovel the lot into the mouth—previously 
distended to the proper size — care being 
taken to rescue the saucer at the critical 
moment. The whelk is a courageous animal, 
full of fight, and very difficult to conquer; 
only experts can swallow him without a 
severe struggle. A whelk which had acci¬ 
dentally tumbled from a saucer in Camden 
Town was run over by a van, and it cost the 

Digitized by CtOOqIc 
* o 


whelk-merchant a week’s profits to square the 
carman for his wheel. It may be remem¬ 
bered that a little while ago, at the Zoological 
Gardens, an ostrich died in whose stomach 
were found several pocket-knives, a few keys, 
some marbles, and a hymn-book. If that 
ostrich had been given a penn’orth of whelks 
it would have died sooner. 

Perhaps the wfielk-stall is not strictly a 
dining place, even for a poor man, though, 
indeed, a poor man can get an indigestion 
there for a penny that will compare favour¬ 
ably with the noblest indigestion of the 
millionaire. A real dining place, somewhere 
intermediate between the whelk-stall and the 
—ah ! I very nearly let that advertisement 
slip—the places where you pay in sovereigns, 
is the old City chop-house, now very nearly 
extinct. I am old enough—not so very old, 
though, ma’am—but old enough to remember 
the chop-house in its early form. There you 
chose your chop or steak raw. As you 
entered you faced two vast dishes—sometimes 
they were wooden trays—each polished to 
brilliance, and laid out with chops and steaks 
of every degree of thickness and thinness, 
fatness and leanness ; there was every sort 
of variety in them except one: the quality 
was the same for all, and it was the very best. 
Such chops and steaks are hard to find now, 
though they are to be got. Well, lying by each 
dish or tray was a fork, or rather a sceptre— 
a lordly sceptre ending in a prong. You 
picked up a sceptre and, allowing it to hover 
gracefully for a moment over the dish while 
you considered, you drove the prong at last 
into the chop or steak of your choice; then, 
with the chop-laden sceptre sloped imposingly 
before you, rather like a Roman Eagle head¬ 
ing a legion, you marched up the aisle, 
between the two rows of high-backed pews 
where the customers sat, to the blazing grill. 
Here the cook dexterously deprived you of 
the chop and took your instructions as to 
whether you wished it well done or the 
reverse. This, of course, supposing you were a 
stranger. He knew the precise turn and touch 
for every regular customer. So much accom¬ 
plished, you marched back with your bare 
sceptre, placed it ready to hand for the next 
customer, chose your pew, and waited. Your 
dinner (or your lunch) was the chop or steak, 
plain potatoes, a hunk of admirable bread, 
as much cheese as you pleased to cut, and a 
pint of beer. If you were above beer—few 
were—you had half a pint of sherry from 
the wood, and I should think that an order 
for claret would have caused almost as much 
consternation in this old chop-house as one 

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for whelks at the-Ah ! nearly did it 

again. Knives, forks, plates, cruet—ail were 
as simple and plain as you like, and all clean 
enough to make you blink. Mustard was 
the great condiment; it came in half-pint 
pots, fresh as the 
moment, and the 
customers took it 
in vast doses. 

When all was 
over, you pre¬ 
sented the civil 
waiter with the 
sum of one 
penny for him¬ 
self, and some¬ 
times, if you 
were more 
pleased with the 
chop than usual, 
you placed a 
like amount at 
the disposal of 
the cook, and 
you went forth 
into the street 
(even the streets 
of the City were 
more amusing 
then) with a 
great deal of con¬ 
tent. And now, 
as a man who 
has eaten in all 
sorts of places, 
from a whelk- 

stall to the-(no, no, I was on guard 

then), I wish publicly and solemnly to declare 
that I have never eaten a better meal than 
one could get any day for a shilling and a 
few coppers at one of these old chop-houses, 
where you hunted your dinner in its wild 
state with a fork, and saw it cooked before 
your eyes. 

There was an earlier style of chop-house 
than this, even—quite the aboriginal sort, I 
suppose. I can only just remember it as 
a boy. There the plan was even more 
elementary—the savagery was put back 
another age, so to speak. You did not 
hunt the untamed chop in the artificial 
enclosure—the park, as you might say—of 
the chop-house itself; you tracked it down to 
its native lair in the butcher’s shop, and there 
had it cut to your order. Your prey once 
captured and securely caged in paper, you 
carried it to the chop-house, and there had it 
grilled at a charge of a penny. This, how¬ 
ever, was the very early charge, before my 

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* o 


time. Later, with the advance of wealth and 
the growth of luxury and extravagance, you 
paid twopence for cookery, cruet, knife, fork, 
and plate. Potatoes, drink, and bread and 
cheese still further aggravated the ruinous 

total. There was 
a narrow court 
off Throgmorton 
Street, where a 
chop-house 
maintained these 
ancient princi¬ 
ples in the days 
of my very early 
youth, having 
the convenience 
of a butcher’s 
shop exactly 
opposite—about 
five yards off. I 
remember it be¬ 
cause it was in 
that butcher’s 
shop that my 
father and I 
successfully cap¬ 
tured two chops, 
one of which was 
the only one I 
ever personally 
consumed on 
this ancient 
British plan; 
and I wish I 
were certain of a 
chop half as 
good as that one for my lunch tonday. Now, 
was that in Angel Court or in Copthall 
Court? I can’t be sure—but I think it must 
have been Angel Court. 

Perhaps I was wrong in supposing that 
the chop-house of this sort was the absolute 
aboriginal. Possibly at some remote period 
there may have been a chop-house where you 
brought your ow r n sheep and had it killed, 
and paid a penny for the loan of a spade to 
dig up your potatoes; but that kind of chop- 
house I do not call to mind. 

How well I remember many of those 
mysterious foreign establishments, though, 
about Soho, where they give you a dinner of 
ten courses with a bottle of wine and a tooth¬ 
pick for eighteenpence or thereabout! These 
places may be divided into two classes : the 
first, the real and genuine wonders, where 
the courses are not quite so many as 
I have said, and where the charge is a little 
more; and the second, the humbugs, kept to 
entrap the ignorant. Very often a restaurant 

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1 

YOU MARCHED UP THE A1SI.E BETWEEN THE TWO ROWS OF HIGH- 
IIACKED PEWS WHERE THE CUSTOMERS SAT.” 





















SOME DINING PLACES. 


of the first sort passes gradually into the 
second category. It begins with a small 
clientele of the artistic and literary class, 
English and foreign, and it provides a capital 
little luncheon or dinner, perfectly cooked, 
and good sound claret or Chianti, at sur¬ 
prisingly low prices. Its customers are few, 
they know good cookery and good wine, and 
they form a small coterie or circle. By-and- 
by they bring their friends, and after a little 
the secret leaks out and outsiders begin to 
drop in now and again ; then the outsiders 
increase in numbers and the original cus¬ 
tomers drop off. And ere long these latter 
go altogether, having discovered a fresh 
place as good as No. i used to be, and as 
quiet. As for No. i, it waxes prosperous, and 
the proprietor finds that he can presume on 
his reputation. He screws up his prices and 
he complicates his menu, at the same time 
as he screws down the quality of his fare and 
complicates his claret with things as little 
like grape-juice as possible. So that in time 
the place is a mighty property, and utterly 
“ blown upon ” for those who know, but 
swarmed nightly with the would-be knowing 
who mistake a printed menu they can’t 
understand for a good dinner—which per¬ 
haps they couldn’t understand either, if they 
had it. 

One of the best and cheapest of these 
places—it is not good now, though still cheap 
—was my habitual lunching place fifteen 
years ago. A Frenchman kept it, and he 
kept it clean, and he fed you marvellously 
a la carte . You could have soup and nothing 
else if you chose—which would cost you 
threepence. It was admirable soup, too— 
a very different thing from the gruesome 
extract of stock-pot that costs a shilling in 
the City dining place. A sole—simply fried, 
but it takes something like genius to fry a 
sole as it should be done—was fivepence, 
always. How this was managed I don’t 
know, unless that excellent Frenchman was 
dexterous -enough to steal his soles ready 
cooked for each customer; I never quite 
accepted the superstition prevalent at the 
time, that he bred them in a private ocean 
on the roof. So with everything else. By 
some extraordinary mechanism the process of 
cooking made things cheap; for raw in the 
market they would have cost you twice as 
much. Now, why was that ? Cooking things 

doesn’t make them cheap at the-well, you 

know where I mean. It doesn’t even make 
them cheap at home. If I were to go 
to my butcher or fishmonger and announce 
that, the articles left in the morning being 

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* o 


191 

now cooked, I should be obliged by the 
return of half the money paid for them, I 
don’t believe I should get it. Somehow, I 
feel sure that their dull, mechanical minds 
would fail to grasp the argument. And as 
to my wine-merchant letting me have claret 
at tenpence a bottle merely on condition that 
I drank it before I paid for it, as at the 
establishment of my friend the Frenchman 
—well, I can only say that if he ever gave 
way to such habits he has quite conquered 
them now. 

But nothing could be more illusory than 
the cheapness of the bad—and popular— 
Soho dining place. Things are done on the 
cheap with the most amazing ingenuity. 
Nothing is wasted—not even the used tooth¬ 
picks, I should say. I know they use 
the butcher’s skewers to scrape into horse¬ 
radish, and I feel pretty sure that half the 
asparagus—the half that has no heads— 
consists of worn-out skewers also, boiled and 
Jboiled and served and served again and again 
with the real asparagus—if it is real asparagus 
that they buy in tins—till it is unrecognisable 
as mere timber. The soup, too, is plainly 
nothing but the greasy hot water in which 
the plates have been washed. A shovel¬ 
ful of greengrocer’s sweepings makes it 
“Julienne,” flour makes it something else, 
and as for crofite au pot , and the little bits 
of toast in other soups — why, customers 
leave bits of bread about everywhere. So 
that there is the advantage of having all the 
soup in one tub, and all the dirty plates kept 
compactly in the same receptacle, which is 
also handy to stand bottles of claret in, 
which are ordered to be warmed. You 
will often notice how greasy these bottles 
seem when brought to table. All the 
meat tastes the same—like boiled veal hashed 
in brown grease; but it is not veal. What 
it is exactly I cannot definitely say, never 
having been told. But Englishmen as a 
nation are proverbial admirers of that noble 
animal the horse, so perhaps it doesn’t 
matter. 

But the bad Soho dining place is better 
than the bad modern dining place in the 
City. This has every inconvenience of the 
old chop-house and not one of its excellences. 
Oh, that bad City dining place ! Sometimes 
the proprietor is Italian, and you can always 
ascertain if this is the case by smelling the 
food, to which Italian proprietorship always 
communicates a peculiar rankness not easy 
to describe, but instantly recognisable if you 
have run against it once. These places usually 
have cellar-gratings in the pavement, and 

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** THE BAD—AND POPULAR—SOHO DIKING PLACE." 


through these gratings a certain atmosphere 
rises. I have heard it conjectured that this 
atmosphere might be cut with a knife; but I 
have never tried, not having a knife I cared 
to risk. If I really wished to cut it I should 
try a saw—one belonging to somebody else* 
The cellar - gratings* you will observe, are 
firmly bolted into the stone ; nothing else 
would keep them there. This atmosphere, 
against which any innocent citizen with a 
wife and family dependent on him may dash 
himself unaware, forms one of the greatest 
perils of the London streets* It is as bad 
as the soup inside the shop, and a great deal 
thicker* 

The soup, by the way, is always of one 
sort in these places* It could easily be made 
by anybody with a barrel of bones and fat 
and the requisite patience to keep the con¬ 
tents ripening for six months before making 
the soup. When it is made it is any soup 
you please. Put it in a plate with a lump of 
bone in the middle, and it is ox-taih Fish 
out the bone and substitute a lump of 
gristle, and it is mock-turtle* Throw away 
the gristle and pitch in cayenne pepper till 
the diner's hair rises on end and his eyes 
stand out like hat-pegs, and it is mulli¬ 
gatawny ; and so on. 

The potatoes are of one sort, too—the sort 

Digitized by Google 


that when boiled present on one side the 
tender, delicate hue of a costermonger’s black 
eye. There is a secret method of cooking 
them, too, known only in these places, 
whereby they are rendered more durable 
than when raw, and are given the general 
characteristics and appearance of fine old 
mottled soap. The general one-sorted ness 
of these establishments extends also 10 the 
waiters—and their clothes. It is quite plain 
that they are not born in those dress clothes, 
else some of them would fit. But I am 
convinced that they put them on in early life 
and never take them off again, even to sleep. 
And just as the waiters keep the same clothes 
all their lives, so these dining places keep the 
same waiters ; though I once did hear of 
one being dismissed who was suspected of 
washing his hands. 

But come, let us get to cheaper—and cheer- 
fuller—dining places* Did you ever dine at 
a “stodge-shop 7 ’? Cabmen used to dine 
at stodge-shops before the time of cabmen's 
shelters* The stodge-shop is to some extent 
eclipsed and pushed aside nowadays by the 
flaming sausage “emporiums” with a sign of 
a galloping pig, and, as chief advertisement, 
a sizzle and a smell of onions that penetrates 
the very bricks in the next street* The 
stodge-shop of old relied for its attraction 

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SOME DINING PLACES\ 


r 93 


not on a smell of onions, but on a great 
display of steam, It had a sort of window- 
seal of tin, with oval hollows all over it, 
each to accommodate a joint or pudding. 
Near the witching hour of noon these 
joints and puddings 
would appear, and, 
gracious heavens, how 
they would steam! A 
leg of pork here, a 
lump of beef there, a 
shoulder of mutton 
farther along, puddings 
all over the place, all 
steaming like forty 
washing days. And 
the amazing thing was 
that, the longer the 
joints stayed and the 
more they were cut 
and sliced away, the 
more they steamed! 

A boiled leg of pork 
would sink and shrink 
under the carving- 
knife, would show 
more and more of its 
foundation of bone, 
and, presumably, grow 
cooler and cooler, but 
u i th ef erlasti ng cou rage 
it still steamed the 
more furiously ; till at 
List, after a busy hour, 
a mere bone would 
remain, steaming 
volumes. And when the bone itself was 
taken away the tin tray would steam still— 
unless somebody below turned off the supply 
in the service-pipe at the correct moment. 
The stodge-shop dinner was good in its way, 
hut a trifle rough* None of your money went 
in refinements—serviettes, for instance, or 
salt spoons* You got it in solid beef or pork, 
cut thick, with plenty of fat; you got it in 
solid, pallid pudding, with a lonesome currant 
at intervals, that seemed to have gone astray 
on its journey to some other pudding ; you 
got it in carrots, turnips, and potatoes, a trifle 
uneven in the cooking, perhaps, but solid as 
the rest, and filling for the money. You got 
it, sometimes, even in the literature adorning 
the window. At the moment I can recollect 
but one specimen of this literature, a noble 
burst of poetry that ran thus :— 

We treats you well 
And serves ymi quick, 

And never forgets 
To cui it thick. 

VjL jexiv.— 25 . 


But there was many another lyric of a 
quality equally stirring. 

I fear 1 am not over-enthusiastic in the 
matter of the stodge-shop—I like best to 
recall its exterior aspect and its mysterious 
steam. Internally (in 
a double sense) I 
found it a little over¬ 
powering* The stewed- 
eel shop I like a little 
better, though stewed 
eels I am not very fond 
of, having frequently 
seen eels alive in— 
well, in other circum- 
stances, less tempting. 
But there is a pleasant 
and business - like 
cleanliness about the 
stewed - eel shop that 
rather pleases me, 
“ Jossop” is the name 
given to the gelatinous 
mass that results from 
the stewing of eels, 
in the neighbourhoods 
where its consumption 
at shop-counters is in 
favour* The word is 
said to be derived, by 
a poetical inspiration, 
from the sound that 
salutes the ear when a 
long row of customers 
i$ busy, each with his 
spoon and basin of 
stewed eels. Jossop is nutritious, but gluey ; 
indeed, it is recommended for that very 
reason in the inscriptions which announce 
that it if Sticks to your ribs,’ 1 and that 
“This is the stuff for broken ribs, a penny a 
basin ! ?l 

Then there is the pie-shop ; long may it 
wave ! It is one of the most ancient of our 
eating institutions, and the mutton-pies of 
London have been a thing of mystery long 
before the trouser-buttons were found'in the 
sausages of Mr. Sam Weller’s anecdote. 
Personally, I love mystery, and 1 hope that no 
meddlesome official—food inspector, or what 
not—will ever lift the crust which conceals the 
secret of the penny meat-pie. As it is, the 
scope of conjecture for the imaginative remains 
as wide as ever, and the customer’s thoughts as 
he consumes his pie are directed into useful 
channels of comparative and speculative 
natural history: a thing which every pro¬ 
moter of secondary education will wish to 
encourage. 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


*94 


But there are dining places, cheap- and 
dear, outside London, though you might not 
thnik so, to read what I have been writing. 
A sort that I remember with pleasure is the 
Dublin cockle-shop* Being Irish, it is called 
a cockle-shop because you go there to eat 
prawns ; and Dublin prawns, being Irish, 
too,, are a sort of small lobster or crayfish* 
Now, I believe that in Dublin the cockle- 
shops are not regarded as dining places, 
strictly speaking ; but when I was in Dublin: 
I dined, supped, lunched, and stayed all day 
in a cockle-shop* and that is what I advise 
others to do, keeping strictly to E)ubtm 
prawns and Dublin stout. 

The cheapest dining place I over heard of 
in Paris was one m which for the sum of one 
single penny — ten 
centimes— you could 
obtain all the excite¬ 
ment of gambling for 





your dinner, all the pride of winning it by a 
feat of dexterity, and, perhaps, Lhe dinner 
itself By way of receipt for the penny paid 
in advance you were gjven a fork with which 
you advanced to the side of a vast caldron, 
full of savoury liquor, tn which affl sorts of 
things were stewing—at any rate, so you 
were told : fowls, joints, rabbits, ribs of 
beef—anything you like to imagine, alT bob¬ 
bing and tumbling under the surface. You 
flung your fork dart-wise into the broth, and 
anything you could stick it firmly into was 
your own. If you missed—as most people 
did—you got nothing but a very inadequate 
plateful of the broth* The customers came 
m flocks, and flung in so many forks 
which didn't come out again that the 
broth became, irr the main, a 
sort of fork soup, and the 
proprietor made a very respect- 
able little fortune* 



u YOU FLUNG WffUlt FQSK DAHT-WlStt IttTQ TMB SKOTH." 


gilized by OoO^lc 


Original from 
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Lady Drysdale's Theft. 

By Edgar JEpson. 


HE two women were dressed 
in black of a very different 
quality; and the woman with 
the baby was a widow. She 
wore the cheap black, hut the 
baby’s clothes did not match 
it—they were white clothes with black bows 
about them, and the stuff was fine* He was 
a dean and rosy, fair-haired baby, accepting 
everything with unwondering blue eyes, 
sinqe everything alike passed understanding ; 
but he drew his mother’s attention to things of 
interest, the red automatic machines and the 
white horses drawing trucks in a siding, with 
a waggle of his arm and an inarticulate, but 
quite comprehensible, murmur on two notes, 
a low note and then a higher, prolonged, 
“Ah-—eh—-h—h ! ” His mother gave him but 
a distracted attention; for the most part her 
sad eyes gazed down the vista of the railway 
st a vision of a South African battle-field. 
When at his murmur she turned her lace to 
him, it lost its sad dreaminess and shone 
with the divine passion ; she almost smiled 
when she spoke to him, 

I^ady Drysdale watched the baby with 
eyes which never left him, eyes filled with 
the last covetous hunger; sometimes there 
gleamed in them an envy very near a veritable 
hatred of his mother. Now and then she 
twisted her hands in a very passion of greed* 
Twice she made a step towards him and 

Digitized by Google 


checked herself, staring round a little wildly. 
In the violence of her desire she actually 
dared not trust herself to speak to him. 
Lost In her unhappiness, his mother saw 
nothing of it 

Presently the train came in, and lady 
Drysdale watched the mother climb into a 
third-class compartment 11 for ladies only," 
and bidding the wondering porter, who had 
opened the door of a first-class compartment 
for her, bring in her wraps and dressing-bag, 
climbed in after them and, with a happy sigh, 
sat down in the corner farthest from the 
mother and child. The train started. 'The 
mother sat in a spiritless dejection, holding 
the baby so that he could stand and look 
out of the window. Now and again, when 
he drew her attention to something of interest 
with more than usual emphasis, she roused 
herself to talk to him awhile, hut she soon 
fell back into her unhappy reverie. Lady 
Drysdale’s gaze never left him, and once 
or twice he looked at her with familiar 
eyes, as though he knew her quite well, and 
every look thrilled her* 

Then she played her trump-card : she took 
her dressing-hag down from the rack and, 
opening it, revealed the shining row of 
silver-stoppered bottles. 

The baby had turned at her movement, 
and at the shining sight his eyes opened 
very wide; he murmured “Ah— eh-—h—h ! ** 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


196 



IIE BEGAN TO STRUGGLE AGAINST HIS UOTHEKS ARM 


and began to struggle against his mother's 
arm. She looked round, saw the open 
dressing-bag, and held him tighten 

“ Ah—eh—h—h I Ah— eh—h—h ! " he 
said* His lower lip went down, and he 
burst into a roar of anguished disappointment* 

** Oh, let him come 1 Let him come ! ” 
cried I-ady Drysdale, eagerly. 

M He will bother you/* said his mother, 
reluctantly* 

“ No, no," said J^ady Drysdale, earnestly. 

His mother set him on the floor, and he 
rushed wildly down the carriage and tumbled 
up against Lady Drysdale's knee* Her 
hands shook so that she could scarcely lift 
him on to the seat beside her ; he nearly 
dived into the bag in his eagerness to handle 
the bright treasures. She gave him bottle 
after bottle, until he wallowed in bottles, 
clamouring his shrill joy. His mother 
watched him a little while, and then fell 
back into her unhappiness. l^ady Drysdale 
took him on to her knee, a bottle in either 
hand, and he tried to explain to her, in his 
inarticulate fashion, the intimate connection 
of these shining things with the ultimate 
mysteries ; life and education had blunted 
her understanding. 

Presently it was time for him to be fed, 
and his mother took a bottle of some baby 
food out of her shabby little bag, poured 
some into a mug, invested him with a 

Digitized by CiQO^Ic 


napkin, and fed 
him* After it he 
ate a sponge-cake 
and a banana- 
travelling had not 
spoiled his appe¬ 
tite. T*ady Drys¬ 
dale took him on 
her knee and 
gave him the 
banana in bites 
of the proper size* 
When, after being 
filled, he went to 
sleep in Lady 
Drysdale's arms, 
with the free¬ 
mason r y of 
mothers the two 
women began to 
exchange confi¬ 
dences. They 
cried over the 
death of Lady 
Diysdale’s little 
boy, whom she 
had lost just 
nineteen months before at the exact age 
of the sleeping child, and who, she said 
again and again, was extra ordinarily like 
him, of the same colouring, the same eyes, 
and the same ways. Then they cried 
over the death of the widow's husband, an 
Imperial Yeoman killed in South Africa. At 
last the baby's mother was moved by Lady 
Drysdale 5 s sympathy to confide to her her 
horrible dread of the future. She was on her 
way to London to live with her people ; 
London did not suit the boy* and she was 
tortured by the fear of his pining away there. 
Moreover, her stepmother did not like her, 
and hared children ; she would be unkind to 
him. I^ady Drysdale [messed him closer to 
her, and schemes for saving him began 
to float through her inind. 

She was silent, thinking hard. Suddenly 
there came a grinding, grating jar, and the 
carriage swayed and jerked. Lady Drysdale 
was conscious of curling instinctively round 
the child to shield him, of being flung here 
and there ; then came a great crash, and all 
was still* She was roused from the shock by 
the screams of the child, and she found 
herself Tying, still curled round him, on the 
top of hrs mother The carriage seemed to 
be on its side, and they lay in a heap across 
the lower windows of it Shaken and daxed, 
she drew herself off the child's mother, and 
began hurriedly, with trembling fingers, to 
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LAIXY DR YSHALE'S THEFT 


*97 


fet$ h» head* and arras and kgs and ribs : 
none of his bones wore, broken, and he 
sereawedi with a re aawrtn g vigour. She set 
bin? down and Craned fin bis mother. She 
tey, deathly white, iro a hmJdted heap.' Lady 
Dtysdale tried to ltffr her into an easier 
position; her bead hung fanp orr her 
shoulders; she put her hand behind it, and 
found* the back of it all crashed. She wiped 
her hand on the cushion, and thrust it into 
Che injured woman's dress over her heart; 
there was not a beat 

In the first shock of horror she was 
stricken with panic, and, catching up the 
child^ in a furious desire to be out of this 
chamber of deaths die screamed again and 
again for help; Presently two men looked 
down through the windows above her head 
and opened the door. She thrust up the 
ehild into their hands, and when they had 
set it down they caught her wrists and bega® 
to haul her op. Using the supports of 
the rack as steps, she relieved them of some 
of her weight and was dragged out She 
sank down sobbing beside the child ; and 
die two men, bidding her not give way, went 
on to the next compartments to haul more 
people out. 

She soon recovered enough to start sooth¬ 
ing the child At the sight of some blood 
on his mouth her heart sank with the fear of 
internal injury. It was only a cut lip. The 
soothing him composed her, and she began 
to think clearly, gazing round at the scene. 
The train had run off the line; the engine, 
wantoning in its freedom, had ploughed its 
way up to an dm tree and tried to butt it 
down. Three carriages lay on their sides; 
their passengers were hobbling or crawling 
about on the upper sides of them ; some were 
still dragging people up out of the compart¬ 
ments. Three carriages still stood on the 
metals, and the two others stood in a crooked 
slant on the embankment The passengers 
from these were streaming about the fallen 
ones. The air was filled with a mingled 
clamour; the engine in a cloud of steam 
was shzfing shrilly; the passengers were 
shouting inquiries, suggestions about getting 
down, and theories of the cause of the catas¬ 
trophe at one another; women were in 
hysterics. 

It seemed to Lady Drysdale that she arid 
die boy might have been rrr a desert for all 
the notice anyone took of them ; and, fright¬ 
ened by the din, he clung to her, dutching 
her tightly, his Rttle body shaken by great 
sobs after his crying. She had but realized 
their loneliness when a sudden idea sprang 

Diqilized byGoOQle 

v f o 


up in'her mind and filled it on the instant 
with a very rage of possession. Why should 
she not take the boy? She began quickly 
to consider the matter and her chances of 
gjetring him. His father was dead. . . . His 
raotfacr was dead. . . No one wanted him. 

... At amy rate, his mother bad made it 
plain to her that his grandfather and grand¬ 
mother, who* alone had a right to him, did 
not want him; . . . They would neglect or 
misuse him. . - . She wanted! him. . . . 
Oh, how she warated Mm ! .— . He was 
the living image of her dead child. . . . 
Heaven had give® kins to her instead of her 
lost darling. . . . Besides* she had a right to 
him, for she had saved his life. . . . And, 
again, she could give him the proper eme and 
love. . . . She would take him ! . . . Right 
or wrong, she would take him ! 

In this cursory and disjointed fashion she 
settled the moral question* and turned to the 
practical matter of stealing him. She looked 
round carefully and, under the impulse of 
her purpose, stealthily. The passengers were 
still busy with their injuries atrad theories of 
the cause of the catastrophe. She made up 
her mind to sever all connection between 
herself and the wrecked train, and she 
scanned the country. A couple of hundred 
yards from the line a high road ran parallel 
with it; beyond rose a great slope of woods 
and fields, up the slope ran a white footpath. 
The slope seemed familiar to her; at any 
rate, her path with the child lay over it. 
Somewhere on the other side was a railway 
other than the North-Western which would 
carry them to London. 

She went to the edge of the carriage roof, 
called imperiously to an excited old gentle¬ 
man, and handed the boy down to him. He 
was too excited to refuse or even protest. 
He held him gingerly, gasping. She lowered 
herself over the edge of the carriage and, 
getting a foot-hold on the rim of the lamp- 
hole, jumped from it to the ground and 
relieved him of his burdien. 

M This is the result of carelessness—gross 
carelessness ! ” stuttered the old gentleman. 
u I tell you, madam, they have neglected to 
look after the metals. I call it perfectly-” 

“ Where are we ? ” said Lady Drysdale, 
cutting hr m short. 

“ They tell me we are two miles north of 
King's Lang fey. Such wanton carelessness 
is quite inconceivable! I can’t under¬ 
stand-” 

She turned her back on him and walked 
alongside the fallen carriages towards the end 
of the field. She knew where she was ; the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


198 



' + ‘SH E CALLED LMPf-RKHJSl.Y T(J AM EXCITED OLD GESTLEMAM.'' 


winter before her marriage her people had 
been kept in town and she had come down 
here twice a week to hunt. Over the slope, 
ten miles across country, she could strike 
the Metropolitan at Rick mans worth and lake 
a train to Baker Street, No one could con¬ 
nect her and the boy with the wrecked train 
if they landed in London at Baker Street, 
Whenever they passed one of the noisy, 
argumentative groups the baby clutched her 
and nestled his face against her cheek. 
Every time he did it he set her heart ham¬ 
mering against her ribs and hardened her in 
her purpose. She turned up the hedgerow 
towards the high-road, climbed over three 
fences, and came into it opposite the foot¬ 
path up the slope. She crossed the stile 
and began to mount it quickly, casting 
timorous glances behind her to see if she 
were followed ; once she thought that she 
saw people pointing at her from the wrecked 
train. She set her teeth, hugged the boy to 
her, and pressed on the quicker. She could 

Digitized by Google 


not feel her bruises for the joy of 
having him. 

She walked for nearly an hour, 
then she had to stop; a baby of 
nineteen months is no light 
weight, and for ail that she was 
strong and in good condition, her 
arms and legs and back were 
aching. She climbed over a stile 
into a meadow, far over the brow 
of the slope; set him down, 
threw' herself down beside him, 
and abandoned herself to her 
joy in him. She hugged him, 
kissed him, nuzzled him, laughed 
over him, and cried over him* 
He took her tenderness in very 
good part and made no com¬ 
plaint ; indeed, when at last she 
lay still, he clambered about.her 
with chuckles of infinite delight; 
always he looked at her with 
familiar eyes. 

Presently he turned his atten¬ 
tion to Nature, and made little 
rushes at flowers near them, in¬ 
variably falling flat on the object 
of his desire. He had been 
trained to bravery ; he did not 
howl at a tumble ; he only 
grunted and pulled himself up 
again. He knew, too, what to 
do with a flower when he had 
plucked it: he sniffed at it. She 
watched him in an absorbed, 
unfathomable joy; the intoler¬ 
able hunger which had gnaw*ed her was 
blunted. 

She was loth to tear herself away from her 
delightful watching ; but at last she rose and 
moved slowly down the path, letting him 
toddle before her, or leading him by the 
hand. He would go a little way with 
thoughtful dignity, pointing out things of 
interest with a waggling arm, and saying, 
41 Ah—eh—h—h!”; then he would make a 
wild rush at a flower, and she would save 
him from the ditch. She walked in a vast 
content, drinking in with greedy eyes and 
ears his every look, movement, and murmur. 
For the first time since her loss the sun was 
really shining, and she heard the birds 
singing. 

The path ended in a lane running down¬ 
wards between high hedges; and on the 
instant, with a cry of delight, the boy sat 
down in the thick dust and began to play 
with it. With this sport to his hand there 
was no keeping him on his feet, and she 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









LADY DRYSDALE'S THEFT\ 


*99 


picked him up and 
carried him. The 
lane ran into 
another lane run¬ 
ning along the 
bottom of a valley, 
and turning to the 
left she plodded 
steadily on. At 
about four she 
came into a small 
village, and was 
very glad to rest 
her weary body in 
the parlour of the 
Tittle inn. She fed 
the boy on warm 



0 ^ 


'SHE WATCHED HIM IN AN ABSORBED, UNFATHOM¬ 
ABLE JOY." 


milk and bread and butter; and it was such a 
delight to her that she could have wished him 
to go on eating and drinking for ever. The 
landlady came in once or twice and called 
him a pretty dear and a fine child ; Lady Drys- 
dale resented her interest, but she was careful 
to gratify her rustic curiosity with a story of 
how she had brought the boy down from 
London to Rickmansworth to spend a day 
in the country, and had wandered with him 
hither. While she took her own tea the boy 
enjoyed a splendid time with a large cat— 
the cat rather endured than enjoyed it 
After tea she played with him a little; then, 
since the landlady could not persuade the 
baker, who owned the only trap in the 
village, to drive her to Rickmansworth, she 
took the boy and went to him herself. 


There are not 
many men who 
could refuse Lady 
Drysdale anything 
in their power to 
give her, if she put 
herself about to 
coax it out of 
them ; certainly the 
simple but grumpy 
baker was not one 
of them; and in 
twenty minutes she 
was being jolted 
along to the station. 
She had to wait there but 
a very few minutes for 
a train, and reached 
London at six. 

She changed her cab 
in Oxford Street, that 
there might be no tracing 
her from Baker Street to 
Grosvenor Square ; let 
herself into her house, 
and gained her room 
without meeting a servant, so that none of 
them could have told exactly at what hour she 
came home. But as soon as she had taken 
off her hat and the boy’s hat and coat she 
rang for her maid, and after telling her that 
she had adopted the boy, a Berkshire child, 
that she might spread that quite inaccurate 
information, she ordered her to set the 
servants to work to bring down the cot and 
baby’s bath from upstairs, and to send out 
for baby food. The boy appeared pleased 
with the pretty room, and showed his 
approval by tearing the draping round the 
toilet-table, in the intervals of waggling his 
arm and murmuring u Ah—eh—h—h ! ” at 
all the bright things on it 

Lady Drysdale prepared his food herself, 
and then she set about giving him his bath. 
In the middle of it the fancy came to her 
that he was her little dead baby come back 
to her; he was so like him, not only in his 
little body, but in his ways of splashing the 
water, of playing with the soap and the 
sponge, of crowing his delight; besides, 
never had he looked at her as at a stranger. 
She thrust the fancy away from her, but 
it would come back. When she had fed 
him and rocked him to sleep, and sat watch¬ 
ing him, she played with the fancy. Could 
such things be ? Why could not such things 
be ? As her baby died, this one had been 
born. The tearing clutch of little dead hands 
was loosening from her heart. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








200 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Presently she heard her husband come in 
and up the stairs, not three steps at a time, 
as he had used to come on the chance of 
finding their boy still awake, but slowly* He 
opened the door and looked in, and at the 
sight of the cot he started, and stared with 
all his eyes. She beckoned him, and, 
coming softly, he stood by the cot staring 
down at the sleeping child in a bewildered 
fascination* 

“Good heavens!” he said, softly. “ IPs 
the boy !'* 

In a low voice she told him of her theft 



■' *GJOD MlAYKNS ! ’ KB SAID, SOFTt-V, ‘ IT S THE BOY ! * ** 


and her precautions* He listened in a dull 
wonder, staring at the child. When she had 
done, he said nothing ; he only gazed and 
gazed. She shook his arm in a feverish 
impatience, and said in a husky, grasping 
voice, “I must have him, Dick! I must— 
I must! I tell you he is mine !” 


“ By the Lord, you shall 3 ” said Lord 
Drysdale, waking up. 

The next day Lady Drysdale and the hoy 
were on their way to Munich, Her husband 
stayed behind to watch events* The baby's 
unfortunate mother was identified by her 
stepmother, and when that lady found no 
baby awaiting her care she was exceedingly 
guarded in her inquiries about him. In the 
end she seemed to take it very easily for 
granted that he had fallen into charitable 
hands, and even seemed pleased to be rid 
of the responsibility. She told the railway 

officials that the 
child could not 
have been travel¬ 
ling with his 
mother. Lord 
Drysdale con¬ 
trived to see her 
—a thin-lipped, 
narrow - faced, 
small * eyed 
woman ; and the 
sight of her face 
sent him to 
Munich justified, 
in his own eyes, 
in keeping the 
child out of her 
clutches. The 
boy, with a wag¬ 
gling arm and 
his murmur of 
“ Ah-eh-h-h!” 
points out to his 
new parents 
things of interest 
in the European 
capitals ; soon he 
will have grown 
out of the recog¬ 
nition of anyone 
who knew him in 
England, His 
new parents are 
devoted to him 
It is wonderful, 
almost past be¬ 
lieving, how he lias filled the gap in their 
lives : possibly it is the likeness* I-ady Diys- 
dale T s feelings about him are very curious : 
often she tells herself that he is her dead 
baby come back to her. Perhaps she believes 
it—a mother’s heart is, after all* the mystery 
of mysteries* 


Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















Fighting Fire. 

By Jeremy Broome, 



Fram a | 


A JAPANESE l[RKUkHJVL>fc, Dfill.L 


[Pinto. 


RECENT disastrous fire in 
l.ondon, at which several lives 
were lost, aroused the public 
to the value of modem life- 
saving fire apparatus, and 
brought upon the London 
County Council an onslaught of public 
criticism regarding the antiquity of the 
apparatus now in use by the London Fire 
Brigade. It is probable that much of this 
criticism was unduly bitter, and that the 
equipment of the London Brigade is fairly 
^tisfactory for all practical purposes, but 
that in many ways this equipment is old- 
fashioned is hardly to be denied. The fault 
is merely in the slowness of those in power 
to adopt the latest innovations in fire fight¬ 
ing, some of which are illustrated in the 
following pages. They deal mostly with the 
appliances used in the United States, where 
fire-fighting has received the closest study, 
and where nearly every new idea is tested 
and, in cases of successful tests, immediately 
adopted. 

rimes have indeed changed since the 
above photograph was taken. It represents 
a Japanese fire department in one of their 
ladder-drills in days long ago—how long ago 
we dare not say—and shows little else except 
the ladders and the remarkable agility of the 
firemen in their ordinary drill. It carries us 
back to those very happy days when the lives 
and homes oF the people were dependent on 
a few men with ladders and buckets of water, 
who, skilful as they were with both, could 
rarely cope with a real conflagration. They 
Vol. **iv,—26 


were useful enough for a small “ blaze/* as 
the reporter loves to call it, but in front of 
u devouring flames ” they were as helpless as 
Canute before the approaching waves. 

Modern fire-fighting is almost a profession, 
ladders still play their part, and water is 
ever useful; but to this equipment must 
now be added the latest and most scientific¬ 
ally-constructed appliances, expert training, 
and brains. They may stick to their old- 
fashioned methods in the East, and reap the 
benefit in those destructive fires which are 
periodically reported to have swept whole 
towns and villages away; hut in the Western 
countries the art of fire-fighting is the 
subject of continued study, and every new 
device in life-saving or property-salvage is 
keenly tested, adopted, and copied far and 
wide. Just as every minute or second is 
valuable to the fireman when rushing to a 
fire, so is each tool of his trade valuable the 
more scientific and modern it may be, 

The necessity of knowing what to do in 
case of fire is well recognised by many 
schools in the United States, and so-called 
“fire-drills” are of almost daily occurrence. 
The school-children are trained by those in 
charge in such a way that, on a given signal 
(as if a real fire had broken out), the 
pupils arise, collect together, and in the 
briefest possible time quietly depart from 
the school-quarters to a place of safety. 
It is not, however, our intention here to 
dwell upon the advantages of such drills 
—which tend to decrease the possibilities 
of panic when a real fire breaks out—but 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















202 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



RAISING THE SCALING-LADDER* 
Frutn a Photo by StthbiKM, JloitojU 

life-saving in case of fire- 
Several of our illustra¬ 
tions, for instance, show 
the work now being done 
daily in the Cambridge 
Manual Training School 
—a work so successful as 
to have already achieved 
the honour of wide imita¬ 
tion* It was introduced 
into the school at the 
outset as a voluntary ele¬ 
ment* mainly for the sake 
of the physical exercise 
and recreation which it 
furnished ; but its greater 
usefulness as an educa¬ 
tional force was so quickly 
recognised in actual prac¬ 
tice that it is now required 
of all the boys attending 
the school, except in the 
cases of those who are 
physically unable to 
take it. 

Every part of this fire- 
drill is under the personal 


merely to point supervision of some instructor, who has 
out that seve- a thorough knowledge of all its details, 
ral schools in and he is held responsible for the discipline 
the United of the boys and their officers, and for the 
States, having safety of all during the drill As a prelimin- 
proved the ary, the pupils are given a course of lectures 
value of such explaining the use of a knowledge of fire- 
instruction, prevention and fire-fighting, the present 
have now gone methods employed and the improvements 
a step farther needed, They are then given a systematic 
in the right course of exercises designed to supply a 
direction, and practical knowledge of the methods of the 
have begun to fireman. These exercises include practice 
train their with the life-net; the use of the lifebelt and 
pupils in the life-harness ; practice with the life-line gun ; 
manipulation the erection and use of ladders; the hand- 
of modern ap- ling of different forms of fire-hose, including 
pliances for coupling, laying the line, and carrying the 

lines through buildings 
and up ladders ; and a 
variety of other duties, 
including the handling of 
fire - extinguishers and 
other forms of emergency 
apparatus. 

To take the place of a 
three - story building the 
boys are provided with a 
drill - tower 40ft* high, 
shown in an illustration 
on page 204. This is 
equipped as a three-story 
building, with stairways, 
window-casings, etc., and 
possesses exterior shelves, 
from which jumps varying 
from 8ft* to 30ft may be 
made into the Hfe-net 
Overhanging timbers are 
arranged at the top to 
support heavy iron rings, 
to which ropes may be 
fastened for practice w r ith 
the life-belt. 

The manuals of the fire 
departments in many Ame¬ 
rican cities vary but little 
in general character, and 
each is carefully followed 
by members of the brigade 
at drill. Security and suc¬ 
cess lie in the care and 
expertness with which in¬ 
structions are followed* 
In Chicago, w f here the 
drills have reached a high 
state of proficiency, there 
are seven different styles 
of drill, which may briefly 


fKACTlCK WITH THE SCALING'LADDER. 
From a photo, by ftorton 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


























FIGHTING FIRE. 


203 



be enumerated as follows r First, the ground- 
drill, in which men and ladders are placed in 
position preparatory to scaling ; second, the 
ladder-drill, ascending and descending ; third, 
the time-drill \ fourth, standing on sill, 
ascending and descending; fifth, straddling 
sill, ascending and descending ; sixth, ascend¬ 
ing in an oblique di¬ 
rection ;and seventh, 
rope and life-line 
exercise. 

Probably the most 
important piece of 
life-saving apparatus 
ever invented for the 
use of firemen is the 
scaling-ladder shown 
in the illustrations. 

It was devised as a 
quick and easy means 
of escape for people 
in danger at high 
distances, and is 
made with a single 
rod of wel 1-seasoned 
wood, with short 
cross-pieces of wood 
mortised in and pass¬ 
ing through it. These 
cross-pieces are 
braced with iron 
brackets. At the top 
end is a steel hook, 

3ft. long, with teeth 
to prevent slipping 
from a window-sill. 

The most curious 
thing about the lad¬ 
der, and the one 
that arouses a queer 
sensation in the 
breast of him w f ho 
first climbs the lad¬ 
der, is that it sways 
and bends, although 
it is strong enough 
to bear the weight of * Piu >& 

two or three men. 

The single scaling-ladder plays a con¬ 
spicuous part in the most important drill 
known to modern fire departments, namely, 
“ chain-building ” with scaling-ladders. It is 
said that expert chain-builders can mount 
high structures and begin their work of 
rescue before an extension ladder can be put 
rn place. The method of work is as follows: 
The first fireman, on the ground, hooks his 
ladder into a window above and quickly 
ascends. When near the top he stops and 


fastens his “belt-snap” to the end of the 
ladder. The second fireman then hands his 
ladder to No. t , who hooks it to a window 
above and then ascends, followed by No. 2. 
No. 3 then hands a ladder to No. 2, who in 
turn hands it to No. i, and by this steady 
manipulation of, and a continued ascent 
on, the newly-placed 
ladders the roof is 
reached. The “ belt- 
snap, "which is shown 
in one of our illus¬ 
trations on the pre¬ 
vious page, secures 
the climber to his 
ladder at a point 
where his arms may 
be free for work, and 
the descent is merely 
the reverse of the 
ascending move¬ 
ments. 

Life-lines are in¬ 
tended for life-saving 
purposes, and accord¬ 
ing to one manual 
“should always be 
carried when enter¬ 
ing a burning build¬ 
ing from the ladders. 
Great care is taken 
in laying the coil 
upon the floor to 
make sure that the 
loop end is on the 
upper side, in order 
that the rope may 
run freely* Then, 
placing the loop 
under the arms of 
the person to be 
lowered, with the 
noose to the back, 
the fireman takes 
three turns of the 
line around the snap- 
hook at his belt in 
such a manner as to 
bring the lower end of the line to the left 
side of the hook and the upper end to the 
right side. This method of winding the line 
upon the hook prevents the hook from break¬ 
ing and the line from becoming detached. 
Great care is taken to keep the line tight 
between the person who is being lowered 
and the “snap”; and the fireman has to be 
careful not to allow his fingers to get caught 
between the rope and the snap. 

In many fires the fireman has to lower 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE USE OP THE LIFE-LIKE. 

by Stchbim, j&wtoft. 















204 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



THE USB OK THB UFE'BEUT* 
From it Photo, &|f Stebfrin*, Puttott 


himself by the life-line. He does so by 
fastening one end of the line to some strong 
object, and then, 
tossing the rest of 
the line from the 
window, takes 
three turns of the 
line on his snap- 
hook, passes out 
of the window, 
and goes down 
the rope, taking 
great care, mean 
while, not to get 
his hands involved 
in the turns of the 
line. The illus¬ 
tration on the pre¬ 
vious page shows 
the descent of the 
life-line by three 
men, and the care 
—and, at the same 
time, the security 
—with which it 
is accompli shed 
may be easily 


imagined. By the use of a gun the life-line 
is sometimes carried to the tops of, and 
over, high buildings. The projectile of 
the gun carries with it a coil of string which 
is hurled upwards, the life-line being then 
attached to the string and hauled up to any 
point desired. 

The use of the life-net is most dramatic, 
and when it is in use at fires it always 
attracts great attention from the crowd. It 
has, moreover, been the means of saving 
thousands of lives. The net is strongly made 
of interlaced ropes, and is about 20ft. in cir¬ 
cumference Eighteen or twenty men may 
he needed in its manipulation, and each man, 
standing with his head well thrown back and 
his left foot slightly advanced, so as to pre¬ 
serve equilibrium, grips the heavy outer rope 
tightly, and asvaits the descent of the falling 
body. Down comes the jumper, a rebound 
from the net, and the jumper is safe on the 
ground. 

It is said that a jump from the first 
or second story of a building is an easy 
thing to a fireman in one of their regular 
drills, but it tries the courage even of the 
best to jump from the fourth story. There 
is, it may be added, a peculiar art in holding 
the life-net, which can only be properly 
acquired by one who has himself taken the 
leap. If the net-holders brace themselves 
back too hard the force of the falling body 
may break their fingers. Again, if the net is 
held too tightly, the jumper may rebound so 



Fromo JWoto. the Use of the ififE-LiME, . . ©Orion. 

/ ' . ,T Original from 

by ViUU^It UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 































FIGHTING FIRE . 



f’lvm « F'hoUhbif] PKACTIC& WITH THE LlFE-NET, iJtMtofl 

_, Prvnnlp Original from 

Digitized by ^UU^IC UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


20$ 

sheer skill and endurance until the top is 
reached In order that he may have room 
to straddle on the left he hooks his ladder 
into the right-hand corner of the sill, and 
steadies his body and balances himself by 
pressing his left leg against the wall inside 
the building. His hands are thus free to 
raise the ladder to the window above* Any¬ 
one who witnesses the drill may marvel at 
the dexterity with which it is done, but few, 
except those who have done it* can know 
how exhausting it is. It is the terror of the 
new recruit. 

The oblique ascent is rarely required at 
fires, but no fireman neglects this important 
drill. Many who have been at fires may 
have noted how a great volume of smoke 
sometimes pours out of a window directly 
over the head of an ascending fireman. At 
such a moment it becomes necessary for the 
fireman to ascend to some window at the 
right or left of that above him. This is the 
“oblique ascent," or “ascending echelon,” 
as it is sometimes called* and owing to the 
“swinging-off” movement required to gain 
the window obliquely above it, the drill is 
very dangerous and exacting* 

In the terrible Windsor Hotel fire in New 
York City the swinging ladder feat was well 
exemplified. One of the firemen clung with 
one hand to a scaling-ladder, and with the 
other swung a second ladder to a window 
next to the one which held the ladder on 
which he was standing. Then, swinging 
from one ladder to the other, 
he swung back again with 
a woman who had been in 


quickly from it as to break an arm or fracture 
a skull. 

The various drills mentioned in the fore¬ 
going paragraphs are taxing both to brain 
and body, and a man who can successfully 
perform all of the work demanded may be 
said to have reached the standard of expert¬ 
ness and fearlessness which is the aim of every 
fireman worthy of the name. The “ground- 
drill ” merely gives the men facility in hand¬ 
ling the ladders. The “time-drill ” increases 
general quickness In execution. In the 
drill called “ standing on the sill,” two men 
ascend to the first window of a building 
with one ladder. No. t immediately enters 
the window by straddling the sill* No. 2 
follows, takes a standing position on the 
ledge outside, and is held there by No. r, 
who has a grip on his companion’s snap- 
hook, No. 2 then mounts the ladder which 
he has raised to the next window, and No, 1 
follows and stands on the sill, being held 
there by No. 2. His companion now lifts 
the ladder to the next story and mounts, 
followed by No. 2, So it goes until the top 
is reached, 

“Straddling the sill” is a drill in which 
one fireman with a single ladder begins at 
the base of a building, and with a single 
ladder climbs from window to window by 











206 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


the fourth story of the hotel, It was a 
deed of heroism, and many deeds like it 
remain as yet unwritten. 

The life-saving drill is a product of the 
early eighties. In 1882 the burning of 
several large buildings in New York and 
Chicago, and the loss of life which resulted, 
drew general attention to the needs of fire 
departments. Inventors hurried to meet the 
demands, and their offers were encouraged. 
Ex-Chief Bonner, of the New York fire 
department, made a tour and inspected 
apparatus from all quarters of the globe. 
He brought the scaling - ladder from St, 
Louis, and the life-net quickly followed. 
Then came the life-belt (shown in one 
of our illustrations), which is made of a 
heavy strap with a long snaffle, and is used 
in holding the firemen on their scaling- 
ladders. The introduction of all this import¬ 
ant apparatus necessitated the introduction 
of the drills, now so important a feature 
of regular departmental work in all large 
American cities. 

Each day brings with it some new 
u wrinkle” for use in fighting flames, and the 
prime object of all the new ideas is either to 
make the fireman's calling less hazardous to 
himself or to enhance his efficiency as a life 
or property saver. One of the latest ideas is 
that of the ‘Might engine;” which, by means 
of a searchlight that will throw its beams 
over a wide area, will eliminate one of the 
greatest dangers to the fireman, namely, 
darkness at night. Again, there is the “ life¬ 
saving cage,” 
which is run up 
the side of a 
ladder in order 
that panic- 
stricken or dis¬ 
abled persons 
may safely be 
brought down 
from burning 
buildings. An¬ 
other valuable 
contrivance is 
the il smoke hel¬ 
met,” used by 
firemen in places 
so filled with 
smoke that 
breathing with¬ 
out the use of 
the helmet 
would be im¬ 


possible, The eyes of the helmet are 
made of strong isinglass, protected exter¬ 
nally by wire, and the air is supplied 
from a light nickel reservoir, carried at 
the back of the helmet, and constantly 
kept charged with compressed air. At 
the regulation pressure of 8olb, the helmet 
will carry enough air to supply a man for 
several hours. 

It is to be hoj>ed that the near future will 
witness the establishment of regular schools 
for the technical study of fire-extinguishment, 
in which anyone who cares to make that 
subject his life-work may gain a liberal 
education. 

One of New York’s well-known fire 
experts, Mr, Simon Brentano, has already 
proposed the establishment of such an insti¬ 
tution, and in an address, which he delivered 
some years ago, at the annual meeting in 
Milwaukee of the National Association of Fire 
Engineers, he showed the need of a school 
of fire-extinguishment, and expressed a hope 
that those in charge of large industrial 
plants and of valuable property could be 
taught efficiency in the use of the stationary 
appliances that were usually present, and so 
co operate with the regular fire department, 
instead of being a detriment to them. The 
idea at that time gamed the immediate 
support of manufacturers and other business 
men, to say nothing of the valuable support 
given by trained firemen, such as the chiefs 
and ex-chiefs of many fire departments 
throughout the country. 



From .D Phota. tp] an experiment with the smok e*ii ei.m stt in ueieljn. [JlnAik Strive 


Digitized by GoO^lc 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














Notable Australian Batsmen. 

By C. B. Fry. 


HE elder Bannerman was called 
“the Grace of Australia,” but 
the nearest counterpart to 
\V, G. among the Australians 
is, beyond doubt, YV. L. 
Murdoch. It is almost im¬ 
possible to estimate properly the relative 
merits of this great batsman and of the fore¬ 
most of the younger generation of Colonial 
players. How can we say whether Trumper 
is his equal or, if not, how nearly so? Any¬ 
how, Murdoch runs through about two-thirds 
of Anglo - Australian 
cricket as the 
champion batsman of 
Australia, His run- 
getting was always 
very consistent in the 
teams he played for, 
and he did some 
great performances in 
the most important 
matches. It is rather 
difficult to detach him 
now from English 
cricket, in which he 
still plays so well. He 
has to his credit the 
highest score ever 
made by either an 
Englishman or an 
Australian in a test 
match—2ii, made at 
the Oval in 1884 ; 
the next highest being 
S. E. Gregory's 20 t, 
made at Sydney ten 
years later. Murdoch 
also scored 153 in 
the Oval test match 
of 1880. W* G. 
writes of him : “The 
perfect ease and con¬ 
fidence of his batting 
is very conspicuous. 

Cutting is his forte, though his dean, hard 
driving is delightful to watch. His placing 
and timing are wonderfully skilful.” His 
play may be summed up as a fine blend of 
science and of brilliance. It is most difficult 
for a bowler to persuade him into a stroke 
which ought not to be made ; but the moment 
a ball comes that suits his forcing strokes 
he unslips his bat at it most heartily. 
Two famous strokes of his are his forward 


cut and his off-drive past cover-point. In 
making the forward cut he steps out with his 
left foot as though to play forward, and clips 
the ball when almost past him with a good 
deal of slice. In driving past cover-point he 
seems to take an extra long stride forward 
and to time the ball on the rise ; after the 
stroke his right foot is generally 6in. or more 
outside the crease. He seems to swing his 
bat in a small circle of which his wrists 
make the centre. 

Australian teams have on the whole been 
somewhat short of 
batsmen who may be 
described as genuine 
hitters. Of this sort 
there have been really 
only four’—G. j. 
Bonnor, P. $. Mc¬ 
Donnell, H. H. 
Massie, and J. J. 
Lyons. There have 
been others among 
them who could hit 
and did so at times, 
yet cannot be de¬ 
scribed as hitters in 
the sense that they 
relied almost alto¬ 
gether upon hard hit¬ 
ting and made them¬ 
selves reputations by 
unadulterated driving, 
G, J, Bonnor was 
an altogether remark¬ 
able physical speci¬ 
men, He stood 6ft, 
6in. and weighed 
1 yst., but so well was 
he proportioned that 
lie was quick and 
active to a degree. 
He was a very fast 
runner, who did 
1 ooyds. in something 
like level time, and he could throw a 
cricket ball over 120yds. In batting he 

had, of course, a very long reach and a 

very long swing. He did not, as a rule, 
run out to hit, but simply took a forward 
stride with his left foot and swung at the 
pitch of the ball, straight and with no pull in 
the stroke. His best hits were usually either 
directly over the bowler's head or a little to the 
right or left. Owing to his reach it was very 
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W. L. MVKDOCH. 
FrQma FhtiUt. JJau'Irnur, 












20& 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


difficult to bowl him a ball he could not 
hit fairly easily, for directly the ball was 
too short for him to get more or less 
to the pitch of it, it was ^ so short as 
to be easily played. The great English 
hitter contemporary 
with Bon nor was 
C I, Thornton, and 
it was much debated 
which of the two could 
hit the farthest; both 
of them made some 
tremendously long 
hits* Long hitting is 
not quite synonymous 
with hard bitting, so 
it is difficult to decide 
whether either of these 
two hit harder than 
others, but they seem 
to have hit farther. 

Bonnor had scarcely 
any strokes besides 
his drives, and was 
not so versatile a hi tter 
as McDonnell or 
Lyons* It is always 
said of Bonnor that 
he had too much of 
a fancy for abandon¬ 
ing his hitting in 
favour of a stylish for¬ 
ward game* which he 
was convinced he 
could play just as 
well as his own proper 
game. According to 
those who saw him 
play often, he had not much defence, and 
depended for his success upon going 
vigorously for the bowling. This may be 
true, but a man who can hit as Bonnor could 
and does not do so is liable not to receive 
full credit for his attempts at a quieter style* 
However, he was beyond doubt an extra¬ 
ordinary pure hitter, and did his best 
performances in that role* 

There is a general consensus of opinion 
among English cricketers that P* S. 
McDonnell was the best hitter that ever 
came over from Australia. Like Bonnor, he 
hit chiefly firm-footed, but he was also very 
quick on his feet, and could get out to a ball 
if he wished to. He was a very hard rather 
than a very long hitter; indeed, most of his 
hits went low. He had a good defence, and 
could play all sorts of strokes. He played 
forward well with a peculiar sort of push 
which seemed rather stiff compared with his 


free driving* He hit from his hips, and the 
remarkable point about his hitting was its 
wonderful precision ; he very rarely made 
a mistake, and even if he did not quite get 
to the ball he hit so hard that most of his 
miss-bits went clear 
of the fielders. He 
is reckoned to have 
been one of the finest 
batsmen ever seen on 
bad wickets. He 
seemed able to hit 
with almost the same 
certainty when the 
bowlers could do what 
they liked with the 
ball as when the pitch 
gave them no assist¬ 
ance* There has pro¬ 
bably never been a 
batsman more cap¬ 
able of winning a 
match by his own 
single-handed efforts 
on a thoroughly bad 
wicket* There was a 
certain element of 
safety in his aggres¬ 
siveness that distin¬ 
guished him from the 
majority even of the 
best hitters* 

J, J. Lyons played 
a lot of very brilliant 
cricket in England. 
He also ranks with 
the firm-footed hitters; 
in fact, he practically 
always hit with his right foot inside the 
crease. He is reckoned in Australia to have 
had more strokes than even McDonnell, but 
not so sound a defence nor the same ability 
to surmount the difficulties of a bad wicket* 
He had a fine slash drive on the off not 
unlike Massies, and could also drive straight 
both along the ground and in the air, but 
on-driving was his forte, at any rate as he 
played over here* He hit with a kind of 
exaggerated tap, and seemed to obtain his 
power chiefly from his wrists* The force 
and length of his drives, especially to 
the on, were out of all proportion to 
the slight exertion he appeared to make* 
Though a heavily-built man with tremendous 
shoulders, in the best innings he played here 
he relied less upon sheer strength than upon 
quickness of swing and accurate timing. 

Two batsmen not usually included in the 
category of hitters might almost be described 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




NOTABLE AUSTRALIAN BATSMEN. 


209 



G. £. HALMEK AMU G. GlhTEN, 

From a i'Hota. by Hank ini, Brighton, 


as such —namely, George Gififen and J. 
WbrralL The latter proved himself a most 
useful hat in the 1899 team upon bowlers* 
wickets, for on these he united a sound 
defence with excellent judgment in picking 
the right ball to hit. George Giffen's repu¬ 
tation has always been regarded, and justly 
so, as above all that of a great all-round 
cricketer. But he stands very high as a 
batsman alone. His batting was of the 
highest class nearly every time he came over, 
and he proved himself the most successful 
batsman tn the 1886 team. He played in 
beautiful style, very freely, yet watching the 
ball carefully. He usually scored quickly 
with well-timed strokes all round the wicket, 
but he could, if he chose, hit magnificently; 
indeed, in a way that showed he might, had 
he cared, have gone in for pure hitting with 
great success. At practice he used some¬ 
times to make long, high hits which were 
little, if at all, short of the best Bon nor could 
produce, 

Vol. jcxiv.—27 n- 


The 1896 team, which was captained by 
G. H. S. Trott, was very powerful in 
batting. Indeed, although the balance of 
opinion favours Murdoch’s famous teams 
of 1882 and 1884 as being rather stronger, 
there are some good judges who consider 
Troths team to have been absolutely 
the best batting team that has yet come 
over. Trott himself was a batsman of 
the highest class, a fine ofT-driver and 
cutter, a strong hitter of bowling that suited 
him, and strong in defence. He could 
play on all kinds of wickets, and had a 
knack of being able to produce his best 
effort when things were going badly for 
his side. He could sit down to very im¬ 
pervious cricket without losing his grace 
and ease of style. H. Graham, too, 
although he fell ill and did not play up 
to his form that year, was a fine batsman 
—not exactly a hhter, but decidedly a 
forcing player. In his first tour in England 
in 1893 he actually headed the averages 
of McBlackbarrfs team. He was a quick¬ 
footed bat, who generally moved out of 
his ground to meet the ball Then, in 
addition toGiffen, already mentioned, and 
Darling, Hill, and Gregory, there was 
Frank Lredale, a batsman of charming 
style* and finish. lredale was generally 
considered an uncertain starter, but there 



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210 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


was no doubt about bis class when he once 
got set. He played over here some very 
beautiful innings. More than any other 
Australian batsman, he showed the kind 
of form associated in England with a 
careful cricket education on public school 
lines ; he might well have been a product of 
Eton coaching and tradition. Few of the 
Australian batsmen, even the best of them, 
have been remarkable for polish of style such 
as is so much admired 
in, for instance, L. C H. 

Falairet and YV\ Gunn ; 
but I redale will always 
be remembered for his 
elegance as well as for 
his runs. 

Of the eleventh team, 
which is at present in 
England, the senior 

man among the bats¬ 
men is S. E, Gregory, 

He came for the first 
time with the seventh 
team in 1S90, the last 
captained by W, L, 

Murdoch, and he has 
been included„ever 
since. It was his field¬ 
ing that originally 
brought him to the 
front; indeed, it was 

his remarkable capacity 
at cover-point rather 
than his skill with the 
bat that won him his 
place in 1890 ; but, as 
was the case with A, C. Bannerman, if he 
came to field he stayed to bat. Both on 
his subsequent performances in run-getting 
and also on his style of play he must be 
reckoned among the finest of Australian 

batsmen. He is not at all a common 

kind of player, and not at all the kind 
of player one would expect to be produced 
upon the extra-fast pitches which prevail in 
Australia. He is a decidedly small man, but 
you do not much notice his lack of inches 
when he is batting, because he stands very 
upright both in waiting for the ball and also 
in playing his strokes. With the single ex¬ 
ception of Ranjit Sinhji he is the latest player 
1 have ever seen \ by this 1 mean that he 
selects and plays his stroke more than any¬ 
one but Ranjit Sinhji at the very latest 
available instant during the flight of the 
ball from the bowler's hand. Often he 
seems actually to allow the ball to pitch 
and rise from the ground before he shapes 


for his stroke ; he has his bat ready in 
time, of course, but does not begin to 
move it to meet the ball till the ball is all but 
past him. And the better form he is in the later 
he plays. Yet so quick is he on his feet and 
with his bat that he is not at all inclined to play 
too late. This quality of playing late, yet 
not too late, tells greatly in favour of the bats¬ 
man possessing it; because the longer the 
batsman can give himself to watch the ball 
the more likely is he to 
play it with absolute 
precision. Gregory 
practically never plays 
forward; at any rate, he 
does not reach out with 
a stride "at the pitch of 
the ball. At good- 
length balls even on a 
fast wicket he plays 
back, moving a little 
towards his wicket. 
Sometimes, but rarely, 
he runs out to drive 
with a quick, neat-footed 
little shuffle and hits 
along the ground with 
a quick turn of his 
wrists. He is a re¬ 
markable exponent of 
cutting; he can cut the 
ordinary shortish ball 
outside the off-stump 
just behind point very 
hard, but he can also 
cut balls pitched much 
farther up; he has a 
knack of clipping down on the ball when 
it is almost in the wicket-keeper's hands, 
and of placing it safely along the ground 
right through the slips, I have seen him 
cut balls so far pitched up that he might 
easily by playing forward have reached 
to the pitch of them and forced them in front 
of the wicket. He is also very clever at 
hooking the ball round to leg ; he shifts his 
feet smartly so as to be w T el! the other side of 
the hall, and keeping his bat nearly upright 
persuades the ball round with a smooth, neat 
flick. He does this off quite good length 
balls from fast bowlers, especially right- 
hand bowlers like Lockwood and Richard¬ 
son, who break on to him from the 
off. And he makes the stroke even when 
the ball rises what is to him chest high. 
Another notable stroke of his is one he 
makes from a ball so far pitched up as to be 
practically a yorker; he comes down upon it 
and nicks it just as it rises from the ground, 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



S. E. CKK^UtCV* 

ftwn d Bhoto. Itv i}Q.vrkint t Brighton. 













NOTABLE AUSTRALIAN BATSMEN 


21 I 


but instead of completely smothering it, as 
most batsmen do, he contrives to work his 
bat so that the face is well turned to the off, 
and the ball flies past the fielder at point- 
Here, again, it is his wrists that do the trick— 
and very precise timing. Altogether he is 
a very neat and attractive player; and he 
plays so quietly and naturally that you do 
not at first notice his peculiarities, or, for the 
matter of that, how quickly he scores. 
Perhaps his finest innings was the 201 
he made against England at Sydney in 
1894. But he has scored several other 
centuries in these big games. In fielding at 
cover-point he is extra¬ 
ordinarily quick in 
covering ground, picking 
up and returning the 
ball It is done in a 
little black and white 
flash, and woe betide 
the stealer of a short 
run. Apart from his 
quick, low return from 
cover-point, he is a very 
long thrower, capable of 
nearly 120yds. Like 
G. L. Jessop, he saves 
so many runs in the field 
that he is worth his 
place even when he fails 
to score. It has been 
said of him, “ No wonder 
he can field, he is so 
near the ground” But 
that does not quite ex 
plain his skill. 

Two great thorns in 
the sides of English 
bowlers are J. Darling 
and Clem Hill, for be¬ 
sides being great bats¬ 
men they are both left¬ 
handers, and there is 
no doubt that bowlers find left-handers very 
inconvenient opponents. 

Darling's first visit to England was with 
the 1S96 team, which was captained by 
G. H. S. Trott. Of the 1899 team he was 
captain, and he leads the present team. His 
cricket history is rather interesting. George 
Giffen, in his book, “With Bat and Ball,” 
tells how Darling first came into prominence 
by scoring 25 2 in a school match at the age 
of fifteen, and how about that time he 
played through the season with a leading 
junior club without losing his wicket, except 
on one occasion when he was run out. 
Had he stayed in one of the big towns his 


cricket career, after such a beginning, would 
have been simple sailing. “ But his father 
sent him away,” writes Giffen, “ to manage a 
farm in one of the back blocks, and he was 
not seen in good cricket again until he had 
completed his twenty-third year.” Then he 
came back to the haunts of big cricket, and 
within two years was chosen to play for 
Australia. He made 117 the first time he 
ever saw English bowling, and 17S in the 
final test match against Stoddards team. 
The art of cricket is usually longer 
than that. Think of an English player 
who, without having any good-class cricket 
after leaving school, 
came into county cricket 
at twenty-three, and into 
the England eleven after 
a year and a half! That 
man would be a remark¬ 
able natural cricketer, 
and such must Darling 
be. And the same trait 
came out later on, for he 
has several times re¬ 
turned from up-country 
farming into big cricket 
and played successfully. 
He is a determined, re¬ 
sourceful, and very 
dangerous batsman. 
The men of Stoddards 
team in 1898 held him 
in great respect; indeed, 
they regarded him as 
their most formidable 
opponent He showed 
himself a master bats¬ 
man in that he could 
play in several styles 
with equal success. He 
could sit down and graft 
with the most dogged 

defence; he could 
play freely with hard cuts and forward 

strokes; and also he could adopt the 
tactics of a thoroughgoing hitter. What 
is more, he made each different style while 
he used it appear absolutely natural to him. 
There have been few batsmen so completely 
strong at the same time in safety and in 
brilliance. He has always done well in 
England, but cricketers who saw him in 

Australia maintain that, fine as his play 

has been here, we have not really seen 
all of which he is capable. When on his 
careful lay his chief scoring strokes are a 
squarish cut, not a flick, but a plumb, vigor 
ous knock, and a well-timed off drive between 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



J. DARIJNC. 

From a PHu>to. by Jiavrkin*, RrighUm- 


/ 








2 I 2 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


cover and extra-cover. But you can see 
from the way he stands that he always has 
a genuine hit up his sleeve* When he lets 
himself go he drives with great force on both 
sides of the wicket. He usually runs down 
the wicket to meet the ball when hitting. 
His biggest hit goes high over mid-on's 
head, and it is a big ground out of which 
he cannot drop the ball in this direc¬ 
tion. Sometimes, too, he makes this 
high drive straight over the bowler’s head. 
But his hits other whither than to the 
on-side usually go low-, skimming dear 
out of reach of the in-fields and bouncing 
well in front of the out-fields* He is 
judgmatic in picking his ball to hit, and even 
when going his fastest does not give the im¬ 
pression of risking his wicket. He takes his 
risk with the odds in his own favour. There 
is something solid and grim about his play, 
as though he had made plans for his innings 
beforehand and does not mean to depart from 
them* Even when 
out of form he 
makes runs and is 
an obstacle to 
bowlers—for he is 
a fighting batsman, 
level - headed and 
cool, a most obsti¬ 
nate wicket 
Clem Hill, the 
other famous left¬ 
hander, is an alto¬ 
gether different 
player from Darling, 
but, like him, has 
an interesting his¬ 
tory. As a boy he 
went several better; 
playing for the same 
school for which 
Darling was so suc¬ 
cessful, in the same 
match some years 
afterwn rds he scored 
360. He was chosen 
to represent Aus¬ 
tralia before he was 
twenty, and in his 
teens compiled big 
innings against our 
best bowlers. Both 
in England and 
Australia his per¬ 
formances have stamped him as a big 
match player, one of the elect that have 
consistently scored highly in test matches* 
He resembles Darling in being patient, 


judgmatic, and self-possessed, especially cool 
and collected in emergencies ; but his style 
is quite distinct* He stands at the wicket 
with his knees bent and his feet rather far 
apart, holds his bat rather low on the handle, 
and settles himself in something of a crouch* 
He has the normal left-hander's cut, but it is 
more of a tap with a flickering bat than a 
regular slap as Darling's is. He drives on 
the off, not, like Darling, with an outright 
swing, but with a kind of magnified push, 
chiefly from the wrists. When he hits 
in front of the wicket he dances, 

with three or four short steps, out to 
the ball and delivers a kind of thrust, 

something between a push and a drive ; and 
he is peculiarly clever at keeping the ball 
along the ground* He rarely hits in the asr, 
and when he does so it is a low, skimming 
hit. One curious point in his play is that he 
often dances out as if to drive and then plays 
forward instead. He has his own way of 
playing and it is 
very effective; even 
when hitting he 
keeps his right 
elbow well forward 
and the handle of 
the bat well in front 
of the bottom of the 
blade, consequently 
he is always well 
over the ball. His 
great run - getting 
stroke is on the on- 
side from outside 
mid-on round to 
fine long-leg, and 
he makes it for the 
most part off balls 
that are pitched on 
the wicket He 
moves round some¬ 
what in front of his 
wicket, but very 
slightly so, and 
somewhat back¬ 
wards, and meets 
the ball with a little 
upward stab, at the 
same time giving a 
flickering turn of 
the wrists, so that 
the face of the bat 
meets the ball 
aslant; yet be gives the ball the full face 
of the hat, apparently, till the instant of 
impact ; the ball seems, if T may so describe 
it, to rest on,., Upe Jape of his bat for an 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



tl.e.M HIM*. 

A'njm a Photo, by ffawkint, Brighton, 




NOTABLE AUSTRALIAN BATSMEN 


213 


instant, and in that instant the bat is 
turned so that the ball is deflected to 
the on-side. His bat is quite upright 
during the stroke, and he plays the 
ball with the bottom 2in. or so of the 
blade, and he seems to put an upward draw 
into the stroke rather as some lawn-tennis 
players do. The stroke is not a pull and it 
is not a hook, though often so described ; 
it fetches straight balls round to leg, but as 
a stroke it is suigeneris. When he is in his 
best form he makes the stroke off quite the 
perfect-length ball that most batsmen find 
sufficiently difficult to 
stop; and, moreover, 
he can place the ball 
so freely that he can 
avoid several short- 
legs in front of and 
behind the wicket. 

One of the reasons 
why he has made such 
big scores is that the 
strokes he scores with 
are exceptionally safe. 

Even If he mistimes 
the hall there is gener¬ 
ally just that margin 
for error that saves 
him: indeed, when 
he mistimes the ball 
he usually errs on the 
side of smothering the 
ball too much, which 
is obviously preferable 
to jigging it up in the 
air. Above all, he is 
a remarkably strong 
defensive player ; he 
stops the nasty ball 
sometimes by playing 
back, sometimes by 
playing half-cock, 
sometimes by playing 
forward, but he stops 
it somehow. He is 
really more of a for¬ 
ward than a back player; consequently he 
prefers fast to slow wickets, but he is always 
a difficulty to bowlers. 

The two remaining batsmen specially 
worthy of notice among the younger Austra¬ 
lians are M. A. Noble and V. Trumpec 
Noble is pre-eminently an all-round man, of 
the highest order too, so that his value as a 
cricketer cannot be summed without refer¬ 
ence to his bowling. Indeed, since bowlers 
of first-rate ability are rarer than bats¬ 
men of similar class, most people think of 


Noble as a bowler rather than as a batsman. 
Rut, all the same, his batting alone entitles 
him to a place among the most distinguished 
of the Australians. Many people in England 
regard him as a slow and purely defen¬ 
sive player; one often reads of him as of 
the same sort as Scotton, Barlow, and 
W. G. Quaife. This estimate, which is about 
as far from the truth as may well he, seems 
to be due to the fact that in the test 
match at Old Trafford in 1S99 he played a 
very long defensive innings, aiming almost 
exclusively at staying in and paying little 
heed to making 
strokes. But that 
innings was really 
quite exceptional in 
his case, and was the 
result of the position 
in which the Austra¬ 
lians happened to be 
in that particular 
match. Noble's slow 
play then simply 
showed that when 
required he could sit 
down to an effort of 
the most dogged de¬ 
fence. His natural 
style is quite different. 
George Giifen de¬ 
scribes him as a most 
attractive batsman, 
who, when set, scores 
all round the wicket 
very rapidly. And that 
is much nearer the 
mark ; for, although 
the strength of his 
defence is a notable 
characteristic of his 
play, he has lots of 
beautiful strokes, 
which he uses freely 
unless the state of the 
match demands an 
extra amount of cau¬ 
tion. It is worth noting that George Giffen 
writes of him that “ with experience he will 
doubtless take fewer risks, and without materi¬ 
ally diminishing his attractiveness." So evi¬ 
dently he is not considered a slow player in 
Australia, like most tall, slim, long-limbed 
batsmen, be has a freedom and ease of move¬ 
ment that make his cricket pleasant to 
watch. Among his best strokes is a superb 
cut, so correctly made that it might be put 
into books as a model ; he picks his ball 
admirably, the strCJ ke with- 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









214 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


out sacrificing any power. He has also a 
clever glide from the ball on the Itg- 
stump. He stands where he is, but, bending - 
his knees somewhat, turns the upper part 
of his body and shoots his bat forward 
with the face slanting so that the ball 
glances away fine* He 
plays a grand off drive, very 
correct, stepping well across 
to the ball with his left foot 
and swinging wuh a dead 
straight bat. He can also 
hit hard, especially on the 
on-side, but he usually 
plays an orthodox forward 
game* In estimating his 
batting feats it must not be 
forgotten that he does a 
great deal of bowling. He 
is one of the finest fielders 
at point ever seen; very 
quick and active, with 
hands that seem unable to 
miss the ball — yielding, 
prehensile hands* 

Victor Trumper, last and, 
in the opinion of many, the 
best, stands out as a bats¬ 
man of batsmen. In the 
wbdle history of Australian 
cricket there has never 
been, it is said by those 
who have seen every team 
from the first, a superior to 
Trumper in attractiveness 
of style wedded to thorough 
efficiency* He is one of 
those players who, even 
if they only stay in for 
an over or two, catch a 
cricketer's eye as lip-top batsmen* When 
he played against Stoddart’s team In 
Australia, one of the Englishmen, himself a 
great batsman, offered the opinion, judging by 
two quite small innings, that Trumper would 
prove one of the finest of Colonial players. 
An Australian critic poked fun at this 
judgment and suggested that, naturally 
enough, the Englishmen wished for the 
selection of an opponent they could easily 
get out. Hut subsequent events have proved 
the opinion to be correct. In the 1899 
Australian team Trumper was included prac¬ 
tically as an extra man, but he won his place 
easily enough and distinguished himself by 
making a magnificent 135 not out against 
England at Lord’s. A finer innings than 
that no one could wish to see, and he has 
played plenty since equally good. His bat¬ 


ting is altogether remarkable for the number 
of strokes he has, the pace at which he 
scores, the almost unfailing accuracy with 
which he judges the length of every ball, and 
the perfection of his timing. It is scarcely 
an exaggeration to say that he has a scor¬ 
ing stroke for every kind 
of ball that is bowled. Yet 
when he is making runs at 
his quickest pace he never 
appears to be forcing his 
play ; the bowling is simply 
made to look easy, and 
that it should be whipped 
about all over the field ap¬ 
pears quite natural More¬ 
over, he is able to play the 
same free and easy game 
on all kinds of wickets— 
fast and slow, wet and dry, 
true and treacherous. The 
features of his play are the 
accuracy with which he 
judges the length of the 
ball and the complete 
absence of any hesitation 
or half-heartedness in his 
strokes* H e seems to know 
every time exactly what he 
is doing, and he makes 
quite good balls easy to 
play by the way he puts 
himself into position* It 
is a great lesson in cricket 
to watch how he uses his 
feet The power of his 
strokes comes from correct 
timing and the free play of 
his wrists; he does not 
lunge at the ball, or let fly 
with a heavy swing* He is one of the fesv 
batsmen equally strong on both sides of Lhe 
wicket* He has a remarkable knack of 
cutting ; he scarcely ever lets a ball go by 
on the offside of the wicket; most batsmen 
like a particular sort of ball to cut, but he 
seems to find all pretty well equally culable* 
Also he has a most peculiar knack of being 
able to play across straight balls without miss¬ 
ing them ; sometimes he goes forward as 
though to drive the ball back at the bowler, 
but at the last moment he gives his bat a turn 
and forces the ball between mid-on and 
square-leg. You never quite know where he 
will send the ball, but when he has done it 
the stroke always looks the right one* He 
does most unorthodox things, but never 
seems playing otherwise than in the best 
style* 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



V. TRUMPER* 

Fix ml tl Phiiti}. by Th ic.lt. 






The Incendiary. 

By Edwin Puhh. 


I. 

N accident suggested the idea 
to him. He had come in late 
one evening, slightly fuddled, 
It was dark in the shop, so he 
lit the gas. He used a wax 
match and dung it down care¬ 
lessly, Then he went into the back parlour 
to prepare his evening meal He was 
engaged at the fire when an odd buzzing 
sound smote on his ears, and then a pungent 
odour of smoke filled his nostrils. He looked 
over his shoulder and saw that the glass 
panels of the door leading to the shop were 
bright with a flickering gleam which certainly 
did not emanate from the crackling wood in 
the grate. He set down the kettle on the 
hob with a shaking hand and stumbled, 
terror-stricken, into the shop, A livid 
sheet of flame rushed out to meet him, 
and he perceived that a heap of loose 
paper on the floor had ignited. For 
a moment he was daunted. Then, sud¬ 
denly sobered, he swept a muddle of heavy 
books from the counter, kicked them on to 
the blazing pile, and so extinguished it. 
The whole thing was done and over in a few 
seconds ; and then he was leaning breath¬ 
lessly against the wall, fanning the smoke 
away from his face with nerveless hands, 
whilst the sweat streamed down his forehead 
into his eyes. Little sullen 
threads of fire still ran and 
pulsed through the reeking, scat* 
tered heap. He stamped them 
out. And still fear was upon him, 
so that he turned the charred 
fragments over and over with his 
toe until not a spark remained. 

Then he crept back into his 
parlour, utterly spent, and sat 
down heavily and rested his head 
on his hands. 

He was a moody, silent man 
for the rest of that evening. 

About nine o'clock his son 
Jance came lounging in — the 
son whom he loved even better 
than he loved gin; the son who 
had always been at once the pride 
and the plague of the old man's 
life. He was a boy some twelve 
or thirteen years old, big and 
strong and not ill-looking, though 

Digitized by GoOgl 1 


of a dour, sullen countenance, His looks 
did not belie his nature. To use a homely 
phrase, there was no doing anything with 
Master Lance, 

He had had more chances than usually 
fall to the lot of boys of his class and 
he had abused them all. He was not 
inherently bad, but idle and feckless. 
He hated the constraint and discipline of 
lessons and study. Twice his father had 
sent him to decent schools in the country in 
the hope of weaning him from his growing 
love of the loose life of the streets. From 
the first school he had been expelled, after 
only a few weeks’ sojourn, on the score of 
gross and incorrigible insubordination. From 
the second school, which was in sterner hands, 
he had run away; had come climbing into 
the house by way of a back window in the 
dead of night and stolen softly to his bedroom, 
where he was discovered next morning. Nor 
could bis father, either by force or persuasion, 
induce him to return to the school. In vain 
he stormed and wheedled, threatened and 
pleaded. The hoy listened, scowling, in 
stubborn silence. And the old man, his 
will sapped by self-indulgence, his parental 
authority undermined by the example of his 
own disreputable life, had been forced to 
give up the struggle from sheer weariness of 
spirit. So it came about that young Lance 






THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


216 


Mounsey got into the habit of loafing away 
his days, and was fast by way of becoming 
an idle wastrel. 

Bat tonight the old man, instead of chid¬ 
ing the boy as be had intended, merely coni’ 
manded him straightway to bed. 

It was some days later that he surprised 
loanee at the breakfast-table by once more 
broaching to him the subject of his educa¬ 
tion. 

41 Tomorrow,” said he, speaking abruptly 
after a lengthy silence between them, “ your 
old master is coming to take you back to 
school again. I have given him explicit 
instructions to keep you well under watch 

and ward this time. I have told him- 

The boy mumbled unintelligibly. “ Not 
a word ! ” his father exclaimed. “ You 
go. I have been weak. But I am deter¬ 
mined now. You go. Once for all, under¬ 
stand that And if you attempt to escape 
again, or if you——" 

“ I s ha* n't go,” said the boy. 

But on the morrow a stern-faced man 
stalked into the shop and claimed Lance 
with such an air of implacable resolution 
that the boy was cowed at last. 

u I shall not go,” said he, nevertheless. 

His old schoolmaster, having had his 
instructions, did not deign to argue or 
coax. He went to the door of the shop 
and beckoned. Two stalwart young men 
came in answer to the summons and laid 
strong hands on 
Lance. 

“ Don’t hurt 
him ! " cried the 
father, whilst the 
boy kicked and 
struggled in a 
puny fury of 
rage. 

44 Mr. Moniv 
sey,” said the 
schoolmaster, 

“pray remember 
our compact. 

The boy comes 
to me to be 
dealt with as I 
see fit, or he does 
not come at all 
I must have the 
absolute discre¬ 
tion you pro¬ 
mised me.” 

"Yes—yes, I 
know. Quite 
right,” stam¬ 


mered the father, “ But—he is my only 

one,” 

Lance, finding his struggles unavailing, 
was suddenly still. The flash of anger died 
from his face. But he glared at his father 
fiercely and bared his teeth in a defiant 
sneer, 

“ They’ll not keep me,” he muttered. “ I’ll 
run away as I did before. You see if I 
don’t,” 

The father’s face twitched painfully. He 
approached his son. 

“ Lance,” said he, gently, “it is for your 
own good I am sending you away. You 
have brought it on yourself. You must 
learn — if you are to make your way 
in the world.” His voice grew unsteady. 
“Good-bye, my son. Obey this gentleman 
and he will be kind to you. You will, of 
course, not be unnecessarily harsh,” he 
added, turning an imploring face to the 
schoolmaster. 

“ You know my methods,” was the curt 
reply. “I alter them in favour of none of 
my charges. You have put the boy in my 
hands. I will take him under certain con¬ 
ditions, which you know as well as I do. If 
you have altered your mind——” 

“No, no!” wailed the unhappy father. 
“But take him away, please, at once. I canV 
bear to see him so roughly handled. Won't 
you say good-bye to me, Lance ? ” 

“ No,” snarled the boy. “ I hate you ! ” 



4 WON’T YOU SAY i;OOD-liVB^TO|3llE, ' 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





THE INCENDIARY 


217 


II. 

He went away, and the father was left 
alone. He would have realized his loneli¬ 
ness the more acutely, perhaps, but the two 
days that followed the boy’s departure were 
unusually busy ones for him. The idea 
which the small conflagration in the shop 
had suggested to him was full-grown now 
and had become a set purpose. He made 
his preparations diligently. First, he bought 
some gallons of paraffin oil—not from the 
shop at the corner, however; that would 
have been too transparent. No ; he travelled 
afar late at night, and came slinking back 
under cover of the dark with his heavy cans. 
He poured the oil on the wooden stairs ; 
soaked some scores of the books in it; 
dashed it on dusty curtains, on bedclothes 
and hangings ; made libations with it on the 
bare flooring, and covered the puddles with 
a loose litter of newspapers and magazines. 
In the repairing of old books he was wont to 
use a kind of coarse muslin. He had a large 
stock of this flimsy stuff in the house, tightly 
rolled on pieces of board. He draped the 
walls with yards on yards of this muslin, 
laid trails of it from parlour to attic, 
winding it about the banisters, stretch¬ 
ing it in loosely-twisted coils from one 
piece of furniture to another. All day 
he toiled in the empty, resounding house, 
exploring disused rooms that he had well- 
nigh forgotten the existence of. And at the 
end of the second day the fell work was 
done. 

He surveyed his elaborate arrangements 
and was satisfied. His plans seemed to him 
masterly in their completeness. He had 
got the boy out of the way into a place of 
safety. The fire, once started, would spread 
with immitigable rapidity in that old, dry, 
worm-eaten dwelling ; long before the engines 
could possibly arrive all the evidences of his 
crime would be effectually destroyed. There 
was nobody to pry on his proceedings, 
nobody to suspect his integrity. He had 
been insured many years; he owed no large 
sums in the neighbourhood. Nobody but 
himself had even an inkling that he stood 
on the brink of ruin—nobody need ever 
know that circumstance now. But the 
thing that pleased him most, by reason of its 
consummate cleverness, was a cunning piece 
of acting performed by him that day. 

A neighbour had called with a small 
commission. 

“Smell o’ paraffin !” exclaimed the neigh¬ 
bour, sniffing. 

Old Mounsey leered across the counter, 

VoL juiv.—28 

* o 


swaying to and fro. “ Just upset a lamp- 
filling it,” said he. 

“ Catch the house a-fire one o’ these days,” 
the neighbour warned him. 

“ Not me,” old Mounsey hiccoughed. 

“ Drunken beast! ” the neighbour re¬ 
marked, quite audibly, as he quitted the 
shop. 

Old Mounsey chuckled. 

But he was not chuckling as he descended 
the stairs in the small hours of the following 
morning. His face was pallid and damp ; his 
limbs quaked. He stood among his books 
in the dark shop, listening eagerly to a distant, 
faint crackle that sounded from above. He 
had doffed his clothes, wore only slippers and 
a pair of trousers in addition to his nightshirt. 
But he dared not stir yet from the place, 
ardently as he longed to escape from the 
growing peril overhead. He must wait until 
the fire got a firm hold on the timbers. To 
raise the alarm too soon would be to bring 
the neighbours rushing in ; his infamy would 
be at once discovered. 

It was eerie work, though, to cower and 
shiver in that darkened shop, knowing what 
he did of what was happening upstairs. He 
had seen the little blue flames running jerkily 
hither and thither; had heard the dull, 
muffled report of the wind-touched blaze that 
had sprung up near the landing-window as 
he came hurrying down. He listened, and 
was so deadly afraid he could hardly keep 
his balance. 

Outside, a wayfarer passed with erratic 
tread—some roysterer who hummed a merry 
tune on his homeward way. Was any glare 
yet visible in the street? He could overhear 
the pumping of his own heart’s blood. The 
fevered thoughts rioting in his brain seemed 
almost articulate. Something fell on the 
floor above with a loud clatter. There was 
a slow, rending sound—the ante room door 
had slipped from its rusty hinges; he had 
reckoned they would not long withstand the 
heat. Dared he raise the alarm yet ? 

On the glass panels of the parlour-door a 
tremulous, rosy gleam was playing now. 
That was caused by the draught from the 
yard as it fanned the smouldering muslin on 
the kitchen stair-rail. 

Crack ! Crack ! Crack ! 

The fire was kindling apace. 

All his impulse was to escape pell-mell 
into the street. But he must not yield to 
panic. He must wait a little longer. He 
put an iron hand of restraint upon himself. 

His thoughts ticked fast. 

Now it seemed to him that his elaborate 

original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


2 1 S 


preparations were but clumsy devices after 
alL What if the fire presently died out 
altogether? What if they found that rotten 
woodwork still soused in oil and dripping 
wet, untouched by the blaze ?—the muslin, 
too, so ingeniously draped and entwined, 
with never so much as a scorch upon it? 
He called to mind one hasty tangle that he 
had woven between the cellar and the 
scullery—the scullery had a stone floor— 
they would find him out. He wiped his 
forehead with a cold, clammy hand. 

A sudden fierce roar rent the purring 
silence. A broad, pale flare lit up the shop, 
burst, and a hundred living tongues of flame 
went dancing across the floor, writhing up the 
walls to the ceiling. 

He shrieked, fumbled at the door-fasten¬ 
ings, and fled into the street. 

IIL 

At the opening of the door a gust of cold, 
brisk air streamed in, fanning the fire to fury. 


A cloud of smoke, riddled with sparks and 
thickly shot with flickering forks of flame, 
billowed out behind him into the street— 
a street so dark, after the dazzle of light 
within, that old Mounsey felt as if he had 
been smitten blind. He tottered forward, 
tripped on the kerb, and rolled into the 
road. There, for a moment, he lay half- 
stunned, sprawling on the damp earth. 

He rose, trembling, mechanically brushed 
the dirt from his hands, and staggered to the 
opposite pavement. Then he turned and 
surveyed the red ruin he had wrought. 

There was little display of fire as yet \ but 
black, rolling columns went pouring up, and 
all the windows showed as caverns filled 
with a hollow, fluctuating flare. He stood 
as one transfixed, unable to stir, listening to 
the roar of the flames and the crackling of the 
blazing beams. His wide eyes pringled and 
watered in the driving reek. 

Slowly he grew conscious of a gathering 
tumult in the street. 

Windows were pushed up with rude 
violence. There was a continuous 
drawing of bolts, a flinging 
open of doors. He heard 
many voices mingled in 
startled inquiry. Children 
whimpered, and their 
mothers soothed them in 
low, crooning tones. 

Someone clutched the 
old man's elbow, and be 
saw that he was surrounded 
by an eager, questioning 
crowd. But the confusion 
of tongues was so great he 
could not make out what 
was said to him. He 
cowered before the rabble 
in vague affright. 

“ Poor old man ! ” said a 
woman. 

After that it seemed to 
him that but another mo¬ 
ment passed, and then in 
an instant the street was 
thickly thronged. He was 
bandied about from hand 
to hand, his thoughts spin¬ 
ning wildly as the thoughts 
or one in delirium. At last 
lie found refuge on a door¬ 
step, where he sank down, 
gasping and panting, his 
cheek against some cold 
iron railings. 

A man with a rumpled 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






THE INCENDIARY. 


219 


head came out and offered him a glass of 
water. But even as he stretched forth 
his hand to take it he was suddenly 
aware of a swift change in the spirit of the 
crowd. 

Hitherto the general feeling had been one 
of mere vulgar delight in a sensational 
spectacle. That feeling was now swept 
away by the inrush of a new mood— 
a mood so poignantly acute with emotion 
he could not but share in its intensity, 
stunned as his faculties were. He strove 
dully to understand the mystery of this 
change. He gazed about, looked haggardly 
from face to face, tried to catch what the 
people were saying. He saw no sign of 
menace, such as he dreaded to see, in any 
of the countenances turned toward him, but 
only an expression of pitying horror. Clamant 
voices, that had lately been raised in un¬ 
meaning shouts, were abruptly subdued to a 
low, inarticulate murmur. 

He wrung his hands in a frenzy of name¬ 
less fear, rose to his feet, looking up. 

And as he looked up a deeper hush fell 
on the watching multitude. Shuddering 
women, with averted eyes, wailed in chorus 
piteously, and that was the only human 
sound. But before that infinitely plaintive 
outcry the dull, triumphant roaring of the 
fire seemed suddenly to tremble and wane, 
even as the darkness trembles before a 
kindling light. 

In the midst of them all the incendiary, 
every vestige of life and colour drained 
from his staring face, stood motionless and 
erect. 

His eyes were fixed on an upper window. 
There, blackly outlined against a leaping red 
glare, the figure of his son was revealed. 
Faithful to his threat, the wilful boy had 
broken bounds and returned home, as on 
that former occasion; he had got into the 
house by way of the back-yard and gone 
straightway to his own room to sleep, worn 
out by the rigours of his arduous flight. 
This was his awakening. He was leaning 
over the sill with arms passionately out¬ 
stretched. His face worked, his lips were 
moving, but terror had struck him dumb. 
At last, by a supreme effort, he wTung out a 
cry of “ Father ! ” that soared up, clear and 
shrill, above all other sounds. 

The cry seemed to snap the spell that 
bound the old man’s senses. He woke from 
his stupor of horror. He thrust through the 
thin fringe of gazers that stood between him 
and the burning house. They tried to hold 
him back, but he broke from their clutches 

Digitized by LiOOSlC 


and plunged headlong into the smoke. The 
open door of the shop engulfed him. 

Within the shop the heat at once began to 
sear his flesh, the noisome fumes to choke 
and blind him. But the wind from without 
was blowing the flames back, and the flooring, 
though it was so hot it blistered his feet 
through his thin slippers, still held firmly 
together. Through the haze he could see, 
by the fitful light beyond, the open frame¬ 
work of a door that led to the rooms above. 
He bore toward it, quivering as the drifting 
sparks flayed his face and hands, shutting 
tight his lips to keep out the oily vapour that 
stung his nostrils and eye lids. He turned 
at the door, groped through the confined 
blackness of the narrow hall, and came to the 
foot of the stairway. The muslin he had 
draped about the banisters was all shrivelled 
to filmy shreds; many of the upright spars 
were reduced to a winking red char. But 
here and there one stood intact upholding 
the handrail still. The stairs themselves, 
however, were but a glowing rottenness of 
cindered wood. He set his foot upon the 
bottom step and it crumbled, bringing down 
the whole flight in a golden rain of fire. A 
gaping chasm yawned before him, an abysmal 
gulf belching forth dust and smoke. That 
way was impassable. But he might yet reach 
the yard by way of the parlour. He remem¬ 
bered that there were level leads above the 
outhouses, just beneath the sills of the 
upper windows. He groped through the 
fire-lit fog into the stone-paved scullery. 
The clothes dropped in tinder from his 
limbs; his fingers were pared of skin to 
the very bone; his singed hair blistered his 
scalp. The dry heat scorched his tortured 
flesh and cracked his lips. The smoke and 
dust filled his parched throat so that he could 
scarcely breathe. Falling beams broke in a 
dust of red embers on his devoted head. Once 
he fell headlong over a rafter underfoot 
and came down heavily, cutting his naked 
shoulder against a jagged door-jamb. But 
he did win to the open yard at last, blackened 
and bruised and bleeding, his eye-balls prick¬ 
ing in his head, his senses almost gone. He 
drew in a sweet draught of air—sweet after 
the atmosphere of the house, despite the soot- 
motes and the sparks with which it was heavy- 
laden. There was a crazy ladder at the 
bottom of the yard. He found it, though all 
things had grown dim to his smarting, in¬ 
flamed vision, and propped it clumsily against 
the outer wall of the scullery. It began to slip 
the moment he set foot upon it. But so swiftly 
did he swarm up its loose rungs that, though 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



2 20 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


it slanted sideways as he mounted, he was on 
the leads before it finally fell crashing into 
the yard. The window was open ; but he 
narrowly escaped following the ladder before 
he lighted on it, so dense was the mantle of 
smoke that wrapped the walls about 

“Lance, I’m coming!” he tried to call 
out; hut could utter no sound. 

A monstrous, curling flower of flame still 
intervened between him and the bedroom. 
He covered his face with his lorn hands 
and passed through the very heart of it. He 
blessed the heat that had stripped the scanty 
garments from his limbs; the fire might 
scorch and blister his naked flesh, but it 
could not cling about and follow him as 
it would have done had he been fully 
clothed. 

The door of the bedroom was shut. He 
burst it open. Within, the smoke w*as dense 
and pungent, but there was little fire—only 
one blazing hollow near 
the wall where a rafter 
had given way. Again 
he endeavoured to call 
out ; in vain. His strength 
was well-nigh spent. He 
sank slowly 
on his hands 
and knees and 
fumbled his 
way across the 
room toward 
the square of 
paler gloom 
that marked 
where the win- 
dow lay. There, 
prostrate on 
the floor, he 
found his son. 



Dizzily he crooked one arm over the 
sill and so raised the body up + It stirred 
feebly against his bare breast, His heart 
throbbed. New vigour came to him. Twice 
he nearly gained his feet, and twice he 
failed and fell back again. At the third 
attempt he was successful But his brain 
was swimming. Sight and sense alike were 
almost gone. 

Into the mist of his clogged btain a faint, 
glad sound was borne. His dying eyes, 
looking up, caught a filmy glimpse of a shin¬ 
ing helmet. He thought it was the helmet 
of an angel of the Lord, Two strong hands 
reached down from Heaven and caught up 
his precious burden into safety. But no dull 
echo of the cheer that arose from the crowd 
below', as the fireman descended the ladder 
with the still living form of the boy, was ever 
fated to sound in the ears of the dead father. 
He fell with the roof upon him, and was 

buried in the 
fiery ruins. 

They raised 
a carved white 
stone to bis 
memory. But 
perhaps the 
blackened 
walls of the 
house, within 
which they 
found his 
body, were a 
litter memo- 
r I a 1 to the 
manner of his 
death than 
all the splen¬ 
dours of his 
marble tomb. 


4 RIIIILV ME 


CKQOkEU ONE A fiSI flVpH TQri§Lrf3l f I'D ITl 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



Seaside Pictures. 



places find accommodation during 
the season. It is evident from our 
next photo*, sent to us by Mr* 
R. S. Archer, Craigleith, Lowwood 
Road, Birkenhead, that the diffi¬ 
culty is solved at Llandudno by 
utilizing the bathing-machines, the 
one in question being ct for $5 
ladies.” 

This crab was found upon the 
beach at Seabrook, Hythe, and 
shows upon its back a very good 
representation of the human face. 
The features are not only outlined 
upon the crab's shell, but the nose L 
and lips stand out, while the mouth 


A HAND-FA | KV. 



E will commence this article, which 
is designed to set before the reader 
a remarkable collection of quaint 
and curious seaside pictures, with 
one which can only by a kind of 
“ bull lr be called a seaside picture at all, as 
it was, in fact, taken on the shore of a lake* 
‘‘This idea was conceived,” says Mr. H* C 
Brewer, Clinton, Out*, Canada, "and the 
photograph taken by my son Hugh, aged 
thirteen years old, on the beach at Bayfield, 
a summer resort on the shore of Lake Huron, 
Ontario, Canada, ten miles from the town of 
Clinton, where we reside* The picture shows 
his sister buried up to her neck in sand.” 

It is frequently a matter of wonder as to 
where all the visitors to fashionable watering. 




ladies 

sarah akooKES 


A CRABBED EXPRESSION* 


and eyes are indented fairly deeply. 
The crab was only pinned upon a 
board in the same position in which 
it died, and has not been posed in any 
way* One lady friend of the contributor 
declares it is a woman’s face, and cer¬ 
tainly the position of one claw does 
suggest the setting right of a refractory 
hairpin. The shell is of pale pink 
colour, and the indentations are lined 
in white, which gives a more natural 
appearance in the actual thing than 
the photograph suggests. The photo, 
is by Mr* W. W. G lienee, of Seabrook, 
and was contributed by Mr. J. E. 
franklin^ .^osplyn House, Seabrook, 

W/ERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










222 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



A rilOTUURAI'j lEU's LITT LE JUKH- 


The two photographs here reproduced were 
taken by a friend of the gentlemen portrayed. 
After the first photo* had been taken he 
perceived a big wave approaching and imme¬ 
diately asked them to wait while he took 
another At the critical moment he released 
the shutter, and the result of his little joke is 
here strikingly shown. The sender, who 
prefers to be known only by initials, is 
H. J. B,, u Glenville,” Glengariff Road, Sea 
Point, Cape Town. 

At two o'clock on the morning of April 
16th, during a strong gale and thick weather, 
a steamer stranded on the coast of the Sea 
of Marmora. Her captain naturally wished to 
communicate with 
the shore in order to 
send for assistance, 
but owing to the 
darkness and the 
heavy seas it was 
considered unsafe 
to attempt doing so 
by boat. At day¬ 
break, however, 
what was the aston¬ 
ishment of the crew 
to discover that 
they were right 
alongside the end 
of a small wooden 
jeLty which the 
vessel in stranding 
had actually 
touched, but not 
damaged in the 
slightest. A rope 


ladder was promptly lowered, and one of 
the officers was sent on shore to the nearest 
village to wire to the vessel's agent at Con¬ 
stantinople* Salvage steamers soon arrived, 
and the vessel was refloated on the following 
day, after 400 tons of cargo had been thrown 
overboard. Her position was now very 
serious, and there was great danger of her 
becoming a total wreck owing to the waves 
causing her to bump heavily on the stony 
bottom. But even if that had occurred, the 
crew would have found no difficulty in saving 
their lives and property by means of the jetty 
alongside of which their vessel had stranded. 
The steamer was the Handtrs^ of Antwerp, 
bound from 1 brail for Salonica. 















SEASIDE PICTURES. 


22 3 




A CARVES SEA'SIIKLL 


Our next photograph depicts an extremely 
novel method of carving, and speaks volumes 
for the patience and skill of 
the operator* The writing 
is executed in relief, each 
line and letter being beauti¬ 
fully legible, in spite of the 
fact that it is over half a 
century old and that the 
shell was for some years a 
plaything in our contributor’s 
family. It is the work of an 
Italian cameo-cutter, a pro¬ 
fession by no means over¬ 
crowded, on account of the 
high order of precision and 
artistic taste necessary in 
such a calling* This photo¬ 
graph was sent by Mrs. 

Williams, Honor Oak 
Park, S.E* 


Ocean beach below the celebrated Cliff 
House and Seal Rocks, near the entrance to 
the Golden Gate of San Francisco’s great 
harbour. Almost a quarter of a century ago 
the big barque King Philip was driven ashore 
in a storm, and beached far above the waves 
by an unusually high tide. She had sailed 
from her last port on a Friday, the sailors’ 
hoodoo day, and had been completely 
wrecked on a Friday. More than twenty-four 
years later the schooner Reporter, plying 
between the same ports as the King Philip 
had been doing, and also engaged in the 
lumber trade, sailed from her last port on a 
Friday, and was completely wrecked on 
March 13th, to complete the ill-omened 
combination of sailors’ superstitions. For 
weeks she lay with a broken back, a helpless 
thing, more than a hundred yards out in the 
combing breakers. Then, one night, she 
mysteriously rose on some mighty swell, and 


A DRAWING IK SAN Ur 



The accompanying photograph illustrates came in and settled precisely within the ribs 
two remarkable shipwrecks on the Pacific of the King Philip, bow within bow and stern 

within stern, as nicely as 
though men and machinery 
had placed her there within 
the wonderful coffin.—Sent 
by Mr* Archie Rice, San 
i Francisco. 


The above photograph, 
for which we have to thank 
Mr. A. Brandon, Redfields, 
Winchfield, Hants, is of a 
drawing in the sand, exe¬ 
cuted by a poor cripple with 
a kniTe curved like a scythe* 
He stated that it took him 

“ about an hour and a quarter 

Origmarfrom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


TWO nEMAKhiAHLE WRECKS. 
















THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


124 


to finish. The inscriptions run thus : Kindly 
Help a Poor Cripple (all my own work)/' 
and underneath the pots of flowers* “ Three 
Pots a Shilling/’ and beneath the castle, 
u Hawarden Castle, Home of the late W. E. 
Gladstone/' 

Here is a necklace consisting of forty- 
one stones, graduated 
according to their size and 
threaded on a cord. As, 
however* it weighs 7Jb., it 
is hardly convenient as a 
lady’s adornment. The 
stones are very curious, 
owing to the fact that the 
perforations through them 
have been caused by the 
action of the sea and the 
contact with sand and 
sharp pieces of flint It 
might seem that picking 
up so many of these 
natural beads on the beach 
was like looking for a 
blacksmith’s shop in Venice, 
yet they were gathered in¬ 
side of two hours on the 
shore at Hastings, No 
doubt our readers who set 
themselves the task will be 
as successful as the gentle¬ 
man who sends us the 
photograph, Mr. V. H. Woolrich, Pittsburg, 
Pa., U.S.A. 

The article in a recent number of The 
Strand on 11 Sailing on Land" has called 
to mind an amusement which was once 
common in Southport, viz, : sand yachting. 
The local name of the Southport sail- 
carriages was “ Flying Dutchmen/’ and they 


might be described as fishing-boats with flat 
bottoms, mounted on four wheels. The 
accompanying illustrations will show what 
they looked like. In the first there is a view 
of a Flying Dutchman with sails furled, and 
in the second the sails are spread ready for a 
run. Photographs of a Flying Dutchman are 
extremely rare, and even among men who 
owned these boats there is 
scarcely one to be found. 
With a fine stretch of sand 
in front of the Promenade, 
Southport was an ideal 
place for the use of these 
boats, though it was never 
professed that they were 
capable of anything like 
the speed mentioned in the 
article in The Strand. 
True, they possessed a 
much greater sail area 
than the Californian boat* 
but it was not considered 
advisable to run much more 
than a mile in one direc¬ 
tion, and so the speed which 
they might have attained on 
a long run was never tested. 
Usually they would go at 
the rate of eight miles an 
hour, and the trip was ex¬ 
hilarating enough for the 
ordinary passenger even at 
that speed, especially when, with a dexterous 
turn of the rudder and a shifting of the sails, 
the boat was instantly put about and the 
return journey was commenced. There w is 
method in these short runs, for the charge 
was similar to that of a donkey ride- three¬ 
pence—and on a breezy day the owner would 
make a very good day’s wage for himself and 
his assistant. Harry Furniss, in his famous 



















SEASIDE PICTURES*. 


225 




it no more, nor will do, unless some indi¬ 
vidual of a speculative turn of mind and a 
desire to preserve some of the local colour- 
ing sees fit to construct other boats on the 
same lines. There is no reason why this 
should not be made a profitable investment, 
seeing that with past experience as a guide a 
comfortable, safe* and speedy boat could be 
planned. It is not a little curious that South¬ 
port's lost carriage should turn up again in 
far-away California, where it is being put to 
practical use, and where its designers are able 
to get such a u good run for their money.” 
So writes Mr. J. S, Dick in, of Southport. 

The form here reproduced, it will be 
observed, was thrown overboard from the 
P. and O. steamship Victoria , on July 30th, 
between St Helena and Ascension 
Island. The following report was issued at the 
Sydney Observatory on March 24th, 1899: 
11 This paper was found in Mexico and sent 
by the Mexican Consul at Galveston, Texas, 
to Sir Julian Fauncefote, British Represen¬ 
tative ; by him it was sent to the Marquis of 
Salisbury, K.G., and by him to the C i over nor 
of N.S.W. ; he sent it to Mr. Brunker, Chief 
Secretary, arid he sent it on to the Premier ; 
thence it went to the Minister for Public 
Instruction, and thence to me. It was found 
in the Laguna Madre, State of Tamaulipas, 
Mexico, date not given, — (Signed) H. C 
Russell” It is estimated that up to the time 
it was found it had travelled about 6,300 
miles in 850 days. 

Our last photo, represents the humorous 
aspect of the subject of this article. It 
depicts cave-dwellers (Troglodytes Gregor it) 
recently 41 shot ” on the coast of Wales, as 
Mr. F, Gregory Jones, 5, Waterford Road, 
Qxton, Cheshire, informs us. 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


KOUNU IM A BOTTLE. 


picture ot Southport sands, published in 
Punch in October, 1891, showed, among other 
things peculiar to Southport, a couple of Flying 
Dutchmen careering along before a strong 
wind. So strong, in fact, was the wind that 
several of the passengers were being blown 
bodily into space, and where they would land 
was quite problematical Just at that time 
the Flying Dutchmen were falling rapidly 
into disuse. The first marine lake had been 
constructed, and this rather 
limited the area over which 
they could perform their 
evolutions, A year or two 
later the second marine lake 
absorbed another slice of the 
playground, and finally, when 
the two lakes were joined and 
the marine drive was con¬ 
structed, the doom of the 
Flying Dutchmen was sealed. 

For several years the body of 
one of the old bonis was to 
be seen within the marine 
drive enclosure close by the 
pier, but it has now vanished 
and the place thereof knows 

VqI. xsiv.— 29 . 


ti/ff s _ 

State uf Wind 
State Sett 
Skip going 
Ship going to 
j Signature 


Tiiis H Intended fata thrown at km. 

'M* t tint wfcm found it will tarre tfe-fni!**:*■ 
the diimiuftwf the ortnh mmvutf fftwi&fj* 








HE others were “kept in.” 
Only Robert was allowed to 
go out 11 to get something*” 
This, of course, was a wish 
from the sand-fairy. There 
was no time to arrange any¬ 
thing with the others before he went, and 
when he had found the farry he found also 
that he bad no ideas. So at last he said :—' 

“ Look here, can’t yon let the oLhers have 
a wish without their coming here for it ? 
Just make it come true, whatever they wish 
in the house.” 

The psammead *aid “ Yes.” And Robert 
tore home, full of sudden anxiousness. 
Because, of course, the others woukin r t 
know, and they would very likely say u I 
wish it was dinner time,” or “ I wish you 
wouldn’t fidget so,” without knowing that it 
would corne true, and then a whole day's 
wish would be wasted. 

He ran as last as he could, but when he 
turned the comer that ought to have brought 
him within sight of the ornamental ironwork 
on the top of the house he stopped short* 
There was no house, the garden railings were 
gone, and, yes -the others had wished — 
without any doubt they had. And they must 
have wished that they lived in a castle. For 

Digitized by Google 


there the castle stood, black and stately and 
very tall and broad, with battlements and 
shot windows and eight great towers^ and 
where the garden and the orchard had been 
there were white things dotted. 

Robert walked slowly on, and as he got 
nearer he saw that these were tents and men 
in armour were walking about among the 
tents—crowds and crowds of them. 

“ Oh, crikey 1 ” said Robert, fervently. 
“ They have / They've wished for a castle 
and its being besieged ! It's just like that 
sand-fairy. I wish we’d never seen the beastly 
thing I ” 

Two men in steel caps were coming to¬ 
wards him. They had high brown boots on 
their long legs, and they came towards him 
with such great strides that Robert remem¬ 
bered the shortness of his own legs and did 
not run away. He knew it would be useless 
to himself, and he feared it might be irritat¬ 
ing to the foe. So he stood quite still, and 
the two men seemed quite pleased with him. 

" By my hahdome," said one, “a brave 
varlet this.” 

Robert felt pleased at being called brave, 
and somehow it made him feet brave. He 
passed over the “varlet” It was the way 
people talked in historical romances for the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













THE BESIEGED CASTLE. 


227 


young, he knew, and it was evidently not 
meant for rudeness. He only hoped he 
would be able to understand what they said 
to him. • He had not been always able to 
quite follow tbe conversations in the historical 
romances for the young. 

“ His garb is strange,” said the other. 
“Some outlandish treachery, belike.” 

“ Say, lad, what brings thee hither ? ” 

Robert knew this meant, “Now, then, 
youngster, what are you up to here, eh ? ” so 
he said :— 

“If you please, I want to go home.” 

“ Go, then ! ” said the man in the longest 
boots ; “ none hindereth and naught lets us 
to follow. Zooks,” he added, in a cautious 
undertone, “ I misdoubt me but he beareth 
tidings to the besieged.” 

“Where is thy home, young knave?” 
inquired the man with the largest steel cap. 

“ Over there,” said Robert, and directly he 
had said it he knew he ought to have 
said “ Yonder ! ” 

“ Ha! sayest so,” rejoined the longest 
boots; “ come hither, boy. This is 
matter for our leader.” 

And to the leader Robert was 
dragged forthwith—by the reluctant 
ear. 

The leader was the most glorious 
creature Robert had ever seen. He 
had armour, and a helmet, and a 
horse, and a crest and feathers, and 
a shield, and a lance, and a sword. 

His armour and his weapons were 
all, I am almost sure, of quite different 
periods. The leader was exactly like 
the pictures Robert had so often 
admired in the historical romances. 

The shield was thirteenth cen¬ 
tury, while the sword was of the 
pattern used in the Peninsular 
War; the cuirass was of the 
time of Charles I., and the 
helmet dated from the Second 
Crusade. The arms on the 
shield were very grand — three 
red running lions on a blue 
ground—the tents were of the 
latest brand approved by the 
War Office, and the whole appearance of the 
camp, army and leader, might have been a 
shock to some. But Robert was dumb 
with admiration, and it all seemed to 
him perfectly correct, because he knew no 
more of heraldry or archaeology than the 
gifted artists who drew the pictures for 
the historical romances. The scene was 
indeed “ exactly like a picture.” He ad¬ 


mired it all so much that he felt braver than 
ever. 

“ Come hither, lad,” said the glorious 
leader, when the men in Cromwellian steel 
caps had said a few low, eager words. And 
he took off his helmet, because he could not 
see properly with it on. He had a kind face 
and long, fair hair. “ Have no fear—thou 
shalt take no scathe.” 

Robert was glad of that. He wondered 
what scathe was, and if it was nastier than the 
senna-tea which he had to take sometimes. 

“ Unfold thy tale without alarm,” said the 
leader, kindly ; “ whence comest thou, and 
what is thine intent?” 

“ My what ? ” said Robert. 



‘ROBERT WAS DRAGGED 
FORTHWITH—BY THE 
RELUCTANT EAR." 


c 


jOOQ 

o 


“What 
seekest thou 
to accom¬ 
plish? What 
is thine 
errand, that 
thou wan- 
derest here 

alone among these rough men-at-arms? 
Poor child, thy mother’s heart aches for thee 
e’en now, I’ll warrant me.” 

He wiped away a manly tear, exactly as a 
leader in an historical romance would have 
done, and said :— 

“ Fear not to speak the truth, my child ; 
thou hast naught to fear from Wulfric de 
Talbot.” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




228 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



Robert had a wild feeling that this glorious 
leader of the besieging party, being himself 
part of a wish, would be able to understand 
better than Martha, or the gipsies, or the 
policeman in Rochester, or the clergyman of 

yesterday, the 
true tale of the 
wishes and the 


one of the men-at-arms, looking at Robert, 
who went on as if he had not heard. 

u And then we wished for money treasure, 
you know—but we couldn't spend it. And 
yesterday we wished for wings and we got 
them, and we had a ripping time to bcgm 
with-” 

11 Thy speech is strange and uncouth,” said 
SirWuIfrie de Talbot u Repeat thy words 
—what hadst thou?” 

** A ripping 1 mean a jolly -no—we were 
contented with our lot, that's what 1 mean, 
only after that we got into an awful fix.” 




A 


HF lYfrxi) AWAY A M4XI.Y TF A Hr” 


psammead. The only difficulty was that he 
knew he could never remember enough 
“ quothas ” and “ beshrew mes ” and things 
like that to make his talk sound like the talk 
of a boy in an historical romance. However, 
he began boldly enough with a sentence 
straight out of “ Ralph de Courcy ; or, The 
Hoy Crusader.” He said : - 

** Gramercy for thy courtesy, fair Sir 
Knight ; the fact is, it’s like this, and I hope 
you're not in a hurry, because the story’s 
rather a breather. Father and mother are 
away, and when we were down playing in the 
sand-pits we found a psammead” 

“I cry thee mercy! A sammyadd?” said 
the Knight 

“Yes—a sort of—of fairy, or enchanter— 
yes, that’s it, an enchanter, and he said we 
could have a wish every day, and we wished 
to lie beautiful.” 

“ Thy wish was scarce granted/’ muttered 

Digitized by Google 
o 


“ What is a fix ? A fray, mayhap? ” 

“ No, not a fray. A—a—a tight place ” 
li A dungeon? Alas! for thy youthful 
fettered limbs/* said the Knight, politely. 

* 4 It wasn’t a dungeon. We just en¬ 
countered undeserved misfortunes/’ Roliert 
explained. “To-day wc are punished by not 
being allowed to go out “That’s where I 
live ”—he pointed to the castle—“ the others 
are in there, and they’re not allowed to go 
out. It's all the psammead’s— I mean the 
enchanter’s—fault. 1 wish we’d never seen 
him.” 

11 He is an enchanter of might ? ” 

“ Oh, yes —of might anti main ! ” 

“ And thou deemest that it is the spells of 
the enchanter whom thou hast angered that 
have lent strength to the besieging party/ 1 
said the gallant leader; “ but know thou that 
YVuIfric de Talbot needs no enchanter’s aid 
to lead his followers to victory.” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE BESIEGED CASTLE . 


229 


“ No, I am sure you don’t,” said Robert, 
with hasty courtesy; “ but all the same it’s 
partly his fault, but we’re roost to blame. 
You couldn’t have done anything if it hadn’t 
been for us.” 

“ How now, bold boy?” said Sir Wulfric, 
haughtily; “ thy speech is dark and scarce 
courteous. Unravel me this riddle.” 

“Oh,” said Robert, desperately, “of 
course you don’t know it, but you’re not real 
at all. You’re only here because the others 
must have been idiots enough to wish for a 
castle, and when the sun sets you’ll just 
vanish away and it’ll be all right.” 

The captain and the men-at-arms exchanged 
glances—at first pitying, and then sterner as 
the longest-booted man said :— 

“ Beware, noble my lord ; the urchin but 
feigns madness to escape from our clutches. 
Shall we not bind him ? ’’ 

“ I’m no more mad than you are,” said 
Robert, angrily; “ only I was an idiot to 
think you’d understand anything. Let me 
go—I haven’t done anything to you.” 

“ Whither ? ” asked the Knight, who 
seemed to have believed all the enchanter’s 
story till it came to bis own share in it. 
“ Whither wouldst thou wend ? ” 

“ Home, of course.” Robert pointed to 
the castle. 

“To carry news of succour? Nay.” 

“All right, then,” said Robert, struck by a 
sudden idea. “ Then let me go somewhere 
else.” His mind sought eagerly among the 
memories of the historical romance. 

“ Sir Wulfric de Talbot,” he said, slowly, 
“should think foul scorn to—to keep a 
chap—1 mean one who has done him no 
hurt—when he wants to cut off quietly—I 
mean to depart without violence.” 

“ This to my face ? Beshrew thee for a 
knave ! ” replied Sir Wulfric. Yet the appeal 
seemed to 
have gone 
home. “ But 
thou sayest 
sooth. G o 
where thou 
wilt,” he added, 
nobly, “ thou 
art free. Wulf¬ 
ric de Talbot 
warreth not - 
with babes. 

And Jakin 
here shall bear 
thee corn- 


said Robert, wildly. “ Jakin will enjoy him¬ 
self, I think. Come on, Jakin. Sir Wulfric, 
I salute thee.” 

He saluted after the modern military 
manner, and set off running to the sand¬ 
pit, Jakin’s long boots keeping up easily. 
He found the fairy. He dug it up, he 
woke it up. He implored it to give him one 
more wish. 

“ I’ve done two to-day already,” it grumbled, 
“ and one was as stiff a bit of work as ever I 
did.” 

“Oh, do, do, do, do, do! ” said Robert, 
while Jakin looked on with an expression of 
open-mouthed horror at the strange beast 
that talked and gazed with snails’ eyes at 
him. 

“ Well, what is it?” snapped the psammead, 
with cross sleepiness. 

“ I wish I was with the others,” said 
Robert. And the psammead began to swell. 
Robert lost consciousness for an instant. 
When he opened his eyes the others were 
crowding round him in a dark room, with 
thick stone walls and no furniture. 

“ We never heard you come in,” they said. 
“ How awfully jolly of you to wish it to give 
us our wish!” 

“ Of course, we understood that was what 
you’d done.” 

“ But you ought to have told us. Suppose 
we’d wished something silly ?” 

“Silly?” 
said Robert, 
very crossly, 
indeed. “ How 


pany. 

44 All 


right,- 



CiOO^it 

o 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



23 ° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


much sillier could you have been, I’d like 
to know ? You nearly settled me, I can tell 
you.” 

Then he told his story, and the others 
admitted that it certainly had been rough on 
him. And they praised his courage and 
cleverness so much that he presently got 
back his lost temper and felt braver than 
ever and consented to be captain of the 
besieged force. 

“ We haven’t done anything yet,” said 
Anthea, comfortably; “we waited for you. 
We’ve collected a lot of daggers and stones 
and we’re going to shoot at them through 
these little loopholes with the bow and arrows 
uncle gave you, and you shall have first shot.” 

“ I don’t think I’d begin,” said Robert, 
cautiously. “ You don’t know how real they 
are. They won’t attack till sunset; I heard 
Jakin say so. We can spend the day 
getting ready for the defence.” 

They explored the castle thoroughly — 
and really the day passed very pleasantly. 
It was hard to believe that there could be 
real danger. It was in the afternoon that 
they happened to be on the highest tower, 
whence they could see all round the castle, 
and could see, too, that beyond the moat 
on every side the tents of the besieging 
party were pitched. Rather uncomfortable 
shivers ran down the children’s backs as they 
saw that all the men were very busy cleaning 
or sharpening their arms, restringing their 
bows, and polishing their shields. A large 
party came along the road with horses 
dragging along the great trunk of a tree, and 
Cyril felt quite pale because he knew this 
was for a battering-ram. 

“ What a good thing we’ve got a moat,” 
he said, “and what a good thing the draw¬ 
bridge is up! I should never have known 
how to work it.” 

“Of course it would be up in a besieged 
castle.” 

“ You’d think there ought to have been 
soldiers in it, wouldn’t you?” said Robert. 

“You see, you don’t know how long it’s 
been besieged,” said Cyril, darkly. “ Per¬ 
haps most of the brave defenders were killed 
quite early in the siege and all the provisions 
eaten, and now there are only a few intrepid 
survivors—that’s us—and we are going to 
defend it to the death.” 

“ How do you begin ? Defending to the 
death, I mean ? ” asked Anthea. 

“ We ought to be heavily armed, and then 
shoot at them when they advance to the 
attack, and drop stones on them, and 
daggers.” 

Diqilized by Google 
' o 


“ They used to pour boiling lead down on 
besiegers when they got too close,” said 
Anthea. “ Father showed me the holes on 
purpose for pouring it down through at 
Bodiam Castle. And there are holes like it 
in the gate-tower here.” 

“ I think I’m glad it’s only a game. It is 
only a game, isn’t it ? ” said Jane. 

But no one had time to answer. 

For suddenly there came the loud, fierce 
cry of a trumpet. 

“You see it is real,” said Robert, “and 
they are going to attack.” 

All rushed down again to the little dark 
room over the gate-house and looked out of 
the window's. 

“ Yes,” said Robert, “ they’re all coming 
out of their tents and moving about like ants. 
There’s that Jakin dancing about where the 
bridge joins on. I wish he could see me 
put my tongue out at him ! Yah ! ” 

The others were far too pale to wish to put 
their tongues out at anybody. They looked 
at Robert with surprised respect. Anthea 
said, “ You really are brave, Robert.” 

And again the trumpet sounded. 

“Rot!” Cyril’s pallor turned to redness 
now, all in a minute. “ He’s been getting 
ready to be brave all the afternoon, and I 
wasn’t ready, that’s all. I shall be braver 
than he is in half a jiffy.” 

A trumpeter came forward to the edge of 
the moat and blew the longest and loudest 
blast they had yet heard. When the blaring 
noise had died aw'ay a man who was with 
the trumpeter shouted :— 

“What ho, within there!” And his voice 
came plainly to the garrison in the gate¬ 
house. 

“ Halloa, there!” Robert bellowed back at 
once. 

“ In the name of our Lord the King, and 
of our good Lord and trusty leader, Sir 
Wulfric de Talbot, we summon this castle 
to surrender—on pain of fire and sword and 
no quarter. Do ye surrender ? ” 

“No!” bawled Robert, “ of course we 
don’t! Never, never, never ! ” 

The man answered back :— 

“ Then your fate be on your ow f n heads.” 

“ Cheer,” said Robert, in a fierce w'hisper ; 
“cheer to show them we aren’t afraid, and rattle 
the daggers to make more noise. One, two, 
three ! Hip, hip, hooray ! Again, Hip, hip, 
hooray ! One more, Hip, hip, hooray ! ” 
The cheers were rather high and w'eak, but 
the rattle of the daggers lent them strength 
and depth. 

And as the cheers died away Robert heard 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE BESIEGED CASTLE. 


231 


feet on the stairs outside— heavy feet and the 
dank of steeL No one breathed for a 
moment. The steel and the feet went on up 
the turret stairs. Then Robert sprang softly 
to the door. He pulled off his shoes 

“Wait here,” he whispered, and 
stole quickly and softly after the boots 
and the spur clank. He peeped into 
the upper room. The man was there 
and it was Jakin, all dripping with 
moat-water, and he was 
fiddling about with the 
machinery which Robert 
felt sure worked the draw¬ 
bridge Robert banged 
the door suddenly and 
bolted it just as Jakin 
sprang to the inside of 
the door. Then he tore 
downstairs and into the 
little turret at the foot 
of the tower, where the 
biggest window was. 

“We ought to have 
defended this I ” he cried 
to the others, as they 
followed him. He was 
just in time. Another 
man had swum over and 
his fingers were 
on the window- 
ledge. Robert 
never knew how 
the man had 
managed to 
climb up out of 
the water. But 
he saw the cling¬ 
ing fingers and 
hit them as hard 
as he could with 
an iron bar that 
he caught up 
from the floor. 

The man fell with 
a plop-plash into 
the moat-water. 

In another mo¬ 
ment Robert was 
outside the little 
room, had banged 
its door, and was 
shooting home 

the enormous bolts and calling to Cyril to 
lend a hand. 

Then they stood in the arched gateway, 
breathing hard and looking at each other. 

There was a creaking above, and then some¬ 
thing rattled and shook—the pavement they 

Digitized by CiGO<?lC 

* o 



stood on seemed to tremble. The'n a crash 
told them that the drawbridge had been 
lowered to its place. 

And now the drawbridge rang and echoed 
hollowly to the hoofs 
of horses and the 
tramp of armed men. 

“Up, quick,”cried 
Robert; “ let T s drop 
things on them.” 

Even the girls were 
feeling almost brave 
now. They followed 
Robert quickly, and 
under his directions 
began to drop stones 
out through the long, 
narrow windows. 
There was a con¬ 
fused noise below 
and some groans. 

“ Oh, dear,” said An- 
tbca, putting down the 
stone she was just going 
to drop out. “ Fm afraid 
we’ve hurt somebody ! ” 
Robert caught up the 
stone in a fury. 

“ I should just hope we 
had / ” he said. “ I’d give 
something for a jolly good 
boiling kettle of lead. 
Surrender, indeed l ” 

And now came more 
tramping and a pause, and 
then the thundering thump 
of the battering-ram. And 
the little room was almost 
quite dark. 

“ We’ve held it,” cried 
Robert; “ we ivortt sur¬ 
render ! The sun must 
set in a minute. Here, 
they re all jawing under¬ 
neath again. Pity there’s 
no time to get mere 
stones ! Here, pour that 
water down on them. It’s 
no good, of course, but 
they’ll hate it.” 

“ Oh, dear,” said Jane, 
“ don’t you think we’d 
better surrender ? ” 

“ Never ! ” said Robert. “ Well have a 
parley, if you like, but we’ll never surrender. 
Oh, I’ll be a soldier when I grow up, you 
just see if I don’t. I won’t go into the 
Civil Service, whatever anyone says.” 

“ Let’s wave a handkerchief and ask for a 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE MAN FEU. WITH 
PLOP-PLASH INTO THE 
MOAT-WATER.” 














THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



parley," Jane pleaded. 44 1 don't believe the 
sun’s going to set to-night at all” 

“ Give them the water first, the brutes, 11 
said the bloodthirsty Robert So Anthea 
tilted the pot over the nearest lead-hole and 
poured. They heard a 
splash below, but no 
one below seemed to 
have felt it And again 
the ram battered the 
great door. Anthea 
paused. 

14 How idiotic!” said 
Robert, lying flat on 
the floor and putting 
one eye to the Jead- 


14 ALTHEA TILTED THE TOT OVE-M THE NEAREST LK AD-HOLE." 

hole ; 11 of course, the holes go straight down 
into the gate-house — that’s for when the 
enemy has got past the door and the port¬ 
cullis and almost all is lost. Here, hand 

me the pot-” He crawled into the three- 

cornered window-ledge in the middle of the 
wall, and taking the pot from Anthea poured 
the water out through the arrow-slit. And 
as he began to pour the noise oF the batter¬ 
ing ram and the tft tripling of the foe and 
the shouts of “Surrender : ” and “ Talbot for 
ever!” all suddenly stopped and went out 
like the snuff of a candle, the little dark 
room seemed to whirl round and turn topsy¬ 
turvy, and when the children came to them¬ 
selves, there they were, safe and sound, in 
the big front bedroom of their own house— 
llie house with the ornamental iron top to 
the roof They all crowded to the window 
and looked out The moat and the tents 

Digitized by GoO^k 


and the besieging force were gone, and there 
was the garden with its tangle of dahlias and 
marigolds and asters and late roses, and the 
spiky iron railings and the quiet white road. 

Everyone drew a deep breath. 

“ And that's all right! ” 
said, Robert; “ I told you 
so ! And I say — we 
didn't surrender, did 
we ? 11 

“ Aren't you glad now 
I wished for a castle ? 11 
asked Cyril. 

“ 1 think 1 am rt&iv" 
said Anthea, slowly. 
“ But I wouldn’t wish 
for it again, I think.” 

“ Oh, it was simply 
splendid," said Jane, un¬ 
expectedly. “ 1 wasn't 
frightened a bit” 

“Oh, 1 say!” Cyiil 
was beginning—but 
Anthea stopped him. 

11 Look here,” she said. 
“ it's just come into my 
head. This is the very 
first thing we've wished 
for that hasn’t got us into 
a row. And there hasn't 
been the least little scrap 
of a row about this. No¬ 
body’s raging downstairs, 
we're safe and sound¬ 
wave had an awfully jolly 
day—at least, not jolly 
exactly, but you know what I mean. And 
we know now how brave Robert is — and 
Cyril, too, of course,” she added, hastily, 
“ and Jane as well And we haven't got into 
a row with a single grown-up.” 

The door was opened suddenly and 
fiercely. 

“ You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” 
said the voice of Martha, and they could tell 
by her voice that she was very angry indeed ; 
“ I thought you couldn't last through the day 
without getting up to some dodgery! A 
person can't take a breath of air on the front 
door step but you must be emptying the 
wash-hand jug on to their heads! Off you 
go to bed, the lot of you, and try to get up 
better children in the morning. Now, then, 
don't let me have to tell you twice. If I 
find any of you not in bed in ten minutes 
Til let you know it, that's all A new cap 
and everything. Off you go I ” 

And off they went. And that was the end 
of the besieged castle. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






Dickens as an Artist. 

Bv Leonard W. Ltllingston, 



ICKENS’S illustrators had a 
bv no means easy Lime of it 
His requirements were exacting 
even beyond what is ordinary 
between author and artist. He 
was apt, as he himself said, 
“ to build up temples in his mind not always 
makable with hands, 11 A passage in his 
biography goes farther than that We are 
assured that the great novelist himself said 
that he was invariably disappointed in the 
illustrations. So much disappointed was he, 
according to another authority, that he would 
have preferred his books to have been 
published without them ! 

May not the true explanation of this dis¬ 


appointment be found in the three drawings 
by Dickens which accompany this article? 
His fingers itched, even though more or less 
unconsciously, to do the work himself. 

There is nothing in these sketches to 
indicate a pronounced artistic inaptitude. 
Upon some of us all the drawing-lessons in 
the world would be thrown away. These, 
crude as they are, betray no such disability. 
And as to their crudity, it should be remem¬ 
bered that they are, on the face of it, sketches 
and not finished drawings—an entirely 
different matter. 

The portfolio of any professed artist would 
yield a crop of first designs almost as 
primitive in execution as these of Dickens. 



Original from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














234 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


But I do not propose to set up that Dickens 
was a great artist, only to suggest that he was 
not wanting in the artistic sense* We are 
enabled to fix the date approximately of one 
of these sketches at least, that which includes 
“ Mr. Dibdin’s High-Mettled Racer*” 

This highly popular song of Dibdin’s was 
published in 1831, with ten illustrations by 
Robert Cruikshank. It must have enjoyed 
an uncommon vogue, which probably lasted 
for some years* The great Ducrow staged 
an equestrian entertainment entitled “The 
High-Mettled Racer ; or, the Life, Death, and 
Restoration of the Favourite Hunter/' in 
which his celebrated Hanoverian horse, 
Brigand, played the title-role* The song is 
as poor a piece of versification as Dibdin 
ever perpetrated, and he perpetrated many; 
it is, perhaps, a little difficult at this date to 
understand its more than transient popularity* 
But it was a sporting song, and if w T e are a 
nation of sportsmen now, we were still more 
so them The sketch was probably made 
between 1831 and 1837—that is, either shortly 
before or at the same time with the publica¬ 
tion of " Sketches by Boz,” 

We may at once acquit Dickens of any 
unfulfilled intention of drawing an ideal 
steed. Docs he not himself refer dis¬ 
paragingly to the animal in the description 
beneath—“ Two Miles an Hour; or, How to 
Frighten a Jackass ” ? By the way, the jackass 
is, perhaps, the least like to nature of them 
all* I am constrained to admit that at first 
sight it favours a hyena more than a 
jackass* The equestrian, too, must have bis 
joke, or it would not be Dickens* “ Veil, 
I declare,” says he, 14 nankeen breeches 
are famous for riding in*” Mr. Percy 
Fitzgerald has hinted at the probability that 
our descendants will have to read “ Pickwick ” 
with a glossary at their elbow* It is quite 
likely. And here is another proof of its 
likelihood; for evidently this was some 


subtle satire of the time on the Cockney 
equestrian and his nankeen breeches* Alas, 
that time should have so dulled the point 
of it! By the way, the artist evidently had 
in mind the last line of verse three of the 
song, which runs : “The high mettled racer’s 
a hack on the road*” 

I am inclined to think that the steed 
between the shafts is the better one* One 
need say no more of the pair behind the 
shafts except that they look “all werry jolly 
and comfortable*” The conveyance, I 
suppose, might be described as a kind— 
of a sort—of a phaeton. For myself I can 
think of Dickens in connection with only 
one conveyance, “the neatest, pwettiest, 
gwacefullest thing that ever wan upon 
wheels—painted wed, with a eweam piebald,” 
the property of Lord Mutanhed* 

The second word in the text accompany¬ 
ing the next drawing has, I must confess, 
proved somewhat puzzling* Having spent 
several hours in trying to decipher it to my 
satisfaction, I am, perforce, obliged to leave 
the final solution of the problem to the 
readers of The Strand Magazine. An 
expert in autographs, and in the Dickens 
autograph in particular, leans to the view 
that the title is “The 2 Faquirs and the 
Ducks.” True, the spelling of “fakir” varies 
a good deal, as the dictionaries witness. 
But are these gentlemen below intended for 
fakirs? I should rather suggest that they 
are Red Indians; their head - gear alone 
seems to me sufficiently convincing* 

For the rest the expression on the features 
of the one in front—we only see him in 
profile, remember—appears to be intended 
to convey the intensest indignation and 
surprise. “ And that Duck," he says, “ holds 
the Soul of my Mother.” T he face of his 
companion, on the other hand, w ears a smirk 
of cynical indifference as though he had long 
since outgrown such “a creed outworn” as 



AN,> ™ 0ri 9 inal from 

>U 8 K UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














DICKENS AS AN ARTIST 


*35 



that of the transmigration 
of souls, and had been 
merely egging on his com¬ 
rade into a theological dis¬ 
cussion. Viewed in this 
light his 41 My father in¬ 
habits that Drake” is a mere 
piece of hypocrisy. The 
miller, with his stick firmly 
planted on the ground, and 
breathing an air of defiance 
in general, is quite in¬ 
different to the doctrine of 
transmigration. “ You may 
claim their Souls” says he, 

11 But you don't do me out 
of their BodiesS 

The third and last sketch 
is, as a drawing, perhaps 
the least interesting of the 
three ; but in another sense 
it far surpasses the others in 
interest, for in the left-hand 
corner of the sketch are the 
initials of the artist They 
are a quite characteristic 
Dickens autograph, as, 
indeed, is the autograph 
throughout all three. The 
“C” and “D” of this par¬ 
ticular sketch are, however, 
especially noteworthy. The 
Cheesewring is, of course, 
well known to visitors to 
Cornwall as one oF its many 
Druidical remains. The 
name is said to he derived from the shape, 
suggesting a cheese-press. The Cheesewring 
consists of six stones superimposed one upon 
another. The top one was formerly, in all 
probability, a “ Logan ** or rocking-stone, now 
out of equipoise. The pile is about 32ft. high. 

I cannot find any trace of Dickens having 
visited Cornwall prior to the famous excur¬ 
sion in 1843, when he was accompanied by 
Clarkson Stanfield, Maclise, and Forster. 
“It was such an unexpected and continued 
attraction for us,” writes Forster, “that we 
were well into the third week of absence 
before we turned our faces homeward. Rail¬ 
ways helped us then not much, but where 
the roads were inaccessible to post-horses we 
walked.” And Dickens himself wrote to his 
friend Felton: “ Placid star of morning! 
While yet the glow of its enjoyment was 
upon me. Such a trip as we had into 
Cornwall just after Longfellow went away, 
. . . Sometimes we travelled all night, some¬ 
times all day.” It is possible that Dickens 


sketched the stone on this trip. But I am 
inclined to the belief that he did not, and 
that the three sketches were made about the 
same time. And he may well have been to 
Cornwall before. Or, again, it is not unlikely 
that the Cheesewring was copied from one of 
the many engravings of it in existence, then 
as now. 

It remains to be said that Alfred Bryan, 
the artist, whose letter accompanies the 
drawings, apart from other connection with 
Dickens and his work, himself drew a series 
of full-length studies of the principal charac¬ 
ters from Dickens. 

The photographs are directly reproduced 
from the original drawings now in the 
possession of Mr. W. T. Spencer, of 27, 
New Oxford Street, the well-known Dickens 
expert, by whose courtesy they were placed 
at the disposal of the writer for the purposes 
of this article. They are so far unique, for 
no other 1 )ickens drawings have as yet been 

discovered* 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




Curiosities* 

[We shall he glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay for such as are accepted.) 




AN ENORMOUS FLEECE, 

** Here is a photograph of an immense fleece 
of Irish wool, shorn near this town. I have photo* 
graphed it hanging on an old tTee, after the manner 
of the Golden Fleece at Colchis, and Jason (on a 
ladder) is employed in holding it in position. The 
fact that both he and his ladder are completely 
covered will give some idea of the sbe of this fleece/’ 
—‘Mr. II. W. Smith, Moulrie, Alhlone f Ireland, 

* Copyright, lQOi| by George Newncs., LimitcJ. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


change." — Mr. I!erl>ert 
Street, Bromley, Kent. 


ing, to celebrate 
the good news of the 
war being over, some 
gentlemen were seen 
throwing their silk hats 
into the air, while 
others, wishful io retain 
their own headgear, 
showed their en¬ 
thusiasm by removing 
and flinging up other 
people's hats* After 
the crowd had some* 
what dispersed the 
tattered Liles were 
taken in charge by 
the police, and are 
here shown in their 
cell under the portico 
of the Royal Ex- 
E* Grubb, iS, West 


CRICKETING KAN¬ 
GAROOS, 

“The t wo pet 
kangaroos shown here 
belong to a con¬ 
stable in Gaboollure, 
Queensland, who Inis 
trained them as 
cricketers, The photo, 
was taken by Mr. 
Ranking, one of the 
stipendiary magistrates 
of Brisbane, who 
describes them as two 
typical menders of an 
Australian eleven.” — 
Mr. W. $. Paul, Royal 
Colonial Institute, 
Northumberland 
Avenue. 


"PEACE HATS.** 

**Thc accompanying photograph represents a num¬ 
ber of hats collected by the police from the open 
space iu front of the Ivondon Royal Exchange on 
Peace Monday, June 2nd. On that morning enthu¬ 
siastic crowds blocked the streets around the 
Exchange and Mansion House, with the result that 
traffic had to be suspended for the time. Not 
content with waving flags, shouting, and sing- 






















CURIOSITIES, 


*37 




WHICH WAY IS HE GOING! 

“ Here is an extremely in¬ 
teresting optical illusion* The 
horseman in the picture appears 
to he riding in either direction. 
As a matter of fact, however, 
the photo, was taken from 
behind/*—Mr. II. C. Barton, 
20, Vanbrugh Park, Black- 
heath, S.E. 


WHEN A BALLOON BURSTS* 
“This photograph illustrates 
the bursting of a hot-air bal¬ 
loon. While the photographer 
was alx>ut to photograph this 
balloon, just before the intended 
ascent, it ruptured, emitting 
the volumes of hlack smoke 
and gas so well shown in the 
photograph. This balloon had 


been used by the aeronaut a great many times for the 
purpose of giving ascents at the various county fairs, and 
from the great number of patches one would conclude that 
Ihe huge twig had ruptured or had l^een rent many limes. 
This bursting of I he balloon occurred on the Fair grounds 
at Chagrin Falls/ 1 —Mr. Chas. J. Aldrich, M.D., dlz, 
Prospect Street, Cleveland, Ohio. 


HOW A SHAFT WENT 
THROUGH A POST. 
“This photograph shows the 
liotiom of a telegraph post 
through which a hole is pierced. This was 
done by a runaway team a month or two ago. 
One horse went each side of the post, and 
the end of the shaft came down Ijefnre 
they got to the post. The shaft went 4ft. 
through the post, and had to be pulled out 
backwards by the team. Neither of the 


and roof-lamps were formed by 
placing a strip of paper over 
the carriage body and striking 
* O 1 and * A 1 respectively in 
such a manner as to show only 
a portion of each letter in the 
drawing; {4) the dome of the 
engine is an inverted * U * ; 
(5) six brackets in different 
positions indicate steam ; (6) 
the somew hat excessive quantity 
of coal in the tender is a com¬ 
position of * dashes T and f full 
stops 1 ; and, lastly, the telegraph 
wires and posts are made of 
dots and dashes.”—Mr. Ernest 
G. Denning, 2, Dean Street* 
Cape Town* 


PICTURE TYPEWRITING. 

14 1 send you the sketch of an engine, tender, and three 
coaches drawn by myself entirely with a Remington type¬ 
writer, not a stroke of any kind being added by hand. For 
those not familiar with the typewriter, I will explain that: horses was injured, and, strange to say, the 

(1) the general outline is a continuation to various lengths shaft was not damaged in 1 he slightest degree, 

of the 1 — 1 (dash) used in underlining, the different angles but is still in use. The post is also almost 

being produced by shifting the paper in the machine ; (2) the as good as ever.”—Mr. B. L. La Roy, Cold- 

windows and buffers are inverted commas ; (3) the wheels w-ater, Qnt. 













































238 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



LUCKY FOR THE GREENHOUSE. 

11 This picture illustrates a curious accident that happened 
here recently* This tin chimney-pot, about 7ft. long, fell a 
distance of 25ft. on to the spike of the conservatory, which 
pierced it right through, not a pane of glass l>dng cracked or 
the house otherwise injured*”—Mrs. Remfry, Fir sleigh, Torquay* 


A SHATTERED SUPERSTITION* 

**There is a superstition among the cowboys of the Western 
United States that a rattlesnake will not cross a hair lariat* 
That is one of the reasons that a lariat made of hair is a prized 
possession* The plains of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and 
California are infested with rattlesnakes, and the cowboy who 
spreads his blanket for a night’s rest is liable to awaken and 
find a bedfellow in the person of a rattler, attracted by the 
warmth of his body* The cowboy wdio is fortunate enough to 
possess a hair lariat seeks the earth couch with a feeling of 
security, for he encircles his bed with coils of the hair rope, 
trusting in the efficacy of the charm to keep away hU deadly 
enemy* Not long ago a * tenderfoot ’ arrived at the ranch of a 
large cattle-owner in Arizona* He came there to study Nature 
anti the ways of the festive cowboy* lie brought his camera 
with him for purposes of his own. He heard of the superstition 
connected with the hair lariat* and expressed doubts regarding 
its effectiveness as a protector from snakes. lie determined to 
put the matter to a lest, however, so taking a couple of white 
rats he anchored them near a rattlesnake’s den as bait with which 


to coax the snakes from the rocks. Around 
the rats he coiled the hair lariat, and later, 
when the rattlers had crawled from their 
den, he bombarded them with stones* 
Then he used the camera* lie secured 
indisputable evidence that the lariat is not 
a bar to the progress of the rattlesnake*”— 
Mr. Arthur J* Burdick, 123, North Broad¬ 
way, Los Angeles, California. 


NOT A PROFESSIONAL GIANT. 

44 Edward Ikaupre, a young French 
giant, is 7ft* Min. high and weighs j6olb. 
His neck is 2ft* around, his hands from 
wrist to middle finger-lip are I2|in., his 
shoes are No* 22, and from tip to tip of 




outstretched hands he measures looin. 
The giant’s early life was spent with his 
people at Willow Bunch, North-West 
Territory* Of late years he has led (he 
life of a cowboy and ranch hand in 
Montana, where he was 1 discovered*’ 
Beaupre has never Iwcn on exhibition, 
and has no desire to be. He was of 
age January 91 h last. ITe is French, 
and speaks that language fluently. His 
people were country folks, and of 
no more than average dimensions. 
From babyhood, however, he was 
a monster* Beginning his unusual 
growth at three, in nine years he was 
6ft* 6in. high, and at seventeen had 
reached the 7ft* tin* mark* He has not 
yei ceased to grow. East year he added 
IJin. to his stature.” — Mr, M. W* 
Newl^erry, jPpess Club, San Francisco, 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















CURIOSITIES, 


239 


A CURIOUS WOODEN 
STATUE. 

14 The cedar stump shown 
in my first photo, was carved 
into the statue shown in the 
second by Mr. George Stewart, 
a patriotic Scot of seventy-six 
years of age, at Bonnie Brae 
Farm, South Saanich, B,C. t 
and represents Sir William 
Wallace, the hero of Scotland. 
It is 6ft. 6in. in height from the 
top of the pedestal, which, 
according to tradition, was the 
height of this redoubtable 
warrior."—Mr. L W. Stewart, 
P.G, Box 480, Victoria, B.C. 


M LEACC * 

“The accompanying photo¬ 
graph is of a restaurant at Felix- 




l>etier advertisement to him than could have 
done the most elaborate example of the sign- 
painter’s talent.” — Mr. K. P. Walker, King's 
School, Canterbury. 


PING-PONG AT ITS GREATEST HEIGHT. 

“ This photograph, taken in mid-winter at the 
highest point in His Majesty's home domains, shows 
two of the meteorologists enjoying a game of ping’ 
pong alongside the observatory on the summit of 
Ben Nevis. The photo, was taken when the snow 
reached an average depth of 7ft., and during the 
progress of the game the temperature was os low os 
i8deg. Fahr. The table, composed as it was of a 
solid block of snow, covered with baize, served its 
purpose admirably, and the game, if not played 
under the most favourable climatic conditions, can at 
least boast of * high ’ scoring.”—Mr. Robert H. 
Maedougall, Ben Nevis Observatory. 


stowe, owned by a certain Mr. 
Stokes, who may be seen in the 
picture enjoying his morning 
paper outside his establishment. 
Being an enterprising man, he 
painted the words on the side of 
the house himself. For over a 
year past the mysterious word 
4 leacc 1 was a source of wonder 
to the inhabitants and visitors of 
Felixstowe. Determined, how¬ 
ever, to solve the problem, I way¬ 
laid the youthful scion of the 
house of Stokes and asked him 
the explanation. Fie replied that 
his father intended to put up 
‘cycle accommodation/ and 
had liegun in the middle, leaving 
no space between the end of 
1 cycle 1 and the beginning of 
* accommodation , 1 Apparently 
daunted by the magnitude of 
the ta.'k, and remembering the 
proverbial brevity of life, he 
relinquished it. His unfinished 
sign has, however, proved a 



’ Origin.a I from ' 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













240 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




A NOVEL SPEARING* 
TUBE, 

“The pump shown in 
the accompanying photo, 
has a double use, for in 
addition to obtaining water 
bom it our friend also uses 
it as a speaking-tube* and 
is able to carry on con¬ 
versation with his wife in 
a distant part of the 
house,” — Mr, A. M. 
Bexfield, 6, Victoria Place, 
Grosvenor, Bath, 

AN ILLUSION IN BLACK 
AND WHITE, 

14 1 send you a cutting 
from the Melbourne 
Australasian ; it is con¬ 
sidered curious in regard 
to the markings on the 


future happiness. 
The photograph 
shows Mr, Richards 
attired in the dicss. 
The teeth are so rare 
that they are ex¬ 
tremely valuable* 
being worth nearly 
ten shillings each. 
The garment shown 
is ornamented with 
1,024 of them," — 
Mr. D. A. Willey, 
Baltimore, 


it cannot I’e swept away by 
a flood and is inexpensive. 
Some care has to lie exer¬ 
cised in crossing, as one 
cannot proceed forwards in 
the usual manner, but must 
sidle across, balancing one¬ 
self by means of the third 
wire. The photograph was 
taken on the Esk, near 
Loch Lee, Glen Esk, Kin¬ 
cardineshire, Scotland,"— 
Mr. William G. Melvin, 
136, Hamilton Place, Aber 
deen. 


cow^s face and body, which clearly represent a young 
hippo calf, while the horns look like the legs of an 
acrobat turning a somersault.”—Mr, G, Chiity-Baker, 
Box 123, G- P,O.* Perth, W,A. 


A WEDDING-DRESS OF 
TEETH. 


“ Among the American 
Indians the teeth of the 
elk have a reputation for 
bringing good luck. Q. L, 
Richards, of El Reno, 
Oklahoma, has a robe or dress ornamented with over 
1,000 of the teeth, which is probably the only one 
of the kind m the United States, It is said to 
have been made nearly a century ago by squaws 
of the Cheyenne tribe, and over forty of these 
women have worn it while being married to 
the warrior of their choice, as it was supposed to bring 


A QUEER BRIDGE. 

“The accompanying photograph shows a man 

apparently walking 
on water. In 
reality he is cross¬ 
ing a special form of 
wire bridge, consist¬ 
ing of three iron or 
steel wires, two close 
together forming a 
footway, and one 
4ft. or 5ft. higher 
taking the place of 
a hand-rail. This 
bridge, which is 
specially adapted for 
small streams, has 
the advantages that 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




























Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




GENTLEMEN,’ HE SAID, ‘THIS IS A SIX-SHOOTER.” 
(Set pa S ; 247 .} 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






The Strand Magazine. 


VqL xxiv. 


SEPTEMBER, 1902- 


No, 141. 



By R. E. Vernede. 


T was only about five o'clock 
on an October afternoon, yet 
Mr. Weatherly GilUat had just 
come to the conclusion that 
he was lost. All around him 
the moors stretched, uphill 
and down, and the purple and yellow of the 
corse and heather, that had only recently 
begun to turn to an autumnal brown, 
were at this comparatively early hour 
being merged rapidly in the grey of a 
mist. Mr. (lilliat had calculated on finding 
some village or habitation before dusk, and 
the mist had turned things dusky an hour 
too early. Not that it greatly mattered. He 
was travelling at his leisure where the road 
took him, and the discovery that one could 
VoC MKiV. — 31. 

Digitized by LiOOglC 


he lost in England merely gave him a higher 
opinion of the country. He had not con¬ 
ceived it possible. 

He was a young man, slight and well- 
made, with the lazy, capable look charac¬ 
teristic of some Americans. Anyone would 
have taken him for at least as good as he 
was—an engineer on his holidays—despite 
the carelessness of his attire. That one need 
not dress on the moors was what Mr, Gilliat 
was thinking at that moment. "Suit-case at 
Clovelly," he murmured to himself, “wher¬ 
ever Clovelly may be. 1 imagine I'll strike 
some cottage hereabouts/ 1 He felt in his 
jacket pocket to make sure he hadn’t dropped 
his tooth-brush. It was there all right, mixed 
up with his revolver. The revolver was a 
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










244 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE * 


fad of Mr. Weatherly Gil Hat's, having once 
been a necessity out West. A man who 
could win a prize for revolver - shooting at 
a cowboys 1 sports has got accustomed to 
carrying a six-shooter* Mr + Gilliat hardly 
noticed his* If he had ever needed it his 
fingers could have closed on it and fired in 
about the same time os it takes most men to 
put their hands in their pockets* So far he 
had only used it to shoot a swimming vole 
from the opposite bank of a stream for the 
edification of an old world river inspector. 

He was high up on the moors when he 
decided to try and strike a cottage ; and in 
pursuance of that object he set out with long 
strides. The set of the moor was 
towards a valley hid by trees, and 
it was just under the first of the 
trees that lie caught sight of some¬ 
one ahead of him. 

" Hi !” shouted Mr* Gilliat. 

The person stopped, and he 
quickened his steps. 

"Can you tell me, now-" 

he began, and stopped himself* 

It was not a farm labourer, as 
he had imagined, but a young 
lady* Not even a dairy - maid* 

He could tell that even in the 
half light. She was very simply 
dressed and carried something in 
her hand. Under the curved 
straw hat was a very pretty face 
with an unmistakable air of dignity, 
though a little troubled perhaps* 

“Yes?” she said, inquiringly. 

“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. 

Gilliat, lifting his hat* “ 1 imagine 
I must have startled you.” 

" Not at all.” 

Dignity struggled with perturba- 
lion as she spoke. 

" I thought-” He hesitated* He 

could not very well say that lie thought 
shd was a farm hand. “ It s a poor light, 
and”—he continued^" 1 believed I might 
ask you for a direction*” 

No one can be more chivalrous in his 
manner than an American, and the girl’s 
perturbation vanished while he spoke. She 
even smiled, not being so concerned about 
her dignity. 

“ I quite understand," she said, ** 1 wish 
I could help you ; but the fact is I*m just 
beginning to think that I've lost my own way. 
I’m—I'm really very much afraid I have.” 

It came in a burst of confidence, the latter 
part of the speech, and revealed the cause of 
her anxiety. 

Digitized by GoO^lc 


u I'm most sorry," he hastened to reply, 

“ It’s dreadful, isn't it ? " she said, trying to 
make light of it. " All my own fault, too. 
But we've only just come here* My aunt 
has taken rooms at a cottage, and I came 
out to paint, but in what direction I came 
from I really don’t know." 

“It’s the moor’s fault,” said Mr. Gilliat, 
seriously; "the monotony* I might say I 
have travelled a good deal, but I’m outside 
my direction now.” 

“ Then we're both lost," she said. a Oh, 
dear ! " 

She stood there, the picture of perplexity. 
Unusually graceful perplexity, too, Mr* Gilliat 


thought, and made haste to assure her that 
there could be no possible difficulty in re¬ 
discovering her road. Perhaps she would 
permit him to make inquiries on her 
behalf. 

“ But—where ? " she said. 
u The nearest 1 muse I can strike*” 

“ It will be taking you out of your way ? '* 
Mr. Gilliat explained his circumstances. 
He had no way in particular, and in any 
event would deem it an honour if he might 
assist her. 

“ Well, you may,” she said, " if you can. 
The village I came from is called Berley, 
that I know ; but I must have walked four 
or five miles, without thinking about the 
time, before I began to paint. Whether 
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'“THUN WE'RE LOTH LOST, SHE i>Atl3u' 





AT THE SIGN OF THE THREE SNAKES . 


245 


Berley lies north or south or east or west, I 
really haven’t a notion now. I’ve been walk¬ 
ing about for nearly an hour to try and find 
someone to ask.” 

“ Have you been this way ? ” The young 
man pointed down into the valley. 

“ No.” 

“It looks as good as any other ? ” 

“ Quite.” 

“ Let us try, then.” 

They walked on together. The trees 
cleared very soon, and the prickly gorse 
began again. Exchanging names, Mr. 
Gilliat found that he was walking with Miss 
Trethewy, and that she lived in London. 
He confessed—not without pride—that he 
was an American. 

“ Then you’ve never been on these moors 
before ? ” 

“ Nothing like them. They’re prickly.” 

The gorse was very prickly, and it was 
mainly for his companion that Mr. Gilliat 
felt it. He wondered that she made so little 
fuss, and was longing to tell her so when 
they came on to a broad, rugged track. Just 
ahead of them in an angle of the valley 
stood a house. 

“ I shall be able to get back before my 
aunt is frightened, after all,” said Miss 
Trethewy, seeing it, “ if you will be kind 
enough to ask them the way.” 

“ But you must drive,” insisted the young 
man; “you’ll be losing your way again.” He 
was beginning to take a personal interest in 
the matter, and could not bear to think of 
her wandering through those prickly, desolate 
places alone. “ You will let me drive you 
back ? ” 

Miss Trethewy considered. To tell the 
truth, she would very gladly be driven, for 
she was feeling a little nervous. Besides, it 
would be ungracious to refuse, and her aunt’s 
alarm if she were later than the dinner-hour 
would be rememberable. 

“If you can get a trap,” she said, “ I think 
I should be very much obliged.” 

“ I believe I’ll go in and ask,” said Mr. 
Gilliat. 

It was not until he had made the offer that 
the American noticed the appearance of the 
house, and when he did his face fell. It hardly 
looked as if it could stable a trap, so remote 
and ramshackle was its appearance. A sign¬ 
board with the sign beaten out of it by time and 
weather proclaimed that it was an inn, the 
lettering, so far as Mr. Gilliat could figure it 
up, running to the name of “The Three 
Snakes.” But the windows were shuttered 
and the door barred, and the weedy path 

Diqitized by (. tGOoIc 
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that went along the entrance might have 
been untrodden for fifty years. 

“Nice old-world English hotel,” said Mr. 
Gilliat, thoughtfully, surveying the blank 
establishment. “Wants white-washing.” A 
lean fowl scuttled away into the gorse as he 
spoke and, somewhere at the back, a pig 
grunted mournfully. “ I believe this’ll be the 
bar.” 

He beat lustily on the worm-eaten door. 

“ Perhaps it’s uninhabited,” suggested Miss 
Trethewy. 

“ I imagine not. Heard someone sipping 
a mint-julep,” returned the American, with 
his ear to the keyhole. “ Deaf, I dare say.” 
Again he battered. There was a shuffling of 
feet inside, followed by the steps of someone 
slowly advancing to the door. 

“ No hurry,” shouted Mr. Gilliat, annoyed 
by the extreme tardiness of the approach. 
“ Don’t break your legs running. Have 
another drink first. We’re all in England.” 

He apologized to the girl for his sarcasms 
at the expense of her country, while the 
person inside fumbled at the fastenings. 

“ They are very slow here,” she admitted. 
“ Oh ! ” 

The exclamation was due to the appear¬ 
ance of the landlord. It might have been 
the curious light of the tallow candle that he 
carried in one hand which gave him so un¬ 
pleasant an appearance, but certainly it was 
enough to make her shrink back. He was 
not unlike a lean fowl himself, bald, and 
skinny-fingered, and his cheeks hung in 
pouches. He had the most rascally small 
eyes—lidless and very peering. He seemed 
to take them in at a glance, and gibbered 
some unintelligible dialect to someone 
behind him, evidently. 

“ Don’t mention it,” said Mr. Gilliat, 
affably; “ I’ll get out my dictionary next 
time I come along. But, say, mister, do you 
keep a cart ? ” 

“ What you’m w ? ant ? ” The old man 
settled himself to a kind of English. 

“That’s right,” said Mr. Gilliat, encou¬ 
ragingly. “ We want something right straight 
away. Not so much a tombstone, as you 
might be imagining from our coming here— 
though it looks a fine place for a cemet-urry— 
but a cart Got a cart ? ” 

“ We’re very anxious to drive to Berley— 
at once,” supplemented Miss Trethewy. The 
old man directed his attention from Mr. 
Gilliat, whom he did not seem to understand, 
to the girl. 

“ You’m wishing to drive t’ Berley ? ” he 
asked. “ You’re strange to thiccy parts ? ” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


546 


“That’s it/’ said Mr. Gilliat. “ Vurry 
strange. Say, have you got a cart ? ” 

“ Iss, iss,” said the old man. He shouted 
something behind him again, and motioned 
them to come in* Alone, the girl would not 
have entered for a fortune, but Mr. Gilliat’s 
ease inspired her. 

** It won’t be long, will it ?” she said, 
appealingly, as they entered. 

The landlord was sidling along ahead of 
them, the candle throwing little splashes of 


historical. Anyway, we want that trap in 
about three minutes. See ? ” 

“Iss, iss.” The old man slunk away, dis¬ 
turbed by Mr. Gilliat’s pertinacity. 

“I hope he won’t be long,” repeated Miss 
Trethewy ; “I feel perfectly frightened.” 

He consoled her jokingly* For his own 
part he thought he had never met anyone 
more charming, but that made him only the 
more anxious to effect what she wished. 
Several minutes he contrived to make pass 



SAV P HAYK YOU GOT A CART? Kr 


light on the discoloured interior. She went 
on 

“ Because this is such a horrid place* 
You—you won’t go away?” 

The American turned to her cheerfully. 

“ Not much,” he said. “ I’m sorry it’s so 
poor here. But that cart’ll be the quickest 
thing to get you home, Miss Trethewy ; I’ll 
tell him to hurry*” 

The old man had ushered them into a sort 
of bare tap-room, and he set down the 
candle on the counter. Mr* Gilliat hastened 
to offer the girl a chair, and that done he 
rounded on the landlord, who was staring at 
them 

“ Run along now and get out that four-in- 
hand. We’re strange to these parts, as you 
say, but we don’t want to get used to them. 
They ain’t picturesque enough — nothing 

Digitized by GoO^lc 


by his lively conversation, nnd at the end of 
them, seeing that she could hardly restrain 
her anxiety, he got up to go and see after the 
landlord. 

“I’ll go, too,” she said. 

“ Right.” 

Just as they had decided to make a move 
there was a noise of approaching feet outside. 
Then the door was flung open and three 
men trooped in* Behind them the scarecrow 
landlord crept along, carrying another candle* 

“Cart ready?” cried Mr. Gilliat* 

Fur answer the landlord grinned, and 
passed his light to one of the men who were 
entering. He did not come in himself, but 
pulled the door to behind them, Mr. Gilliat 
heard a key turned in the lock, but sat still. 
The girl had half risen with a little cry of 
alarm. Shu had never seen such ruffianly- 
Origmal from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






AT THE SIGN OF THE THREE SNAKES. 


247 


looking men, and she also had heard the 
scraping of the key. 

“ What is it ? ” she whispered. 

“ Can’t say,” said Mr. Gilliat; “ don’t you 
be frightened.” 

For a moment she entertained the sup¬ 
position that the young engineer might be in 
league with them—these horrible men—but 
a glance at him reassured her. He was 
sitting quite still in a la2y position, but with 
alert eyes. Still, he could do nothing to 
protect her against three assailants. * That 
they were such was pretty plain. The rear¬ 
ward man had set down the candle and stood 
with his back to the door. The other two 
were sidling along towards them. 

“ Heard if that cart’s ready ? ” Mr. 
Gilliat’s question, put in a disinterested tone, 
broke the silence. The man at the door 
gave a jeering laugh. 

“ Look here, guv’nor,” he said, “ sink the 
cart. We don’t want no mistake. Me an’ 
my mates is poor men and wants money. 
Understand me? No vi’lence needed, but 
wot you got and miss has got, you’re going to 
hand up—strite.” 

The girl shuddered all over. The man’s 
voice was so coolly menacing. She had the 
feeling that she was beyond help—in some 
alien horrible country. All at once she 
caught sight of the dress of one of them, and 
whispered to Mr. Gilliat: — 

“ They’re convicts ! They’ve broken out 
of prison ! We read of it in the papers 
coming down. One’s a murderer.” 

The American nodded. He had suspected 
something of the kind as soon as he saw 
them. 

“ They won’t hurt,” he whispered to her ; 
and then, raising his voice :— 

“ Nice place, the Three Snakes; I guess 
they called it after you.” 

He had not changed his position except 
to put his hand in his pocket. 

The spokesman of the three muttered a 
violent oath and took a step forward. 

“ No kiddin’, mate,” he said. “We ain’t 

got the time. It’s out with it, or-” He 

slipped something down from his sleeve and 
produced an iron bar. “ There’s a warder 
up there’s felt it,” he said, savagely ; “ you 
’ave yer choice.” 

“ Wal,” said Mr. Gilliat, speaking broad, 
“ I guess it’s this-” 

He fumbled in his pocket. Next moment 
there was a loud report, a yell from the man 
at the door, and the iron bar rattled on the 
floor. A stream of smoke issued from the 
American’s pocket as he sprang up. Miss 

Digitized by CiOOqIc 
* o 


Trethewy was on her feet, as pale as ivory, 
and he took her by the hand and crossed to 
the other side of the counter before the men 
had recovered from their astonishment. 

“ Stoop behind it,” he said, and she 
did so. The man who had been spokes¬ 
man was hanging on to his right arm, 
yelling horribly. The other two started to 
rush the counter. Mr. Gilliat faced them 
comfortably, with his elbow upon it. He 
had taken his revolver from his pocket, and 
eyed it lovingly. 

“ Like old times,” he murmured/ 

“ Drop ’im, boys,” said the wounded man, 
with an oath, seeing the others stop short 
before the shining barrel. 

In the moment of their hesitation Mr. 
Gilliat spoke :— 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “this is a six- 
shooter, as you may see. One of the bullets 
is fired, as our friend at the door knows. 
Subtract one from six—leaves five. There’s 
only, so far as I can see, two snakes left, and 
the landlord. If there were seven of you I 
shouldn’t advise, but out West, when I got 
first pull on a man, he generally calculated to 
put up his hands.” 

He paused, and the man at the door 
shouted out again :— 

“ Drop ’im, boys.” 

What happened next, Miss Trethewy stoop¬ 
ing in the shelter of the bar-counter could 
not quite make out. The men must have 
made a rush, for two more reports rang out 
and the smoke filled the room. She heard 
horrible cries and curses, and the voice of the 
landlord squeaking at the door, and outside a 
sound of galloping horses. As the smoke 
cleared away she saw the young man still 
lounging against the counter as before, his 
mouth set a little harder perhaps, the revolver 
still in his hand. 

“ Any more coming along ? ” he asked. 

Two of the men were supporting them¬ 
selves against the wall, and one had fallen 
flat. They made no answer. Mr. Gilliat 
raised his voice for the benefit of the landlord 
outside :— 

“ Say, mister, is that trap ready yet ? ” 

Quite suddenly the door was burst open, 
and half-a-dozen men appeared, dragging the 
landlord between them. 

“They’re policemen,” said Miss Trethewy, 
overjoyed. 

Policemen they were, and very much 
astonished to find what was going on inside. 
The inspector in charge explained to Mr. 
Gilliat that they had only just tracked the 
three men to the inn, though they had 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




24S 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


escaped from the convict prison two days 
before. 

“ Lucky we found you in time,” he said, as 
his men secured their prisoners, after a 
general explanation. 

“ Very,” said the American. “I imagine 
I’d have had to put that trap to myself if you 
hadn't struck our track. As it is, the old 
gentleman that runs the house'll put it up 
for me,” 

“We shall want him afterwards.” 

“You shall have him,” said Mr. Gilliat 

But it was after dinner-time before Miss 
Trethewy got back again to the cottage that 
her aunt had taken at Berley, so late that 
Mr* Gilliat had to accept the offer of a room 


for the night next door. He was very glad 
to, he said. The place was more historical 
than he had supposed* 

“Perhaps you will stay until you've got 
through that troublesome business of giving 
evidence at the prison ?" suggested Miss 
Trethew r y’s aunt, whose gratitude for her 
niece's rescue was almost hysterical “We 
should be so delighted—and my son, who is 
coming down.” 

Mr, Gilliat looked at the girl She had 
recovered from her paleness, and bad roses 
enough in her cheeks. He was not at all 
sure that she did not look prettier than the 
prettiest American girl he'd seen* 

“ I'd like to stay—greatly,” he said* 


Digitized by 


Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










“ Would You be an Actress ? ” 




11 If a woman 
has talent for 
the stage/' said 
Miss Lily Han¬ 
bury, “ it offers 
her, in my 
opinion, a greater oppor 
tunity than any .other call¬ 
ing for the making of an 
income* On the stage a 
woman is man's equal so 
far as her wage-earning 
capacity goes, and in a 
few conspicuous in¬ 
stances, which will readily 
occur to everyone, she 
may even be his superior. 
The same can certainly 
not he said with regard 
to other artistic profes¬ 
sions like writing or paint¬ 
ing, for women do not 
VuJ. 


comes to the 
more ordinary 
talent. 

“This con¬ 
sideration is 
certainly one of 
the reasons which in¬ 
duce me to say that were 
my time to come over 
again I should certainly 
go on the stage. Again, 
some people say that 
stage life is not com¬ 
patible with domesticity* 
I never can see why a 
woman cannot combine 
the two* There is little 
difference, to my mind, 
whether one spends the 
evening at the theatre or 
going from party to party 

MISS DOROTHEA MATRIX F. ‘ ' 

™ b ¥ EiHott m ri Q 1 n * 1 &s-« most society women 

^ UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


F you had your time over 
again, would you still elect 
to he an actress, taking into 
account your knowledge of 
the hardships, disappoint¬ 
ments, and drawbacks inci¬ 
dental to a career on the stage ? ** That was 
the question which we sought to get answered 
by the actresses whose names are familiar to 
the great body of playgoers. 


command the same returns as men—at all 
events, so early in their career* Mark, I say 
so early in their career, otherwise people will 
point to one or two conspicuous successes in 
writing hke Lucas Malet, Marie Corelli, and 
Sarah Grand, and to Rosa Bonheur in paint¬ 
ing. Painting and writing still remain, for 
the most part, man's work, and it is especially 
apparent when one leaves consideration of 
the most successful craftsmen and 


MISS Llt.Y 
HANMUKV. 

Fr* mm (i hf 
II +tt>Ju»e (t (irorc. 


MI*S MARION 
TfTHKY, 

Frrytti a Fhotn 5 jjj 
EUmtt d Fry. 
















2 5° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE ; 


do and getting home at all hours of the night 
The strain on their nerves, too, must be as 
great as the strain on the nervous system of an 
actress, and I acknowledge that that is great* 
Still, according to my experience, it is not 
always equally great Some plays make a 
demand on you throughout the run; but in 
others you get used to it, and the work thus 
becomes much easier. When I was playing 
Chorus in 4 Henry V*/ for instance, I never 
felt comfortable at all during the run, a fact 
to which the peculiar conditions under which 
I appeared no doubt contributed, for I had 
to sit or stand alone on a platform raised 
above the stage* 

41 To my mind, 
too, stage life is a 
very happy life. 

It is always a 
gratification 
to please people, 
and that gratifica¬ 
tion is essentially 
the actor's. True, 
every light in¬ 
volves a shadow, 
and against the 
pleasant things 
one has to put 
the unpleasant 
remarks when 
one doesn't suc¬ 
ceed* Still, it is 
possible to shut 
oneself away from 
some of these un¬ 
pleasant things, 
and that, in my 
opinion, is always 
desirable. I think 
that, as the foot’ 
lights throw a 
certain glamour 
over a woman 
when she is on the stage, she should not mini¬ 
mize that effect by being seen loo much off 
the stage, for that is apt to detract from her 
power over the public* The whole question 
is, however, a very delicate one. Many 
people talk about the temptations of the 
stage as being a great reason why women, if 
they had their chance over again, should not 
choose the life* For my own part I have 
been connected with the theatre since I was a 
child of fourteen* I have never had anything 
but the greatest courtesy either from those 
connected with the stage or the members of 
the audience who frequent the theatre. I 
may, therefore, be allowed to believe that 


there are no more temptations on the stage 
than there are off it*” 

lt Personally, I should say, if I had to 
choose a thousand million times over, I 
should choose the stage,” was Miss Dorothea 
Baird's characteristically enthusiastic reply* 
44 My reason is, however, not based on any 
question of success which I may have won 
as an actress, but on the enjoyment I have 
had out of the work itself. That enjoyment 
has been very great indeed. I don't think 
that the hardships of life on the stage ought 
to deter any woman from a theatrical career 

if she has an in¬ 
clination to it, 
provided she is 
fairly strong, for 
health has a great 
deal to do with 
wi t hsta n d i n g 
those hardships* 
I know in my 
own case when I 
began the strain 
knocked me up 
frightfully, but in 
time, as I grew 
stronger, 1 was 
quite able to 
overcome the 
fatigue. Similarly, 
I would not say 
that, because a 
girl did not evince 
a great deal of 
aptitude at once, 
she was neces¬ 
sarily unsuited 
to a theatrical 
career, for some 
people who have 
seemed rather 
dull at first and 
less apt than their comrades have developed 
into bigger things than those who began by 
being very easy on the stage and appeared 
full of promise. There is one thing, 
1 am certain, which will help everyone 
who would choose as I would — the 
kindness which exists in the theatre. I 
know I have met with more real kindness on 
the stage than anywhere else, and from actors 
and actresses more than from any other people. 
Feeling as 1 do about the stage, my advice 
to a would-be actress would not be ‘keep 
away/ but ‘go on if you are really keen 
about it. 3 p.f course the theatre is enor- 

1 s “ ppo!c 



Frvw n Photo. k v \ mks. Patrick camtuelu. I EZlitirfl Fry, 


WOULD YOU BE AN ACTRESS? 


251 


that in time it will end, like everything else, 
in a survival of the fittest, One wants to 
care a great deal about acting to enjoy the 
work, for it is work and not amusement. 
If I had a daughter I should not mind her 
going on the stage if she had to work, but 
my daughter could hardly be ready to take 
up acting for about twenty years, and it is 
hard to say whether acting will be a lucrative 
profession at that time. Perhaps, from pre¬ 
sent appearances, it might not be, and that 
fact would necessarily colour one's views ; 
but choosing for myself again to-day my 
answer would undoubtedly be a most 
emphatic * Yes. 1 JJ 

“I cannot understand anyone being any¬ 
thing else than 
an actress if she 
is born one.” 

Those were the 
words of Miss 
Marion Terry, 
and she con¬ 
tinued : “ I think 
it is a most mag¬ 
nificent profes¬ 
sion in every way, 
if taken seriously. 

Please note that 
I say taken seri¬ 
ously, for acting 
is very hard 
work and not a 
pastime. It is 
full of heart¬ 
breaks, worries, 
and anxieties. There are any number of 
them to contend with. One has often to 
give up many things for the sake of the 
work. There are often times when one 
would rather do other things and go to other 
places than the theatre to act, but the hour 
comes and one has to go. Sometimes one 
doesn't feel well enough, but still one has to 
go. Sometimes those we love are ill and 
we want to stay at home and help nurse 
them, but we have to put away all such 
wishes and go and do our work at the 
theatre* I said just now that acting must be 
taken seriously. It doesn't do only to study 
the words of the part; one has to study the 
character of the part one is called upon to 
impersonate, and all the other characters in 
the play as well. Study of character is as 
important as the words. I could talk on 
this subject for hours, but I should always 
say the same thing—that I would decide 
upon being an actress, never mind how 


many times I was allowed to alter my 
decision,” 

Mrs, Patrick Campbell being in America, 
it was impossible to get her answer direct; 
but on authority, which we would not venture 
to quote if it were not absolutely unimpeach¬ 
able, we can say that her view of the question 
is as follows. When she was quite a little 
girl in the nursery she used to play with 
some cousins, and they used, child-1 ike, to 
discuss the future and what they would like 
to be in the coming years. “ I would like 
to be a Queen,” one would say; while 
another, desiring still greater state, would 
declare, “ I want to be an Empress,” 
When the actress-to-be had her turn, her 

verdict was, “I 
would rather be 
an actress than 
any Empress in 
the world,” and, 
however much 
the others might 
change their 
views, she always 
remained con¬ 
stant to her 
choice. To-day 
if she were askt d 
she would rep'y 
in exactly the 
same words, only 
now the word 
“actress " means 
“artist ” to her. 

“All things considered, I wouldn't go on 
the stage,” were the emphatic words of Miss 
Rosina Brandram, whose experience is almost 
unique in London, for, although actors and 
actresses move from theatre to theatre with, 
to them, anxious intervals of nothing to do, 
she has been associated with the Savoy from 
the time it was opened. “In the first place,” 
she continued, “it is very uphill work getting 
a position, and in the next, unless you have a 
great deal of strength, it is a severe strain 
and constant hard work. At least, I con¬ 
sider it so, That the life is one of false 
excitement everybody knows. The strain 
comes when one is rehearsing a new 
opera and acting at night. In the 
case of ill-health, when you do not feel 
up to the mark, you still play rather than 
disappoint the public. Acting under such 
circumstances puts a strain on one's 
frame and brain, for one naturally exerts 
oneself to ittmhtntHTi In taking up a 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




252 


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^U! a p^ofcj. 6|fl m i 55 FOBTE^CUE. tlFSt Ltd 


public career one knows one must sacrifice 
oneself to the public and the manager Hut, 
as I said just now, if I had my time over 
again I would not do it, for I am very 
domesticated ; I love my home and every¬ 
thing to do with home life, and am perfectly 
happy with my work, my bookstand my pels, 
and I want nothing else. On the other side 
of the picture there is the fact that there is 
no greater pleasure in the world than to be 
able to go on a platform and amuse and get 
the thanks of the audience. Then one feels 
grateful for the gifts God has given to one.” 

If I had children, women children, they 
shouldn't have to work at all," was Miss 
Fortescue's epigrammatic reply. ‘-If I had 
men children they should work the greater 
part of the days of their life, but neither the 
women nor the men children should work on 
the stage. If I had to start young people 
on a career, the boys should be sailors and 


the girls should go into commercial life. 
The sailor's life is the ideal training to 
make a 1 man/ for it teaches him to obey 
without question, and obedience is the 
first law of Nature, It develops his re¬ 
sourcefulness in the most extraordinary 
manner. It teaches him self-dependence, 
and he gets the nonsense knocked out of 
him by the finest set of gentlemen on 
God's earth. If at eighteen, when he had 
had about two years' experience of what 
it meant really to be a sailor, and was 
able to appreciate the full possibilities of 
the life, he said, 1 I have a well-founded 
dislike of the sea/ he would still not be 
disqualified for any other career in the 
world, and he would take into it qualities 
which would be useful for his equipment 
throughout his life, and he would have 
laid up a stock of health which would be 
of inestimable value to him As far as 
girls go, I object to girls doing work at all; 
but, if they had to, I should put them, as 
I said, into commercial life. My reason 
for this is that I think it is the outlook in 
which, reasonably speaking, there are the 
best chances of making a good deal of 
money. From both sexes I eliminate the 
few, the very few—I have never found 
one—the geniuses who decide everything 
for themselves and want no laws made 
for them. 

“ From what I have said about choos¬ 
ing a career for young people you will 
probably be surprised if, being a woman, 
I should practise what 1 preach, and if I 
had my time over again I should start in 
commercial life. The whole aspect of the 
stage has changed completely of late years, 
and the conditions arc quite different from 
what they were when I first entered the thea¬ 
trical profession. The stage, indeed, is rapidly- 
becoming * morganeered ’like everything else, 
only, of course, in a minor way. Personally, 
I have nothing to grumble at in my career, 
for if the stage has not given me * more than I 
desire/ it has given me 1 more than I deserve.' 
Of course, there are heart-breaks, and dis¬ 
appointments, and anxieties in connection 
with the professional life of the theatre. 
What profession is there in which they do not 
exist ? My reason for saying women should 
not have to work is that I would not have 
any woman know anything of heart breaks 
and disappointments and miseries. I may he 
singular, but I do not believe that adver¬ 
sity and suffering are good for people. The 
people in my experience who strive most to 
bring about the happiness of others are those 

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WOULD YOU BE AN ACTRESSt 


253 


who have been most happy themselves, the 
most generous are those who have known 
the least struggling, and those who are the 
tenderest of other peoples reputations are 
those of blameless lives themselves, 

“The great thing in choosing a career is, it 
seems to me, first to find something which 
supplies a necessity of the time. I am one 
of those terrible people who believe that the 
theatre is not a necessity. It may be a 
pleasant or an unpleasant luxury according 
to the way you look at your pleasures, but it 
is not a necessity. Now, enterprises which 


school of use in such affairs—the school of 
experience.” 

41 1 can't imagine doing anything else if I 
had my time over again,” said Miss Winifred 
Emery. 11 You see, I was born for it. I 
don't mean to insinuate by that with any 
supernatural talent, but because I come of a 
theatrical family. My father said when I 
was born, 1 Well, I suppose she will be an 
actress when she grows up '; and at school 
it was my great boast, ( I am going on the 
stage when I grow up/ I really never had 



From Photo* bit 
Mliott Pt* 


supply hooks, furniture, carpets, bangings, 
dresses, hats, and other things that I may 
name, all supply goods which people are not 
going without, while the people who supply 
theatrical commodities come m after these— 
in English-speaking countries. For this 
reason, if I had the placing of people in the 
world, I should make them sell the things 
that are the necessaries of the majority, not 
the luxuries of the minority. Bui perhaps I 
may make one more observation, and that 
the only one of any maLter at all That is 
to recall to your mind the proverb about 
‘bachelors' wives'and ‘old maids' children/ 
If children had fallen to my share they would 
probably have led me by the nose as others 
are, and my opinions might then have been 
of some value, having been gained in the only 


a choice of anything else, and, apart alto¬ 
gether from the fact that were I to have my 
time over again the same conditions would 
prevail, I say most emphatically I would go 
on the stage. 

“On the other hand, I don’t want my 
daughters to be actresses. The reason, how¬ 
ever, is not anything to do with the life, but 
from utter selfishness on my part. I think I 
have had enough stage life, and I should like 
to devote myself to home life and friends. 
If my daughters w T ent on the stage I should 
have to go on with my old life in theirs, 
and that, I confess, I do not want to do. 
If, however, it became necessary that they 
should earn their own living, I don't consider 
they could do anything belter than devote 
themselves tflltheiakg&ri True, on the stage 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


we have disappointments and heart-burnings ; 
almost as many, perhaps, when we get on as 
at the beginning. Still, everybody has them, 
and it would be very bad if we didn’t, for we 
should become dreadfully spoilt and over¬ 
bearing. A great many of the disappoint¬ 
ments and heart-burnings on the stage come, 
in my opinion, from the fact that people start 
with preconceived opinions of what they 
want to do instead of what they are best 
fitted for, and fret and fume because they are 
given what they are best fitted for instead of 
what they want I know that, as a child, 
when people asked me what I should like to 
play when I grew up—comedy or tragedy—I 
always replied * Tragedy ! J And when, after¬ 
wards, I found that no one seemed to 
care for my efforts in that direction, I 
was terribly disappointed, and a lot of 
the enthusiasm for my work left me for ever. 
But I am resigned now to play the parts 


which people have chosen for me, and so I 
think I am escaping a good many of the 
disappointments I should otherwise have 
attributed to my life as an actress ! n 

lt If I had my time over again,” Miss 
Millard writes, u I would still choose the 
stage as a profession, for I have a great 
love for the work—the acting—which goes 
far to compensate for the hard work, the 
disappointments, and the strain it imposes 
on one. If, however, I were asked if I 
should like to see a child of mine on the 
stage, I would say I would use all my 
influence to prevent it; as, though one feels 
one could endure the nervous strain and ten¬ 
sion oneself, I am sure one could not calmly 
see it wearing on anyone one loved. I 
also consider that after a certain number of 
years it tells greatly on the health.” 



u If I had to work for my 
living as I had to when I 
went on the stage,” were 
M iss Eva Moore’s words, 
“ I should certainly do what 
I have done. I speak with 
a certain knowledge, for I 
tried other things before I 
tried the stage, and I didn’t 
find them half so interest¬ 
ing. Of course, one has to 
take into consideration the 
additional fact that one is 
apt to like work in which 
one has been more or less 
successful. My earlier work 
was that of a governess. I 
was not highly educated 
enough to be governess to 
grown-up children, and 
thus able to command a 
salary worth while having, 
so I had to content myself 
with teaching younger 
children. If I could have 
been governess to elder 
girls or taken important 
classes in a school I should 
not have tried the stage, for 
my bringing up did not tend 
that way. It is useless to deny, 
however, that if I had kept 
on governessing I should, 
even under the best condi¬ 
tions, never have been able 
to make so much money as 
on the stage. This admission 
may be regarded as an im- 

TV OF MICHIGAN 




















WOULD YOU BE AN ACTRESS ? 



*‘Oh, yes, certainly,” 
was Miss Irene Vanbrugh's 
answer to my question. 
“ I should go on the stage 
if I had to choose again. 
My reason is that it is a 
most interesting life and a 
most interesting art. When 
I became an actress I wa? 
quite prepared to give up 
everything else for the 
stage, and I should do it 
again. I believe it is a 
great thing for a woman 
to have some particular 
interest in life, and I am 
strongly inclined to say that 
no one who is not suited 


prudent one in so far as it may encourage 
girls to go on the stage who have no aptitude 
for the work. If they do, they are doomed 
to disappointment, for there is far more 
money to be earned as a competent gover¬ 
ness—even for younger children—than there 
is as an incompetent actress. There is no 
more trying and wearying calling than that of 
the woman on the stage who has no special 
ability, and who has to keep herself out of 
her earnings. Personally, if I had had an 
income I should never have dreamt of work¬ 
ing, as I think it is a mistake for women to 
work if they don't have to. Perhaps people 
will ask why, in view of this admission, I go 
on working. The reason is simply that, after 
having worked for many years, work becomes 
part of one's life, fosters an ambition, and 
therefore one has to go on. The stage 
resembles governess!ng in one respect: it 
needs no capital to enable one to make a 
start. If a woman wants to be an artist she 
has to spend years in pre¬ 
liminary training; if she 
wishes to be a writer she 
must be able to support 
herself while she is pro¬ 
ducing the work. Her 
ordinary education, how¬ 
ever, is all she needs to be 
either a governess or an 
actress. That is the reason 
why so many women take 
to the stage; why, in my 
opinion, we hear so much 
about the overcrowding of 
the dramatic profession; 
and why so many women 
find so much disappoint¬ 
ment in it.” 


to the stage could stay on it for more than 
two or three years. There are some cases 
in which dramatic talent does not manifest 
itself early, or where the opportunities for 
its manifesting itself are lacking, and one 
sees women staying on for a long time. If 
they have the grit to stick for so long in 
spite of the drawbacks and the setbacks 
which are inevitable to a theatrical career 
they are bound to do well in time, as 
they would be bound to do well in 
any other calling if they had the same 
perseverance. That complete self-devotion 
argues in my mind an innate belief in one¬ 
self, and a consciousness of ability which 
must produce its effect sooner or later. One 
often hears people say, * Oh, I will give my 
life up for the stage,' but when it comes to 
going to a rehearsal or an afternoon tea-party 
they elect for the party and let the rehearsal 
take care of itself. These are the people 
who, in accordance with my experience, 
























THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


256 


complain of the hard life of the stage, and 
are constantly bemoaning the fact that they 
never get a chance. In this connection I 
will recall a case in point When I was 
almost a beginner I was given a tiny part 
of twenty lines. Three girls who were 
walking on in the crowd were given my part 
to understudy. Very soon after the play 
began I got ill and couldn’t act. Of the 
three girls only one had taken the trouble to 
study the part. 

Naturally, she 
played it all the 
time I was out 
of the bill, and 
that was the 
starting-point in 
her career. One 
of the others 
actually came to 
me when I re¬ 
turned and be¬ 
moaned the fact 
that she never 
got a chance. 

When the chance 
was given to her 
she had not 
taken it, The 
fact, as it seems 
to me, is that the 
stage is an ad¬ 
mirable career 
for a woman who 
has the talent 
and who is will¬ 
ing to work. It 
is not an admir¬ 
able career for 
women who 
either lack the 
peculiar talent it 
requires or who 
desire a sup¬ 
posedly pleasant place in which to idle 
during rehearsals and to idle in the evening." 

Equally emphatic in favotir of the stage was 
Miss Alma Murray, who, after an over-long 
absence from the stage, has recently returned 
to take her old position among the leading 
actresses of the day. “Certainly I would 
be an actress were my time to come over 
again, for I love the work. Every woman 


with an artistic impulse in her must have her 
field of work, and if that field is in the land 
of the theatre site will devote herself to it, no 
matter w T hat may be the drawbacks. Per¬ 
sonally, I believe that those drawbacks are 
greatly overrated. Many people say that 
the stage is such a bad atmosphere. It is 
no worse than any other atmosphere, I 
have been connected with the stage from 
the time l was quite a child, and I 

have never' seen 
any results in the 
theatre which 
would not have 
been obtained 
outside it under 
the same condi¬ 
tions. Acting 
being the thing 
I love, 1 should 
take it up again 
just as, now, I 
go on with it, 
for if one is dis¬ 
appointed with 
the results it is 
surely quite easy 
to cease acting 
by abstaining 
from going on 
the stage. Some 
people say that 
a stage career is 
in com pa ti hie 
with home life. 
I, however, don't 
believe that any 
real woman need 
give up any part 
of her domes¬ 
ticity by being 
an actress. It is 
quite possible to 
combine a life on 
the stage with a home life, and I myself, having 
both, have lost neither. On the contrary, I 
have gained, for 1 believe that, properly dealt 
with, the theatre is as strong an educational 
influence as the church itself. The play is 
the thing, and if properly acted the audience 
sees the influence nf one character on another, 
and so learns human nature on a broad scale 
rather than on the narrow lines on which 
most people's lives are necessarily laid." 



Digitized 



Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















R. RICHARD CATESBY, 
second officer of the ss. 
Wizard\ emerged from the 
dock - gates in high good- 
humour to spend an evening 
ashore. The bustle of the 
day had departed, and the inhabitants of 
Wapping, in search of coolness and fresh 
air, were sitting at open doors and windows 
indulging in general conversation with any¬ 
body within earshot. 

Mr. Catesby, turning into Bash ford's Lane, 
lost in a moment all this life and colour. 
The hum of distant voices certainly reached 
there, but that was all, for Bashford's Lane, a 
retiring thoroughfare facing a blank dock 
wall, capped here and there by towering 
spars, set an example of gentility which 
neighbouring streets had long ago decided 
crossly was impossible for ordinary people to 
follow. Its neatly-grained shutters, fastened 
back by the sides of the windows, gave a 
pleasing idea of uniformity, while its white 
VoL **tv.-33- 


steps and polished brass 
knockers were suggestive 
of almost a Dutch cleanli¬ 
ness. 

Mr. Catesby, strolling 
comfortably along, stopped 
suddenly iur another look 
at a girl who was stand¬ 
ing in the ground - floor 
window of No. 5. He 
went on a few paces and 
then walked back slowly, 
trying to look as though 
he had forgotten something. The girl was 
still there, and met his ardent glances un¬ 
moved : a fine girl, with large, dark eyes, and 
a complexion which was the subject of much 
scandalous discussion among neighbouring 
matrons. 

(i It must be something wrong with the 
glass, or else it's, the bad light/'said Mr. 
Catesby to himself; 41 no girl is so beautiful 
as that/ 1 

He went by again to make sure. The 
object of his solicitude was still there and 
apparently unconscious of his existence. He 
passed very slowly and sighed deeply. 

“ You've got it at last, Dick Catesby/' he 
said, solemnly ; “fair and square in the most 
dangerous part of the heart. It's serious 
this time.” 

He stood still on the narrow pavement, 
pondering, and then, in excuse of his flagrant 
misbehaviour, murmured, “It was meant to 
he/' and went by again. This time he 
fancied that he detected a somewhat super¬ 
cilious expression in the dark eyes—a faint 
raising of well-arched eyebrows. 

His engagement to wait at Aldgate Station 
for the second engineer and spend an evening 


Copyright, 190 a, by W. W. Jacobs in the United Sutes of A^ijejpca., 

'^' UO S l UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


258 



together was dismissed as too slow to be 
considered. He stood for some time in 
uncertainty, and then turning slowly into the 
Beehive, which stood at the corner, went 
into the private bar and ordered a glass of 
beer. 

He was the only person in the bar, and 
the landlord, a stout man in his shirt-sleeves, 
was the soul of affability. Mr. Catesby, after 


various general remarks, 
made a few inquiries 
about an uncle aged five 
minutes, whom he 
thought was living 
Bash ford’s Lane. 

“ I don’t know 1m,” said the landlord, 

“ I had an idea that he lived at No, 5,” 
said Catesby. 

The landlord shook his head. * ( That’s 
Mrs, Truefitt’s house,” he said, slowly. 

Mr. Catesby pondered. ** Truefitt, True- 
fitt,” he repeated ; “what sort of a woman is 
she ? " 

“ Widder-woman,” said the landlord; “she 
lives there with 'er daughter Prudence.” 

Mr. Catesby said “ Indeed ! ” and being a 
good listener learned that Mrs. Truefitt was 
the w idow of a master-lighterman, and that her 
son, Fred Truefitt, after an absence of seven 
years in New Zealand, was now on his way 
home. He finished his glass slowly and, 
the landlord departing to attend to another 
customer, made his way into the street again. 

lie walked along slowly, picturing as he 
went the home-coming of the long absent 

Digitized by CiOOQ IC 


son. Things were oddly ordered in this 
world, and Fred Truefitt would probably 
think nothing of his brotherly privileges. 
He wondered whether he was like Prudence. 
He wondered- 

“ By Jove, III do it I” he said, recklessly, 
as he turned. “ Now for a row.” 

He walked back rapidly to Bash ford’s l^ine, 
and without giving his courage time to cool 

plied the knocker 
of No. s briskly. 

The door was 
opened by an 
elderly woman, 
thin, and some¬ 
what querulous 
in expression. 
Mr. Catesby had 
just time to notice 
tins, and then he 
f 1 u n g his arm 
round her waist, 
and hailing her 
as “Mother!” 
saluted her 
warmly. 

T he faint 
scream of the 
astounded Mrs. 
Truefitt' brought 
her daughter 
hastily into the 
passage. Mr. 
Catesby’s idea 
was ever to do a 
thing thoroughly, 
and, relinquish¬ 
ing Mrs. Truefitt, 
he kissed Pru- 
, deuce with all the 

ardour which a 
seven years' 
absence might 
be supposed to engender in the heart of a 
devoted brother. In return he received a 
box on the ears which made his head ring. 

“ He’s been drinking,” gasped the dis¬ 
mayed Mrs. Truefitt. 

“ Don't you know me, mother?” inquired 
Mr. Richard Catesby, in grievous astonish¬ 
ment. 

“ He’s mad/ 1 said her daughter. 

“Am 1 so altered thatj'W don’t know me, 
Prudence?” inquired Mr. Catesby, with 
pathos. “ Don’t you know your Fred ?” 

“Go out/’ said Mrs, Truefitt, recovering ; 
“go out at once.” 

Mr. Catesby looked from one to the other 

in consternation. . r 

Original from 

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f NfjUlRIFJS." 
















ESTABLISHING RELATIONS. 


2 S9 



** I know Fve altered,” he said, at last, 
“but I’d no idea—” 

“ If you don’t go out at once I J 11 send for 
the police,” said the elder woman, sharply. 
“ Prudence, scream !” 

“ I'm not going to scream,” said Prudence, 
eyeing the intruder with great composure. 
“I’m not afraid of him*” 

Despite her reluctance to have a scene—a 
thing which was strongly opposed to the 
traditions of Bashford’s Lane—Mrs. Truefitt 
had got as far as the doorstep in search of 
assistance, when a sudden terrible thought 
occurred to her: Fred was dead, and the 
visitor had hit upon this extraordinary fashion 
of breaking the news gently. 

“Come into the parlour,” she said, faintly* 
Mr. Catesby, suppressing his surprise, 
followed her into the room. Prudence, her 
fine figure erect and her large eyes meeting 
his steadily, took up a position by the side 
of her mother. 

“You have brought bad news?” inquired 
the latter. 

“ No, mother,” said Mr. Catesby, simply, 
“only myself, that’s all*" 

Mrs. Truefitt made a gesture of impatience, 
and her daughter, watching him closely, tried 
to remember something she had once read 
about detecting insanity by the expression of 
the eyes. Those of Mr. Catesby were blue, 
and the only expression in them at the pre¬ 
sent moment was one of tender and respect¬ 
ful admiration. 

“ When did you 
see Fred last?” in¬ 
quired Mrs. Truefitt, 
making another 
effort* 

“Mother," said 
Mr* Catesby, with 
great pathos, “ don't 
you know me ? n 
11 He has brought 
bad news of Fred," 
said Mrs* Truefitt, 
turning to her daugh¬ 
ter ; “ I am sure he 
has." 

“I don’t under¬ 
stand you,” said Mr. 

Catesby, with a be¬ 
wildered glance from 
one to the other* “ 1 
am Fred. Am I 
much changed ? You 
look the same as you 
always did, and it 
seems only yesterday 


since 1 kissed Prudence good-bye at the 
docks. You were crying, Prudence.” 

Miss Truefitt made no reply; she gazed at 
him unflinchingly and then bent towards htr 
mother. 

“ He is mad,” she whispered ; “ we must try 
and get him out quietly. Don't contradict 
him*” 

41 Keep dose to me,” said Mrs* Truefitt, 
who had a great horror of the insane. “ If 
he turns violent open the window and scream. 
I thought he had brought bad news of Fred. 
How did he know 1 about him ? ” 

Her daughter shook her head and gazed 
curiously at their afflicted visitor* She put 
his age down at twenty-five, and she could 
not help thinking it a pity that so good 
looking a young man should have lost his 
wits. 

“ Bade Prudence good-bye at the docks,” 
continued Mr. Catesby, dreamily. “You 
drew me behind a pile of luggage, Prudence, 
and put your head on my shoulder. I have 
thought of it ever since.” 

Miss Truefitt did not deny it, but she bit 
her lips, and shot a sharp glance at him* 
She began to think that her pity was 
uncalled-for. 

“Tell me all that’s happened since I’ve 
been away,” said Mr. 

Catesby* 

Mrs. Truefitt turned 
to her daughter and 


4t l’M JUST GOISG AS FAH AS THE COSHKB* 1 ' 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














26 o 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


whispered. It might have been merely the 
effect of a guilty conscience, but the visitor 
thought that he caught the word “police¬ 
man.” 

“ I’m just going as far as the corner,” said 
Mrs. Truefitt, rising, and crossing hastily to 
the door. 

The young man nodded affectionately and 
sat in doubtful consideration as the front¬ 
door closed behind her. “Where is mother 
going ? ” he asked, in a voice which betrayed 
a little pardonable anxiety. 

“ Not far, I hope,” said Prudence 

“ I really think,” said Mr. Catesby, rising— 
“ I really think that I had better go after her. 
At her age-” 

He walked into the small passage and put 
his hand on the latch. Prudence, now quite 
certain of his sanity, felt sorely reluctant to 
let such impudence go unpunished. 

“ Are you going ? ” she inquired. 

“ I think I'd better,” said Mr. Catesby, 
gravely. “ Dear mother-” 

“ You're afraid,” said the girl, calmly. 

Mr. Catesby coloured and his buoyancy 
failed him. He felt a little bit cheap. 

“ You are brave enough with two women,” 
continued the girl, disdainfully ; “ but you 
had better go if you’re afraid.” 

Mr. Catesby regarded the temptress un¬ 
easily. “Would you like me to stay?” he 
asked. 

“ I ? ” said Miss Truefitt, tossing her head. 
“No, I don’t want you. Besides, you’re 
frightened.” 

Mr. Catesby turned, and with a firm step 
made his way back to the room ; Prudence, 
with a half-smile, took a chair near the door 
and regarded her prisoner with unholy 
triumph. 

“ I shouldn’t like to be in your shoes,” she 
said, agreeably; “ mother has gone for a 
policeman.” 

“Bless her,” said Mr. Catesby, fervently. 
“ What had we better say to him when he 
comes?” 

“You'll be locked up,” said Prudence; 
“and it will serve you right for your bad 
behaviour.” 

Mr. Catesby sighed. “ It’s the heart,” he 
said, gravely. “ I am not to blame, really. I 
saw you standing in the window, and I could 
see at once that you were beautiful, and 
good, and kind.” 

“ I never heard of such impudence,” con¬ 
tinued Miss Truefitt. 

“ I surprised myself,” admitted Mr. 
Catesby. “ In the usual way I am very 
quiet and well-behaved, not to say shy.” 

Diqilized by C*OOQ lc 
* o 


Miss Truefitt looked at him scornfully. 
“ I think that you had better stop your non¬ 
sense and go,” she remarked. 

“Don’t you want me to be punished?” 
inquired the other, in a soft voice. 

“ I think that you had better go while you 
can,” said the girl, and at that moment there 
was a heavy knock at the front-door. Mr. 
Catesby, despite his assurance, changed 
colour; the girl eyed him in perplexity. 
Then she opened the small folding-doors at 
the back of the room. 

“ You’re only—stupid,” she whispered. 
“ Quick ! Go in there. I’ll say you’ve gone. 
Keep quiet, and I’ll let you out by-and-by.” 

She pushed him in and closed the doors. 
From his hiding-place he heard an animated 
conversation at the street-door and minute 
particulars as to the time which had elapsed 
since his departure and the direction he had 
taken. 

“ I never heard such impudence,” said 
Mrs. Truefitt, going into the front-room and 
sinking into a chair after the constable had 
taken his departure. “ I don’t believe he was 
mad.” 

“ Only a little weak in the head, I think,” 
said Prudence, in a clear voice. “He was 
very frightened after you had gone; I don’t 
think he will trouble us again.” 

“ He’d better not,” said Mrs. Truefitt, 
sharply. “ I never heard of such a thing 
—never.” 

She continued to grumble, while Prudence, 
in a low voice, endeavoured to soothe her. 
Her efforts were evidently successful, as the 
prisoner was, after a time, surprised to hear 
the older woman laugh—at first gently, and 
then with so much enjoyment that her 
daughter was at some pains to restrain her. 
He sat in patience until evening deepened 
into night, and a line of light beneath the 
folding-doors announced the lighting of the 
lamp in the front-room. By a pleasant 
clatter of crockery he became aware that they 
were at supper, and he pricked up his ears 
as Prudence made another reference to him. 

“If he comes to-mOrrow night while you 
are out I sha’n’t open the door,” she said. 
“You’ll be back by nine, I suppose.” 

Mrs. Truefitt assented. 

“ And you won’t be leaving before seven,” 
continued Prudence. “ I shall be all right.” 

Mr. Catesby’s face glowed and his eyes 
grew tender; Prudence was as clever as she 
was beautiful. The delicacy with which she 
had intimated the fact of the unconscious 
Mrs. Truefitl’s absence on the following 
evening was beyond all praise. The only 
Original from 
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ESTABLISHING DELATIONS. 


261 


depressing thought was that such resource¬ 
fulness savoured of practice. 

He sat in the darkness for so long that 
even the proximity of Prudence was not 
sufficient amends for the monotony of it, 
and it was not until past ten o’clock that the 
folding - doors were opened and he stood 
blinking at the girl in the glare of the lamp, 

“ Quick !” she whispered. 

Mr. Catesby stepped into the lighted 
room. 

tl The front - door is open,” whispered 
Prudence. “ Make haste. I’ll close it" 

She followed him to the door ; he made an 
ineffectual attempt to seize her hand, and the 
next moment was pushed gently outside and 
the door dosed behind him. He stood a 
moment gazing at the house, and then 
hastened back to his ship. 

“ Seven to morrow,” he murmured ; “seven 
to-morrow. After all, there's nothing pays in 
this world like cheek—nothing." 

He slept soundly that night, though the 
things that the second-engineer said to him 
about wasting a hard-working man’s evening 
would have lain heavy on the conscience of a 
more scrupulous man. The only thing that 
troubled him was the manifest intention of 
his friend not to let him slip through his 


fingers on the following evening. At last, in 
sheer despair at his inability to shake him off, 
he had to tell him that he had an appoint¬ 
ment with a lady. 

“ Well, 111 come, too," said the other, 
glowering at him. “It's very like shell have 
a friend with her ; they generally do.” 

** I’ll run round and tell her,” said Catesby. 
“ I J d have arranged it before, only I thought 
you didn’t care about that sort of thing.” 

“ Female society is softening,” said the 
second-engineer. “ I’ll go and put on a clean 
collar." 

Catesby watched him into his cabin and 
then, though it still wanted an hour to seven, 
hastily quitted the ship and secreted himself 
in the private bar of the Beehive. 

He waited there until a quarter past seven, 
and then, adjusting his tie for about the tenth 
time that evening in the glass behind the 
bar, sallied out in the direction of No. 5. 

He knocked lightly, and waited. There 
was no response, and he knocked again. 
When the fourth knock brought no response, 
his heart sank within him and he indulged in 
vain speculations as to the reasons for this 
unexpected hitch in the programme. He 
knocked again, and then the door opened 
suddenly and Prudence, with a little cry of 



■‘i'll <JO AttlJ PUT On a clean coll. 




Original from 

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262 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


surprise and dismay, backed into the 
passage. 

“ You !” she said, regarding him with large 
eyes. 

Mr. Catesby bowed tenderly, and passing 
in closed the door behind him. 

“ I wanted to thank you for your kindness 
last night,” he said, humbly. 

“ Very well,” said Prudence; “ good-bye.” 

Mr. Catesby smiled. “ It’ll take me a long 
time to thank you as I ought to thank you,” 
he murmured. “ And then I want to 
apologize; that’ll take time, too.” 

“ You had better go,” said Prudence, 
severely ; “ kindness is thrown away upon 
you. I ought to have let you be punished.” 

“You are too good and kind,” said the 
other, drifting by easy stages into the parlour. 

Miss Truefitt made no reply, but following 
him into the room seated herself in an easy- 
chair and sat coldly watchful. 

“ How do you know what I am?” she 
inquired. 

“Your face tells me,” said the infatuated 
Richard. “ I hope you will forgive me for 
my rudeness last night. It was all done on 
the spur of the moment.” 

“ I am glad you are sorry,” said the girl, 
softening. 

“All the same, if I hadn’t done it,” 
pursued Mr. Catesby, “I shouldn’t be 
sitting here talking to you now.” 

Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and 
then lowered them modestly to the ground. 
“ That is true,” she said, quietly. 

“ And I would sooner be sitting here than 
anywhere,” pursued Catesby. “ That is,” he 
added, rising, and taking a chair by her side, 
“except here.” 

Miss Truefitt appeared to tremble, and 
made as though to rise. Then she sat still 
and took a gentle peep at Mr. Catesby from 
the corner of her eye. 

“ I hope that you are not sorry I am here ? ” 
said that gentleman. 

Miss Truefitt hesitated. “ No,” she said, 
at last. 

“ Are you — are you glad ? ” asked the 
modest Richard. 

Miss Truefitt averted her eyes altogether. 
“Yes,” she said, faintly. 

A strange feeling of solemnity came over 
the triumphant Richard. He took the hand 
nearest to him and pressed it gently. 

“I—I can hardly believe in my good 
luck,” he murmured. 

“ Good luck ? ” said Prudence, innocently. 

“Isn’t it good luck to hear you say that 
you are glad I’m here ? ” said Catesby. 

Diqilized by C»OOQ lc 
f o 


“ You’re the best judge of that,” said the 
girl, withdrawing her hand. “ It doesn’t 
seem to me much to be pleased about.” 

Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and 
was about to address another tender remark 
to her when she was overcome by a slight fit 
of coughing. At the same moment he 
started at the sound of a shuffling footstep in 
the passage. Somebody tapped at the door. 

“ Yes ?” said Prudence. 

“Can’t find the knife-powder, miss,” said a 
harsh voice. The door was pushed open 
and disclosed a tall, bony woman of about 
forty. Her red arms were bare to the elbow, 
and she betrayed several evidences of a long 
and arduous day’s charing. 

“ It’s in the cupboard,” said Prudence. 
“Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Porter?” 

Mrs. Porter made no reply. Her mouth 
was wide open and she was gazing with 
starting eyeballs at Mr. Catesby. 

“Joe!” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “Joe!” 

Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling 
silence. Miss Truefitt, with an air of great 
surprise, glanced from one to the other. 

“Joe!” said Mrs. Porter again. “Ain’t 
you goin’ to speak to me ? ” 

Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her 
in speechless astonishmeut She skipped 
clumsily round the table and stood before 
him with her hands clasped. 

“ Where ’ave you been all this long time ? ” 
she demanded, in a higher key. 

“ You—you’ve made a mistake,” said the 
bewildered Richard. 

“Mistake?” wailed Mrs. Porter. “Mis¬ 
take ! Oh, where’s your ’art ? ” 

Before he could get out of her way 
she flung her arms round the horrified 
young man’s neck and embraced him 
copiously. Over her bony left shoulder the 
frantic Richard met the ecstatic gaze of Miss 
Truefitt, and, in a flash, he realized the trap 
into which he had fallen. 

“ Mrs . Porter I ” said Prudence. 

“ It’s my ’usband, miss,” said the Amazon, 
reluctantly releasing the flushed and dis¬ 
hevelled Richard; “ ’e left me and my five 
eighteen months ago. For eighteen months 
I ’aven’t ’ad a sight of ’is blessed face.” 

She lifted the hem of her apron to her 
face and broke into discordant weeping. 

“ Don’t cry,” said Prudence, softly; “ I’m 
sure he isn’t worth it.” 

Mr. Catesby looked at her wanly. He 
was beyond further astonishment, and when 
Mrs. Truefitt entered the room with a laud¬ 
able attempt to twist her features into an 
expression of surprise, he scarcely noticed her. 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



ESTABLISHING RELATIONS, 


263 



ilized by GoOgk 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


“ 111 see to that, ma'am/' said Mrs, 
Porter, taking him by the arm. “ Came along, 
Joe.” 

Mr, Catesby attempted to shake her off, 
but in vain, and he ground his teeth as he 

realized the absurd¬ 
ity of his position. 
A man he could 
have dealt with, 
but Mrs, Porter 
was invulnerable. 
Sooner than walk 
down the road with 
her he preferred 
the sallies of the 
parlour. He walked 
buck to his old 
position by the 
fireplace, and stood 
gazing moodily at 
the floor, 

Mrs. Truefitt 
tired of the sport 
at last. She wanted 
her supper, and 
with a significant 
glance at her 
daughter she beck¬ 
oned the redoubt¬ 
able and reluctant 
Mrs, Porter from 
the room. Catesby 
heard the ki tchen - 
door close behind 
them, but he 
made no move. Prudence stood gazing at 
him in silence. 

“ If you want to go/' she said, at last, 
“ now is your chance,” 

Catesby followed her into the passage 
without a word, and waited quietly while she 
opened the door. Still silent, he put on his 
hat and passed out into the darkening street. 
He turned after a short distance for a last 
look at the house and, with a sudden sense 
of elation, saw that she was standing on the 
step. He hesitated, and then walked slowly 
back. 

“ Yes ? ” said Prudence. 

“ I should like to tell your mother that I 
am sorry,” he said, in a low voice. 

“ It is getting late,” said the girl, softly ; 
“but, if you really wish to tell her—Mrs. 
Porter will not be here to-morrow night.” 

She stepped back into the house and the 
door closed behind her. 


“ IPs my Joe,” said Mrs. Porter, simply, 

“ Good gracious!” said Mrs. Truefitt. 
“Well, you've got him now; take care he 
doesn’t run away from you again.” 

“ I'll look after that, ma’am,” said Mrs. 
Porter, with a glare at the startled Richard. 

“She's very forgiving,” said Prudence. 
“She kissed him just now.” 

“ Did she, though,” said the admiring Mrs, 
Truefitt, “ I wish Pd been here.” 


“ 1 can do it agin, ma'am,” said the 
obliging Mrs. Porter, 

11 If you come near me again-” said 

the breathless Richard, stepping back a pace. 

“ I shouldn’t force his love,” said Mrs. 
Truefitt; “it'll come back in time, I dare 
say.” 

“ I’m sure he's affectionate,” said Prudence. 

Mr. Catesby eyed his tormentors in silence ; 
the faces of Prudence and her mother be¬ 
tokened much innocent enjoyment, but the 
austerity of Mrs. Porter's visage was un¬ 
relaxed. 

“ Better let bygones be bygones,” said Mrs. 
Truefitt; “ he'll be sorry by-and-by for all the 
trouble he has caused,” 

“ He'll be ashamed of himself—if you give 
him time,” added Prudence. 

Mr, Catesby had heard enough ; he took 
up his hat and crossed to the door. 

“Take care he doesn't run away from you 
again/' repeated Mrs, Truefitt. 


"i'll LOOK AFrfck that, ma’am." 









.1!t 



jd^rnuK 


n 

p 



By E. D. Cuming and 


September 


J. A. Shepherd. 


IRST SEPTEMBER: .Part¬ 
ridge Shooting begins.” The " 
methods of the partridge have 
changed since the reaping 
machine and sowing drill came 
into fashion ; in the old days of long and 
ragged stubble and irregularly growing 
turnips he could not run, so waited till he 
felt bound to rise on the wing. Nowadays 
he sees the shooting party approach and 
puts his best 
foot foremost 
down the 
straight fur¬ 
rows between 
the turnips or 
across the 
closely shaven 
stubble. 

There be 
those who say 
our bird has 
learned the 
trick of run¬ 
ning from the 
French part¬ 
ridge, the oft- 
anathema- 
tized red-leg, 
which is pos¬ 
sible :— 


'Ah, non ! fellow-sportsbird, man frbe de la chassis 
If you shall permeet, 1 shall say of few things 
That shall prove you how partritch is—how you 
say ?—ass 

What fly from the chasseur away on the wings. 

It is so much l>eUaire to ron through the crop, 

Ron most queek on yours legs ! Now I go to tell 
why : 

The Fran 9 ais say always “I shoot ven he stop,” 

And the Anglais say always “ I shoot ven he fly.” 

It must be allowed that there is weight in 



“ KON MOST QUEEK ON YOURS LEGS 1" 

Prvnnlf> Original from 

h y 11 UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















































THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


265 


“ WARNED OFF . 14 



the argument: anyhow, the French bird often 
does our partridge a good turn ; he rushes 
by and so gives him timely warning to be off. 

On the moors by this time grouse-driving 
has begun, to the indignation of the old 
cocks. Those discreet patriarchs, hearing 
men advance, take it for granted safety lies 
in prompt flight, and discover when too late 
that this time the approaching humans were 
harmless, and death conies from the turf 
butts over which they are being driven. The 
slaughter of old cocks is very necessary, 
because the jealous senior will not allow a 
young cock to take up his quarters within 
five hundred yards of him if he can help it; 
he knows what those young fellows are, and 
won’t have them hanging about the premises. 
Hence, unless the tough old cocks are killed 
off, the desirable youngsters bred on your 
moor betake themselves to your neighbour’s. 

The young cuckoos become conscious of a 
strange craving to be up and flying south : 
the hedge-sparrow foster-parents cannot help 
them ; as well might the village labourer^ 
son seek advice from his father concerning 
emigration to Brazil. We are as far as ever 
from knowing how the untravelled young 
birds find their way to winter quarters, “ It's 


instinct,” we say, contentedly. .Useful word 
“ instinct.” The fly catchers mark the decrease 
in insect supplies and go : the nightjar and 
wryneck go, too. Where? Well, take the 
fly catcher. “ In winter,” says Mr. Howard 
Saunders, one of our soundest authorities, 
“it visits India, Arabia, and Africa to Cape 
Colony.” Merely pausing to point out that 
the eminent authority does not mean that each 
individual takes a Cook's circular tour ticket, 
we may say it is probable that the birds, 
broadly speaking, go to the most accessible 
warm climate. There is no reason why fly¬ 
catchers, which summer in England, should 
winter in India; travelling expenses are 
nothing to them, of course; but, on the other 
hand, taking no interest in Indian scenery, 
history, or social questions, they may just as 
well go to Africa, which is the nearest country 
with a respectable winter climate. It is about 
this time that the kingfishers harden their hearts 
and banish their children. The kingfisher 
thinks that prince-fishers—if we may call them 
so—cannot learn habits of self-reliance too 



THE KtNGPISHfcRS HARDYS THF.IR HEARTS ANp HANISH THEIR CHILDREN/" 

Vd. IWV.- 34 , 

Digitized by It UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















266 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



s i thought Tr> cau.,' hegax the ckah/ 


early in life, also he will brook no rivals near 
his throne, so the family is scattered up stream 
and down with paternal blessings, which 
sound remarkably like imprecations* each 
member receiving assurances of his or her 
parents* undying affection, and promises of 
condign punishment if they dare come 
back. The children seem to have more 
faith, in the latter ; at all events, they stay 
away* 

The oyster season is begun again* The 
oyster gets three months’ holiday by law and 
a fourth by custom. They ought to have 
more; prolific to prodigality, oysters are 
reckless parents, dismissing their spawn or 
“spat” to the mercy of every fish that 
passes. The authorities are not agreed 
concerning the 
dimensions of 
the oyster's 
original family, 
but apparently 
a million, more 
or less, are of 
no great ac¬ 
count. Few of 
the spat ever 
begin life in 
earnest, much 
less find their 
childish shells 
safely ensconced 
on the peaceful, 
but treacherous, 
dredger-threat¬ 
ened oyster- 
fa e d, YV ben 
oysters come in 
crabs go out. 


11 I thought I'd call,” began the crab. “ We heard 
you were in bed. 

And not expecting long Lo live ; and as we’re free 
horn dread 

Of crab-pots now* I came lo see—before the dredger 
ends—” 

Sobs ch'iked the crab, she stammered, of " the sym¬ 
pathy of friends * 31 

u Friends \ ” shrieked the oyster, starting up* 
lf There's not in all the sea 

A fish that swims, or sinks, or crawls, that is a friend 
to me. 

Fish never spared a child of mine, I know of only five 

Who grew to adult oyster hood—and men ate those alive. 

Give us ten years of fishl ess peace secure from all our foes, 

And what d*ymi think would happen then?” The 
crab said, ** Goodness knows *’ 1 

"TIL tell you,” said the oyster, and she took her 
little slate, 

And sucked a stumpy pencil as she tried to calculate. 




















THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR, 


267 


"In ten years 5 time—if all grew up—I find that there 
would be 

Oysters enough to fill the earth, the rivers, lakes, 
and sea. 

The sheik would lie from Pole to Pole* a depth of 
fathoms three. 

Oh, would it not he glorious that oyster world to see ? ** 
"Well, no," the thoughtful crab replied, ** theie'd 
be no room for me. 

The oyster did not overstate the case : the 
price of oysters may be a subject of regret, but 
statisticians are agreed that their unchecked 
multiplication is not to be desired unless they 
are to monopolize this planet. 

The mackerel, who have spent the 
summer on the coast, put out to sea ; they 


1698 to permit him to be cried in the 
London streets on Sundays. 

The spinster glow-worm turns out her lamp, 
for the gentlemen are all married and dead, 
and economy forbids the waste of brightness 
on the empty air. The great bat or noctule, 
who, owing to his affection for the higher 
regions of the air, is thought rarer than is 
actually the case, comes down, folds himself 
up, and goes to bed till next April : seven or 
eight months' calm, refreshing sleep fortify 
him for the fatigues of five or four months' 
activity. The slim, secretive eel chooses a 
dark night and glides away down stream with 
as much caution as though eloping with a 



% 

1 

appear to be punctual in their movements as 
far as observations in Plymouth Sound reveal, 
Pon top rid dan has a terrible story to illustrate 
the turpitude of the mackerel: a shoal, he 
says, once surrounded a Norwegian sailor 
who was bathing ; by sheer weight of 
numbers they pushed him into deep water, 
and while they pushed bit him so severely 
that, though rescued, the poor man died from 
loss of blood. Without reflecting on the 
veracity of Pontoprtddan or his informant, 
one feds it would be satisfactory to hear the 
mackerel's account of the affair. The 
mackerel goes bad very quickly; for which 
reason an Act of Parliament was passed in 


ward in Chancery. The authorities are 
divided concerning the subsequent proceed¬ 
ings of cels: whether Mrs. Ed lays five 
million or ten million eggs ; whether she 
lays them in the depths of the sea ; in the 
depths of estuarial mud ; dies after laying the 
eggs ; doesn’t die afterwards—all these are 
subjects of debate. If an experienced family 
eel could be coaxed into the witness-box, 
several great minds would be set at rest: but 
theed preserves an attitude of masterly reserve. 

The 15th of September brings repose to 
the otter, who has been hunted since the 
middle of April, and brings trouble to the 
hare. Coursing this day, and 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





2 68 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 



some few packs of 
harriers begin hunt¬ 
ing within the next 
fortnight; most packs, 
however, postpone 
their opening day till 
about mid - October, 
if not till the ist of 
November* 

The rabbits are 
freed from nursery 
duties some time in 
September; young 
ones have been found 
in November, but 
that was exception¬ 
ally late, and probably 
very mild weather 
tempted a particularly 
motherly rabbit to 
tempt fate with an 
untimely litter The 
harvest-mouse some¬ 
times produces a 
family as late as this, 
but others of the 
genus (saving always 
the house-mouse) have done with domestic 
affairs for the year 

The seals marry in September In hot 
weather they spend much time in drowsy 
meditation on the rocks, and would spend 


more in this harmless 
occupation if men 
would leave them 
alone. Fishermen say 
they appoint a sentry 
to keep a look-out 
before they settle 
down thus: there is 
nothing improbable 
i n this, but the 
authorities accept the 
statement with re¬ 
serve, having re¬ 
marked that the 
members of a sleep¬ 
ing party look up 
from time to time* 
It may be that these 
wakeful seals are 
merely keeping an 
eye on the sentry: 
but this conjecture 
has not been received 
with approval by 
those who give natural 
history details the 
guinea - stamp that 
secures currency. Towards the end of 
the month the stag turns angrily to 
thoughts of love, and rambles over the hills 
all night bellowing ; some natures cannot 
love greatly without hating greatly, and of 


“the otter’s repose," 



'•on oua*d " 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 369 



such is the disposition of the stag. He is 
spoiling for a fight, and thanks to his loud 
advertisement usually finds a friend to oblige, 
when the two engage in earnest. They fight 
to the death if need he, while the binds 
stand by to see the end and fall into the 
train of the victor* The stalking season ends 
during the first week in October, and for a 
month the deer are left undisturbed to fight 
and marry* The carrion crows are at this 
season prone to leave the moors, where 
perhaps more shooting is in progress than 
they care to encourage by their presence, and 
resort to the shores. Crows are fond of 
shellfish, mussels particularly; and when the 
bird finds a mussel he can’t open by ordinary 
means, be weighs the situation intelligently, 
soars aloft with the obstinate thing in his bill, 
and picking out a good hard rock drops it 
thereon, to descend smiling and eat it. 
Family parties of herons haunt the water¬ 
side : their manners are reposeful, but 
they mean business, for the birds of the 
year are learning the elements of the anglers’ 
gentle craft 

Now bear in mind the rules you learned when you 
were taught your drill, 

That dinner, unlike victories, is won by standing 
stilL 


Open yuur eyes and shut your beak, pretend that 
you are stuffed— 

And don’t forget refraction’s law ; that way are 
catches muffed. 

Your head between your shoulders sink ; the attitude 
is lent a 

Look of disarming dreaminess if on the gastric centre 

You rest your beak in readiness to make your down¬ 
ward stroke. 

When fishes come strike clean and hard ; it’s slovenly 
to poke. 

And when you’ve got your fish be sure you gulp 
him down at once, 

Don’t trifle with him lest he drop and make you 
look a dunce; 

Fd not accept to drop my pTey, so foolish I should 
feel, 

An 18-caral gold-fish or a sterling silver eel. 

It must be said that the heron does not 
confine himself to fish dinners : he eats frogs, 
water-voles, and other dainties, not always 
choosing with discretion* Herons have been 
found dead, choked by water-voles which 
were several sizes too large for their throats. 

The starlings, always sociable, collect in 
flocks for the winter: these flocks resort 
regularly every night to the same place to 
roost; there is one such starling roost in a 
plantation on Cramond Island, in the Firth 
of Forth, about a mile from the mouth of the 
River Almond. Not a bird builds there in 

spring, and 
not one is 
to be seen 
there in the 
daytime, 
but in the 
autumn 
and winter 
evenings 
they come 
in'thou- 
sands to 
pass the 
night* Why some 
species should assem¬ 
ble in hundreds or 
thousands for the 
season when food is 
scarcest is an open 
question ; it may be 
for their greater 
security; birds in a 
crowd are always 
warier than individ¬ 
uals, and bird foes are 
most active in the 
winter. Mr* H. A. 
Macpherson says that 
flocks of starlings 
”E^LAHAiawgiri.:il fi-spend the whole 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










summer on the Cumberland salt-marshes ; 
he believes these to be bachelors who 
come there to enjoy themselves in idle 
frivolity instead of marrying and bring¬ 
ing up families like respectable starlings. 
These bachelor flocks break up in October, 
no doubt to join other flocks. The wild duck 
begins to put on again the smart winter 
clothes he gave up wearing in spring, when 
he had seen his wife settled for the season, 
Blackgame “pack” about the end of the 
month. Mr. J. G. Millais says the old 
cocks and greyhens, or old 
cocks alone, make up par¬ 
ties by themselves* leaving 
the birds of the year to 
form assemblies with friends 
of their own age, and a very 
sensible plan too. The old 
greyhens do not always 
“pack”: they sometimes 
winter singly or in small 
parties. At this season 
blackgame find attractions 
on arable land during the 
day* resorting to the higher 
moors to sleep. The black¬ 
cocks have another tourna¬ 
ment of a somewhat per¬ 
functory kind in theautumn. 

There is no object in these 
exercises so far as man 
knows, but perhaps the 
birds merely want to keep 
their hands in, with a view 


to the real lek in the early spring. 
The grouse separate about mid- 
September, the cocks going off by 
themselves or in small parties, and 
the hens in coter¬ 
ies of from five to 
seven. 

The emigration 
movements go on 
throughout Sept¬ 
ember : the corn¬ 
crake — pardon* 
landrail — not¬ 
withstanding his 
corpulence, gets 
under way about 
the end of the 
month. The Kal¬ 
mucks told J. 
F, Gmelin, the 
naturalist, that the 
southward-bound 
cranes carried 
each a corncrake 
on his back: just the sort of thing a fat corn¬ 
crake would enjoy if the crane consented to 
fall in with his views. There ts nothing im¬ 
probable in the story: a short-eared owl was 
once seen to land on the Yorkshire coast carry¬ 
ing on its back a golden-crested wren, whom 
it had, no doubt, overtaken at sea wing-weary 
and exhausted, and had given a lift. The North 
American Indians tell similar stories of such 
assistance lent by big birds to little ones. 
The ring-ousel goes—the one representative 
of our thrushes who does not consider this 



KltfOpUSEL : *'WF-!-l- n CO0D-BVH,X«- <W—BUT WON T YOU COMK ? 

^yRUBH m m ""no, thanks;, olp Kkdtkiiti'lielIW kovgh for mr, 1 ' 

<y v UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


271 


country good enough for him in the winter, 
though there is reason to believe that some 
of our song-thrushes also go abroad. The 
redstart and willow-wren say good-bye, and 
the garden-warbler leaves about the end of 
the month : the garden-warbler goes as far 
as Cape Colony, but whether the birds found 
there come from England or some other 
part of Europe is not known. Birds' ideas 
of what constitutes an enjoyable climate 
differ : linnets who bring up their families in 
Scandinavia are satisfied to winter in the 
milder climate of England, and begin to 
come over to us in vast flocks about this 


more northerly latitudes; the young golden 
plovers arrive in large flocks now, in advance 
of their parents, who remain to finish moult¬ 
ing, and haunt the sea-shores ; many, of 
course, go inland, but the bill of fare on the 
beach at low tide has great attractions. The 
ruff, formerly a fairly common bird in marshy 
districts, but now practically exterminated in 
England as a breeding species by drainage 
and collectors, comes to us after moulting. 
The cock does well to leave behind him the 
wonderful ruff whence he derives his name : 
his extravagant style of dress in the breeding 



southward—some go abroad, others do 
not. The golden-crested wrens, smallest of 
European birds, have a high opinion of this 
country as a winter resort : they come 
over from Norway and Sweden and else¬ 
where in countless thousands: continuous 
flocks extending right across England, St. 
George's Channel, into Ireland, have been 
recorded : the marvel is how such tiny birds 
can remain on the wing long enough to pier- 
form such a journey : it is more than three 
hundred miles between the nearest points of 
the Norwegian and Scottish coasts, but many 
of these adventurous travellers disdain the 
risks of over sea journeying, and swarms come 
straight to the Yorkshire and Lincolnshire 
sea-board, four hundred miles at least 
Judging from the numbers of birds of many 
spiecies which perch to rest on the rigging of 
vessels in the North Sea, they often find the 
trip more exhausting than they expected: 
and as ships and obliging big birds are not 
always where they are wanted, the loss of life 
must be considerable. The golden plover 
breeds with us, but is far commoner in 

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* o 


season marked him out for slaughter. In¬ 
conspicuously attired like his wife he is 
tolerably safe. 

The dragon-flies render their last duty to 
their species and lay their eggs preparatory to 
dying. Some of the earlier kinds are dead 
already, but the large majority complete their 
allotted span of three months in September, 
and egg-laying is therefore general. Some 
dragon-flies are equipped with that neat 
instrument called an ovipositor, with which 
the owner can make holes in the leaf or stem 
of a water-plant to receive eggs : those who 
have not got an ovipositor drop their eggs 
casually into the water and trust to luck to 
look after them. The degree of confidence 
wild creatures repose in luck demands the 
attention of the Anti-Gambling League. The 
Death’s Head moth, whom we saw last month 
in caterpillar guise retreating into the earth 
to become a chrysalis, emerges in its might. 
The moth’s wings attain their full size—five 
inches across in some specimens—in a couple 
of hours ; it must be a dizzying sensation to 
grow at such a rate as that. The Death's 
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN __ 






272 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Head is gifted above other moths: it has a 
voice—a weird and ghastly little squeak— 
which has been compared to that of a sick 
mouse. The insect presumes upon its 
size and accomplishments as a speaker to 
attack bee-hives and steal honey, which it 
does with impunity, as the bees are afraid of 
it. We can hardly tax the bees with 
cowardice, for many among country people 
are afraid of the Death's Head, too ; the 
device on his thorax, the name he derives 
therefrom, and that unearthly voice, the more 
unearthly as coming from a moth, combine 
to render the Death's Head an object of 
superstition and dislike. The honey harvest 
is gathered in September. The principles of 
the bee deteriorate sadly at this season. 
Mr. Pettigrew says reproachfully that bees 
are thievish all the summer; but in Sep¬ 
tember robbers are constantly prowling about, 


the winter than any other species ; they linger 
twittering for days as though sorry to go, as 
perhaps they are :— 

Good-bye ! Our pleasant stay is only ended 
Because the nights grow cold and flies grow few. 
We’ll take your summer south and get it mended. 

And bring it back next spring as good as new. 

Last week that snap of frost showed something broken: 

You don’t approve of summer stopping thus. 

Accept of our regard lor you a token, 

And leave the slight repairs required to us. 

Why, when in spring the birds go north in legions, 
Not beg them take your winter, wretched thing, 
And regulate it in the Arctic regions ? 

It now gets mixed with autumn and with spring. 

Young foxes have by this time discovered 
that life is not all chicken and rabbit; 
hounds are cub-hunting and teaching those 
whom it most nearly concerns that safety 
lies in flight; the timorous cub who declines 
to learn this lesson and dodges about in 



and hive burglary and theft of honey are 
deplorably common. 

The invasion of this country by winter 
visitors is only beginning in September: on 
the other hand, the vast majority of the birds 
who do not mean to stay with us leave 
during the latter half of the month, more 
particularly if the weather is become cold 
and disagreeable. The sand-martins are 
gone, and though some of the house-martins 
are busy rearing a third brood they probably 
wish they had been content with two, and 
were free to join the daily increasing throngs 
of their fellows who, with the swallows, are 
collecting on telegraph wires and roofs pre¬ 
paratory to starting. Swallows and martins 
make a greater business about leaving for 


covert teaches hounds in his own person 
that fox-flesh is a thing of great desire. The 
ardent sportsman who said that if he saw 
a May fox killed and could begin cubbing 
in July he could worry through the rest 
of the year somehow did not ask much 
more than he can get in some countries. 
Given an early harvest there are packs which 
turn their attention to the cubs in August, 
but cub-hunting is not general until Septem¬ 
ber. The squirrels are enjoying feasts of 
beech-mast and other nuts; and the dor¬ 
mouse, hedgehog, and other hibernating 
creatures are agreeably occupied in eating 
as much as they possibly can, that they 
may presently retire to bed in a state of 
fortified fatness. 


Pnnftlp Original from 

K y 1 UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






30T&CDWGC&SRM 

By Mrs. C. N. Williamson* 


T was at dinner that the Horror 
first burst upon the guests of 
the Hotel d’Angleterre at 
Mgtretat, in Brittany, 

The season of Metretat had 
only just begun, but already 
all the usual people were there ; for M&retat 
was different from other watering-places, and 
the Angleterre was different from other hotels. 
Both were exclusive, in the most esoteric 
sense of that abused term ; both were 
at this time of the year given up to the 
English. One of the leaders of a certain set 
which had a hereditary right to look clown 
upon persons merely u smart” had “dis¬ 
covered” Metretat some years before, and 
had discreetly confided its charms to a few of 
the brightest and best ; consequently a colony 
of exactly the right people had practically 
annexed Mdtrctnt and the one hotel of the 
place. Rooms were engaged during one 
season for another, so that, if intrusive strangers 
dared try to break the charmed circle, the 
landlord was able to thwart the attempt by 
announcing that the house was full* 

To spend August and September at the 
Hotel d’Angleterre was like being a member 
of a big country-house party, for everybody 
knew' everybody else, and most of the forty- 

VoL JtJtiv.—36. 

Digitized by GOOgle 


five or fifty people called each other by their 
Christian names, or, still better, nicknames 
invented as a souvenir of some funny adven¬ 
ture, or to fit some pleasant little peculiarity* 
If strangers contrived to get in they were 
not really strangers, but guests, or, at least, 
friends of someone in the set; everyone 
knew all about them and (unless they were 
particularly amusing, in which case ancestors 
could be dispensed with) who their great¬ 
grandfathers had been. 

There was nothing of the mushroom, 
nouveau riche element among the guests who 
came each summer to the little, old fashioned, 
sleepy village on the rocky coast of Brittany. 
There was no ostentation, no outshining one 
another in dress* The women wore short serge 
skirts and blouses or white piqu^ frocks till 
dinner-time, when they changed to the 
simplest possible gowns; and it was an 
unwritten law- that there should be no 
jewellery, and no bodices revealing more 
than an inch of white skin below the collar¬ 
bone* As for the golfing or walking men, 
they lived in knickerbockers until sundown, 
while the boating.and fishing men apparently 
valued their flannels according to their 
shabbiness. 

The season at the Hotel d’Angleterre had 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


274 

been in full, comfortable, lazy swing for 
about a week in the sixth August of its 
possession by the British ; and, the dinner- 
gong having sounded, as usual, at eight 
o’clock one exquisite blue evening, the party 
had assembled. As it was a party of friends 
it was considered pleasant to have several 
tables, each capable of seating about a 
dozen. Thus the people who knew one 
another best could sit together, and when 
somebody at one table had anything to say 
to somebody at another he simply turned in 
his chair and called across the room. Conse¬ 
quently there was a great buzz and chatter; 
but everybody seemed to know what every¬ 
body else was talking about, and all were 
interested in the same subjects. 

“ What a shame Kit Vance should have 
got the flu ! ” remarked Lord Strathallin 
(known as “ Woodsey ”), nodding atone of 
two unoccupied places at his table. “ She 
and Tom will be a big loss ; they’re both so 
ripping. Hope old Dupont won’t be such a 
beast as to let their rooms to any bounding 
outsiders.” 

“ He wouldn’t dare,” Lady “Jack” Avery 
reassured him from across several candle-lit, 
flower-decked tables. 

At this instant the door of the dining-room 
opened, which it had no business to do, as 
everyone was in his or her proper place, and 
the soup was being taken away. There was 
a shrill rustle of new, rich silk linings, a 
luscious swish of heavy satin, a burst of 
white heliotrope scent, a tintinnabulation of 
many bangles, and a girl came into the room. 

So insistently was she heralded to shocked 
ears and nostrils that, instinctively, eyes 
turned for confirmation of the announce¬ 
ment, remained fixed upon the vision for a 
frozen second, then met one another under 
raised brows for a long, expressive gaze. 

Sudden, chill silence had fallen, and the 
waiters understood its meaning with awe 
which was half a fearful joy. None of 
their number envied the dignified head- 
waiter, whose duty it was to conduct the 
intruder to her seat. But he did it in a 
way worthy of a soldier of the Old Guard 
leading a forlorn hope; while, thrillingly 
conscious of the effect she was creating, 
but completely misconstruing its cause, the 
girl sailed, joyously rustling and tinkling, up 
the room. The head-waiter advanced to one 
of the only two unoccupied places (those 
which should have been sacred to the 
memory of Sir Thomas Vance and Katherine 
his wife, unavoidably absent), and drew out 
the chair next to Lord Strathallin. 

Digitized by CiOOqIc 
* o 


The girl, with a hopeful, agreeably anti¬ 
cipating expression on her pretty face, sat 
down, unfolded and spread out her serviette 
with a coquettish flourish, then beamed 
about her with the friendly beginning of a 
smile. Nobody returned it. Nobody looked 
at her. It was as if the whole company, 
surprised into the vulgarity of a stare for 
a brief moment, had combined in the defen¬ 
sive system of ignoring the invasion. The 
murmur of pleasantly modulated voices had 
risen again, and continued with one accord 
as if there had been no interruption. There 
was talk of things that had happened at 
Cowes last week, before people had come on 
here; gossip of news from those who pre¬ 
ferred Scotland even to dear little M&retat; 
chat of the day’s events, golf and fish stories, 
with an undercurrent of croquet; and ex¬ 
cited discussion concerning bridge, past, 
present, and to come. 

The girl listened for a while, eating her 
dinner, glancing from face to fkoe, dress to 
dress, taking in everything, and appearing 
radiantly satisfied still with herself and her 
surroundings; though occasionally, as fish 
gave place to roast, and roast to entree, a 
faintly puzzled expression lifted the charm¬ 
ingly pencilled dark eyebrows, which con¬ 
trasted so strikingly with the bright, gold- 
dusted brown of the wavy hair. 

Finally, when she had made due allowance 
for English stiffness to a stranger, which must 
be thawed by the sun of the stranger’s smile, 
she could bear her splendid isolation no 
longer. She listened to the description of 
a glorious game of bridge, enthusiastically 
described across her to Jx>rd Strathallin by a 
pretty, youngish woman in a simple black 
dress. In a pause which this lady made for 
breath, the patient new-comer considered 
that her chance had arrived. 

“ Is bridge an easy kind of game to 
learn ?” she cheerfully thrust into the open¬ 
ing. “ I’ve heard such a lot of it, over in 
Denver. I’m an Amurrican.” 

The woman in black trained a slow, very 
slow, gaze upon the speaker, permitting it to 
dwell upon the pink and white face for a 
moment, or rather to pass through it, as if 
it were an obstruction which hid a more 
attractive object beyond. “ Really ? ” she 
remarked, and removed the gaze. 

The girl’s complexion became more 
dazzlingly brilliant than before, thus, at all 
events, justifying itself as a natural product. 
She swept a hasty glance around, received an 
impression of other eyes, fixed and fish-like, 
noted with a spasm of hope that they were 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE GREAT BOYCOTT AT THE HOTEL D'ANGLETERRE. 275 


** I'm AW AMUKKICAW." 

women s, and then hurriedly turned towards 
I^ord Strathallin as if—being a man—he 
might be looked upon as a port to be sought 
in storm, 

11 My goodness !” she exclaimed in a half 
whisper, accompanied by a winning appeal 
from under long lashes, “ is that lady snub¬ 
bing me, do you suppose ? *' 

As it happened, the lady in the plain black 
dress was a bright, particular star in that set 
which came to Metretat each year to enjoy 
its own exclusive society. Why this high 
place had been accorded her, nobody knew 
precisely, for she was neither beautiful, titled, 
rich, nor superlatively agreeable. But she 
did and said things in an original way, and 
somehow she had made herself indispensable. 
Lord Strathallin had just been admitted to 
her friendship, and he bad no mind to 
sacrifice it for a strange young person who, 
on her entrance to the room, had been 
audibly christened a “Horror" by Mrs. 
LlymvGryfFyth. The girl was incredibly 
pretty, though the worst possible form, and 
if be had been addressed by her when no 
eyes were there to see he would have 
answered with a certain pleasure* As it was, 

Digitized by GoOQle 


however, he knew what 
his country expected of 
him, and would not dis¬ 
appoint it* 

He looked at the girl, 
whose accent bad pro¬ 
claimed her ‘ 4 Amur- 
rican ” before her w ords 
confessed it. He looked 
at the diamond butter¬ 
fly perched on high 
above yellow-brown 
masses of hair; at the 
necklace of large, 
glistening pearls twined 
round her firm young 
throat, and falling in a 
second strand to her 
slim waist; at the 
three or four quaintly- 
fashioned ornaments 
(one of which was a 
tiny American flag in 
diamonds, rubies, and 
sa pphi res) sci ntillating 
among the laces on her 
girlish bosom; at the 
low-cut bodice of her 
peach - blossom satin 
dress; looking not in 
ostentatious disappro¬ 
val, but with a finely- 
marked, critical indifference* “ I beg your 
pardon/ 1 be said ; “I don’t think I quite know 
what you mean,” 

The girPs question was not one to be 
repeated, with a tag of explanation attached* 
She blushed very red, and wriggled her pretty 
shoulders in a shrug which aimed at disdain, 
but indicated distress. “It doesn’t matter 
at all,” she retorted ; and gave herself up 
wholly to the green peas, which she eked out as 
a valuable screen for emotion, by eating one 
at a time. She had come last into the dining¬ 
room, but she was the first to leave it, sweep¬ 
ing from the room, with her head very high ; 
and, when a waiter had closed the door behind 
her, contemptuously amused glances were 
exchanged, She was a vulgar little horror, 
that was clear* Pretty, oh, yes, in a mere¬ 
tricious way, but quite too terrible ; covered 
with jewels like an idol ; altogether distinctly 
a creature, and to be frowned relentlessly 
down* If one were even civil in a weak 
moment, she was evidently the kind to take 
advantage; and if she were not to remain a 
flamboyant weed in this pleasant garden, she 
must be firmly discouraged from the first 
Indeed, it was monstrous that Dupont should 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





276 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



have taken her in ; he was well aware that 
this was not to be considered an ordinary 
hotel, and if he knew what was for his own 
good in the end he would not begin to fill 
up any chance vacancy with rank outsiders, 
who would simply ruin everything and make 
Metretat impossible 10 the very people who 
had annexed it. 

Everybody wondered whether the Horror 
had been sufficiently crushed to slink off in 
a proper state of annihilation to her basely 
acquired quarters, or whether enough brazen 
impudence remained to carry her into the 
big, square hall, where the coterie elected 
to drink coffee after dinner. But the 
American flag is not easily to be torn from 
its standard by 
a foe, even in 
overwhelm ing 
numbers. In* 
domitably, defi¬ 
antly, it waved 
over the par- 
ticular sofa in 
the corner and 
the table adja¬ 
cent which had 
come to be 
looked upon as 
M r s. L J y 1111 - 
Gryffyth’s pro¬ 
perty. 

That corner— 
the pleasantest 
in the hall, and 
made beautiful 
by a tall lamp 
with a ruffly, red 
silk shade, given 
to the hotel by 
Mrs. Llynn- 
Gryffyth—-was 
promptly ta¬ 
booed. As if a 
river had been 
turned from its 
normal course, 
the tide of 
evening frocks and dinner jackets flowed 
in one compact wave towards an opposite 
end of the ball, lampless, but uncon* 
laminated. The pretty girl in pink satin 
sat remote, shimmering and scintillating 
like a jewel cast up by the sea on a desert 
island. She drank black coffee, and read (or 
seemed to read) a paper-covered novel with 
absorbed interest ; and she “ stuck it out,” 
as somebody e*pressed it, at least until after 
the crowd had drifted elsewhere, to ping- 


pong, to bridge, to billiards, or to dance in 
the large, bare music-room, according to 
taste and age. After that, no one knew or 
cared what became of her, since she hnd 
ceased to offend with her undesired and 
undesirable presence. 

Dicky Wickham, or “ Wicky Dickham,” as 
he was more often called, a mild, elderly 
bachelor who was popular because he always 
did what he was asked, and had also some 
very pretty little tricks, was told off by a 
couple of half-amused, half-annoyed girls to 
u tackle Dupont” and ask him why in the 
name of goodness, etc., etc. 

He was gone for twenty minutes, and then 
returned primed with information. Dupont 

appeared to be 
grieved, but not 
penitent. He 
had actually 
defended him¬ 
self, alleging 
that, after all, 
the Angleterre 
was an hotel, 
subject to tlie 
laws w h i c h 
govern other 
houses of, public 
entertainment. 
If he hod rooms 
disengaged, he 
insisted that he 
could not turn 
customers away. 
He had even 
ventured to sug¬ 
gest that, if his 
patrons wished 
the whole hotel 
reserved for 
themselves and 
their friends, 
they should club 
together and 
pay the price, 
with pension , for 
any rooms 
which happened to be vacant. The be¬ 
nighted man had further—when heated 
by controversy—gone so far as to hint 
that, as most of his guests stipulated for 
reduced terms on account of long tenancy, 
his season was not really so profitable as if 
the hotel were filled with people who came 
and went. As for the young person in 
question (Dupont had referred to her as a 
lady), she had arrived that afternoon with her 
maid, and had demanded a suite with two 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





THE GREAT BOYCOTT AT THE HdTEL D' ANGLE TERRE. 277 


bedrooms and a private sitting-room, for the 
remaining weeks of August. Such a suite 
Dupont had on his hands, owing to the 
detention in England of Sir Thomas and 
Lady Vance. In deference to the prejudice 
of his distinguished patrons against strangers 
and foreigners Dupont had named a very 
large price, which the young lady had agreed 
to pay without an instant’s hesitation. She 
appeared to be comrne il faut; when she had 
written her name, “ Miss Jenny Calmour,” 
in the visitors’ book she had remarked, as if 
by way of furnishing a reference, that her 
father was John Calmour, the “canned-soup 
man, you know.” Dupont had vaguely 
associated the name and canned-soupiness 
with millions, and had felt himself justified 
as a landlord. This was the story which 
explained the apparition of the Horror ; 
and though all grumbled as with one voice, 
the more just-minded (these were men) re¬ 
luctantly pronounced that Dupont was within 
his rights, and unless the invader could be 
routed she must be endured. 

Thus the siege began. 

Miss Jenny Calmour, very pink as to the 
cheeks, defiantly bright as to the eyes, 
appeared in public in the most elaborate 
costumes, which she changed invariably three 
times a day, and she never wore the same 
one twice. Her hats were large, picturesque, 
and abundantly covered with drooping 
feathers or flowers; her shoes were exceed¬ 
ingly small, pointed of toe and high of heel, 
and usually they matched her dress in colour. 
Yet nobody gave her a glance; she might 
have been a ghost, invisible to the human 
eye, to be looked through, never at. Never¬ 
theless, the women knew what she had on, 
and knew that, if M6tretat had been Biarritz 
or Ostend and she had been a young 
Princess, everything would have been in 
good taste. But it was M^tretat; therefore 
everything was execrable, and the “ boycott 
of American canned goods,” as Jack Avery 
dubbed it, continued unabated. 

While all the world of the Hotel d’Angle- 
terre and the few villas owned by the right 
sort of people (there were no longer any 
others at M£tretat) went bathing, golfing, 
walking, or boating, or played famous 
matches of croquet or tennis, Miss Jenny 
Calmour, exquisitely dressed and smelling 
of white heliotrope, picked her lonely way 
along the beach with a book in her hand, her 
haughtily erect little head shaded with a chiffon 
and lace parasol to match her frock, or took 
drives inland in the one landau which the 
modest watering-place possessed. At night, 

Digitized by GoOQ lc 
f o 


when the hotel rang with a merry confusion 
of laughter, ping-pong, the tinkle of music, 
and of feet that danced in time, Miss Jenny 
Calmour sat in the corner which had once 
been Mrs. Llynn-Gryffyth’s and was now hers, 
proudly introspective, or plunged in the 
inevitable Tauchnitz. 

In this manner passed seven golden August 
days, and if the American girl had opened 
her lips for any other purpose than eating or 
breathing, it had been only in intercourse 
with servants or tradespeople. One morning, 
while M^tretat bathed in a warm, blue sea 
under sparkling sunshine, she was seen 
(although nobody looked her way) to go to 
the village post - office, an expression of 
peculiar firmness graven on her dimpled 
chin. She wrote out a telegram in English 
and sent it. It was memorable at the post- 
office, because the mes age covered two 
forms and cost i8frs. During the after¬ 
noon of the same day a petit bleu was 
handed to her while she was drinking tea 
on the otherwise deserted balcony. She 
brightened on reading it and put it in her 
pocket. That evening at dinner her appetite, 
which had failed somewhat of late, was 
observed by the waiter assigned to her table 
to have improved. 

The following morning she drove in her 
landau to the distant railway station, and 
Lord Strathallin (who saw her on his way to 
the links) wondered if she were going away, 
vanquished—luggage and maid to follow. 

But she had not turned her back on 
M^tretat; she had merely met a train. 
From it stepped a big man, with crisply 
curling grey hair, a smooth-shaven red face, 
well-featured and shrewd, with the chin of 
Napoleon and the eye of a financier. He 
was tall beyond the common run of men, 
and the pronounced check of his travelling 
clothes made him loom even larger than he 
really was. He looked expectantly up and 
down the platform, and showed a set of 
teeth white and sound as hazel nuts when a 
pink muslin vision flashed into sight with a 
cry of “ Poppa ! ” 

The big man had with him for luggage 
only a bag, which he styled his “grip.” He 
took his daughter cheerily by the arm, 
swinging the “grip” with his free hand ; and 
so they marched side by side to the waiting 
landau. 

“ I suppose we couldn’t send this thing 
up to the hotel and walk, could we ? I 
guess, though, you ain’t dressed fora tramp?” 
said John Calmour, of tinned-soup fame. 

“Yes, but I am, poppa; I’d just love to,” 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



278 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


replied the gi ik And the landau went off 
with the “grip” on the back seat, looking 
like a very big nutshell with a very small 
kernel. 

There was a short cut from the railway- 
station which diverged from the main road, 
passed the golf-links, and then dipped down 
to a path along the rocks that overhung the 
sea- By the time that the father and 
daughter had talked about her telegram to 
him and his to her, his sudden journey from 
London (where he had been transacting 
important business), and the girl had thanked 
him at least a dozen times for making it, 
they had reached a rocky seat out of sight 
from everyone except fishermen and gulls* 

“ Let's sit down and look around*" said 
the big man* “ This is kind of refreshing. 
Seems a nice place, Metretat.” (He pro¬ 
nounced the last syllable to rhyme with 
“cat.") 11 1 bet you sent for me in such a 

dickens of a hurry because I was tomfool 
enough to write that the London climate 
in August took it out of a fellow, and you 
wanted to get me here, eh ?” 

“I did want to get you here,” admitted 
Jenny, digging the ferrule of her smart parasol 
into a hole in the rock, “But 
it wasn't only that, I guess I 
was homesick. It seemed to 
me* yesterday* that I should 
just have a fit if I couldn't 
see you right away, poppa.” 

He threw a sudden, sharp 
glance at the downcast profile. 

Something in the tone of the 
girl’s voice had struck him as 
unusual. 

“ You're looking a hit peaked, 

Sissy, ,J he said. “ Ain't the air 
what it was cracked up to he ? n 

“Sissy” swallowed audibly, 
once, twice; and the third 
attempt to dispose of a certain 
obstruction in the throat ended 
in a sob. Her little nose 
turned suddenly pink, and 
great round tears, like those 
shed by a child, came tumbling 
from between the long lashes. 

John Caimour’s face grew 
three shades redder than before, 

“ \\ by, little gurl—why, little 
gurlic I ” he repeated, “ Crying ? 

It must be something mighty 
bad to make you do that I 
haven't seen you so much as 
pipe your eyes for a coon’s age 
— not since you were ten, any¬ 


how. What is it* my pretty ? Tell the old 
man, and if there’s anything he can do you 
can just count on him every time. Why, 
that's what he's for, ain't it? I guess you’re 
the only thing he’s got on this blessed earth, 
and he’s bound to look after you.” 

Jenny’s hands covered her face, which 
showed flushed and moist, like a wet rose, 
between the slim fingers, A big, red-brown 
hand was patting her Leghorn hat, in con¬ 
venient interstices among the nodding gar¬ 
denias ; and a vein was throbbing hard in 
each of John Calmour’s temples. 

“Oh, poppa, I am a born idiot, but I—I 
—just can't help it,” sobbed the girl who 
had held her head so high before the enemy. 
“ I had to send for you. I couldn't stand it 
any longer, here all alone. It's been awful. 
Fve been 'most ready to die; but I guess"— 
with a spasm of defiant pride—“ nobody 
knows it,” 

“ For the land's sake, honey, tel! your old 
dad what's been the matter.” 

“ It’s ■—it's the people,'* Jenny wept, 
with her cheek on his shoulder, much 
to the detriment of the hat. “They're 
wicked, cruel Beasts." 




THE GREAT BOYCOTT AT THE HdTEL D'ANGLETERRE. 279 


John Calmour’s jaw squared itself, inten¬ 
sifying a lurking suggestion that the bulldog 
phase had left a stronger impression than any 
of his other incarnations. “ Oh, thafs it, is 
it ? ” he growled. “ It’s the people. So 
they've been beasts to you, have they ? 
Women jealous ? ” 

“ Not they,” cried Jenny. 44 They despise 
me. They think I'm the dirt under their 
feet.” 

44 Do they ? ” said Calmour, in a quiet 
voice, which men knew when hundreds of 
thousands were hanging on a word of his. 
44 Tell me all about it, pretty.” 

Then Jenny told him. She began at the 
beginning and worked slowly up, punctuating 
with stifled sobs or pathetic little sniffs. 

14 1 thought it would be so lovely here,” she 
said. 44 1 read in a society paper, while I 
was with you at the Carlton in London, 
poppa, all about the Hotel d’Angleterre at 
M&retat, how ‘unique' it was (that's the 
paper's word), and the house full of people 
of the very tip-topest set in England. When 
you had to stay on, and told me I must take 
Josephine and go off somewhere to the 
country to amuse myself, it seemed as if 
M&retat would be just the right place. I 
thought it would be fun to know a lot of 
English lords and ladies, and I had whole 
heaps of pretty dresses and things to show 
off. I was sure I should have a nice time. 
The first night at dinner, when nobody spoke 
to me, and made fishes’ eyes if they happened 
to look my way by mistake, I supposed that 
was English manners, and they were only 
shy and stiff till they knew me. But I soon 
found out that was a mistake ! Oh, poppa, 
I never was snubbed before, but I've had 
enough this one week to last me alL my life.” 

44 Why should they snub you ? ” queried 
Calmour, with a dangerous flickering of the 
nostrils, like a vicious horse. 

44 Because I’m an Amurrican, for one 
thing, and because they all know each other 
and call each other 4 Mouse,' and 4 Bat,' and 
every kind of queer nickname, even the quite 
old ones; and they’re just wild at having a 
strange girl among them. They love the 
Angleterre and think it belongs to them. 
They've been trying to freeze me out, poppa, 
as hard as they could, but I wouldn't give in, 
though all the time inside I’ve felt as sick as 
sick, and sometimes it was all I could do not 
to burst out crying and jump up from the 
table and run away. Not that I care a red 
cent for any of them ; it isn’t that. Oh, I 
don't know exactly what it is; but it’s the 
aw fullest experience I ever had, feeling that 

Digitized bvGoOQle 

* o 


they thought—because I was different from 
them, somehow, and here all alone without 
any momma, like the other girls—that I 
was a horrid creature. I wouldn’t hurt a fly, 
poppa, you know it; and I don’t want really 
to do them any harm ; but—but I should 
like to make them sorry.” 

44 Maybe you shall,” said John Calmour. 
44 You say they love this Angleterre hotel 
and think it belongs to 'em. I suppose it 
would be a blow to the lot if they were 
packed off?” 

44 They’d be out of their wits with rage,” 
said Jenny. 

44 Well, we'll see,” said her father. 

“ Poppa, whatever do you mean ? I know 
by your face you've got a plan.” 

Calmour whistled, and looked introspective 
for a moment. Then he said : 44 They want 
to chase you away, don't they ? What I 
mean is, that you're going to chase them 
instead.” 

It was luncheon time at the Hotel 
d'Angle* rre when Miss Calmour returned 
with her iather, and the two had that meal 
served in her private sitting-room. Soon 
after, John Calmour, large, calm, and smoking 
a cigar, strolled into the bureau where sat 
the landlord, M. Dupont, a shrewd, some¬ 
what melancholy little Breton. The American 
had made no inquiries yet regarding accom¬ 
modation for the night, but M. Dupont 
had one or two unoccupied bedrooms, and 
intended, if the millionaire wished to stay, to 
make him comfortable. The little man had 
a suitable respect for millionaires, and he 
rose as the large figure in checked flannel 
lounged through the doorway. 

Both said good-day in English, upon 
which language M. Dupont prided himself, 
not without cause. Then the Breton waited 
deferentially for the expected request for a 
room ; or perhaps he prepared to shed 
reproaches with a responsibility-disclaiming 
though regretful shrug, in case Mr. Calmour 
brought up the subject of the boycott. 

Having puffed in silence at his cigar for a 
long moment, the big man’s steel-grey eyes 
caught those of the landlord as if they 
pounced upon a prey. 44 How much will you 
take for this hotel, cash down on the nail ? ” 
he abruptly demanded, in his pleasant, 
though slightly nasal, voice. 

“ I beg monsieur’s pardon,” returned the 
Breton, not sure whether he had understood, 
or whether the American were joking. 

“ I’m making you an offer for this hotel,” 
went on John Calmour. “ I want to buy it.” 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



28 o 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


“ But, monsieur, it is not for sale.” 

“ My experience has been, as a business 
man, that most things are for sale if the 
price runs up high enough. Now, I want 
your hotel, and when I want a thing I'm 
willing to pay for it. I’ve calculated that for 
the place as it stands, with the goodwill, you 
might expect to get, say, about i25,ooodols. 
You can have, my cheque for that sum, 
mounseer, as quick as I can write it, if you 
are on to make the deal.” 

Dupont fairly gasped, but he was suffi¬ 
ciently master of his faculties to do a rapid 
sum in mental arithmetic. A hundred 
and twenty-five thousand American dollars 
bounded up to a gobdly amount when con¬ 
verted into francs. But, then, he had never 
heard of business being done by lightning. 

“ I thapk you, monsieur,” he said. “It is 
something to reflect upon.” 

“ That's where you're wrong, sir,” returned 
John Calmour. “It’s to take or to leave. 
The hotel’s no use to me unless I can have 
it two hours before dinner to-night, because 
there'd be some little arrangements to 
make.” 

The Breton started. “ Mon Dieu, but it 
is impossible ! ” 

“No, it ain’t, if you look at it calmly. 
There's lots of time. I’ll give you twenty 
minutes to decide, if necessary; but I’d 
sooner have it fixed up at once. That's my 
way of doing business, and it's panned out 
pretty well so far as I've gone. See here; 
to pay for the extra inconvenience to you, 
mounseer, I don’t mind throwing in another 
io,ooodols.” 

Poor Dupont clutched at his damp fore¬ 
head with his damp fingers. “ If you please, 
monsieur, I will take the twenty minutes,” he 
implored. 

“ I thought you were going to say you'd 
take the money. But all right; I’ll just sit 
here and finish my cigar while you make up 
your mind.” 

The Breton sank into his chair at the desk. 
Calmour also sat down, crossed his legs, and 
watched the smoke - rings, which he made 
very successfully—as he did most things. 

Never had Dupont been obliged to think 
so quickly ; but he collected his forces like 
a general surprised in the night 

His season, he reminded himself, existed 
(on paper) from June till October. The 
place, however, scarcely paid expenses till 
July. Even then custom was but casual and 
uncertain until early August, when the 
English came. After that time the hotel 
was practically full through September; but, 

Diqitized by CiOGQ le 
* o 


^s he had assured Mr. Wickham the other 
night, the long-staying patrons paid the 
least. If he made 2o,ooofrs. profit in a 
year he was lucky ; sometimes he made less ; 
and the work was wearing. He was past 
middle age and it would be agreeable to 
retire. Here was the chance for which, in 
bad hours, he had ardently wished. It might 
never come again ; and this mad mil¬ 
lionaire's offer was far more than he would 
have expected to get had he thought of 
selling out. But, then, the suddenness ! 

“ My guests, monsieur ! ” he exclaimed, 
aloud. “ How could I explain-” 

“ Don't worry about that. TU explain. 
I don't mean to turn the folks out. All 
you've got to do is to say 1 Done' and 
pocket my cheque. You can wire to my 
bankers in London, if you want, and make 
sure I'm the man I pretend to be. Then 
you can pack up your baggage at your own 
convenience, and go on a spree to Paris, if 
it suits you. You look kind of tired, as if a 
vacation would do you good.” 

When the twenty minutes were up John 
Calmour had out his cheque-book. 

That evening there was a more elaborate 
dinner than usual, and, for some reason, 
champagne was served to everybody. No 
one understood why this was, but when the 
waiters intimated that the wine was free 
nearly everybody drank it, to the extent of 
several glasses each. 

Nothing else of an unusual nature had 
occurred, so far as was known in the hotel, 
except that there had been two new arrivals. 
One was the Horror's father, who, having 
brought no evening things in his “grip,” 
disgusted the coterie by dining in his 
travelling clothes. The other was an 
exceedingly good-looking young man, for 
whom, by means of a little crowding at the 
table, room had been made next Mrs. Llynn- 
Gryffyth. Judging from the reception he met 
with, he must have known almost everybody 
in the hotel and have been liked by all. 
Mrs. Llynn-Gryffyth and many others called 
him Bill; Dicky Wickham and a few others 
addressed him as Lord Everest; he looked a 
good deal at Jenny Calmour, pronounced 
the dinner excellent, the champagne a perfect 
marvel for an “ hotel treat,” and talked much 
with his intimates at the table of a cotillon 
which apparently he had come over from 
England to help make a success. The boy¬ 
cott of Jenny was extended to her father, and 
the two, in intervals between their own 
private murmurs, had plenty of time to 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE GREAT BOYCOTT AT THE HOTEL D'ANGLETERRE. 281 


listen to the conversation, which concerned* 
favours for the coming cotillon ; the people 
who had been invited from the Metretat 
villas, and one or two other neighbouring 
watering-places where, it seemed, there really 
were a 44 few human beings who would do, at 
a pinch, for a cotillon.” 

When the fruit had come on (delicious 
little wild strawberries from somewhere in 
the north, at which novelty there was a 
general buzz of delight), John Calm our rose 
from his seat. Instead of leaving the 
table, as people who noticed his move sup¬ 
posed that he would do, lie stood still in his 
place, coolly surveying the room, a hand on 
the back of his chair. 

44 1-adies and gentlemen/’ he began, in the 
loud voice of one about to call attention to 
the first words of a sqieech. 

Everyone looked up, astonished and re¬ 
sentful at the audacious interruption. 45 Is 
the man intoxicated?” Mrs, Liynn-Gryffyth 
was heard to ask in a stage-whisper. 

11 Ladies and gentlemen,” he repeated. 

44 I am glad to have gathered, from certain 
expressions I could not help hearing, that 


Mounseer Dupont, your late landlord. I 
dare say he won’t forget to send them in. 
As regards the future, I must explain that 
an Amurrican is something like an Arab, 
Who eats his salt is sacred, no matter how 
badly they may have behaved before the salt 
went around. That being the case, I don’t 
wish or intend to speak out my feelings about 
the way in which you English people, men 
and women, have treated a young girl placed 
by accident alone and unprotected in your 
midst. She wasn’t good enough to associate 
with you when this was an hotel; but now 
that it’s her father’s country house it is by her 
request that 1 invite you all to remain under 
my roof as my guests as long as you please.” 

He paused. Two or three men sprang up; 
and there were murmurs of u No, no,” 
44 Absurd,” 44 Impossible/’all over the room. 

John Calmour gave them a moment, then, 
when he received no more definite response, 
he began again. 

44 1 have invited you to stay as my guests,” 
he repeated. 44 Those who choose to accept 
are welcome. Those who don’t will no 
doubt think it delicate to move on some- 



*' t HAVE TO irtMJTCM YOU THAT 1 HE ANGI.BTRRRK, AS AN" HOTEL, CtASfeD TO EXIST AT EXACTLY 

A gi'AKTKK PAST TURKS," 


the dinner and the champagne have met with 
your approval. This is a satisfaction to me, 
as I have to inform you that the Angleterre, 
as an hotel, ceased to exist at exactly a quarter 
past three this afternoon. It is now my 
private house, and you have been entertained 
at dinner as my guests. The meal will not 
be charged in your bills, which, by the way, 
up to the hour 1 mentioned, are payable to 

Yol, xxiv .—36 


where else as soon as they can. While they 
remain in this house, I must remind them, 
they eat my bread, and 1 and my daughter 
are their host and hostess. Come, Jenny ; 
I’ve said all I’ve got to say. Let you and 
me go into the hall and have coffee, which 
will be ready for the others if they like to 
follow.” 

He gave his daughter an arm, and they 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












282 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


went away together without a backward 
glance. 

“ B—y Jove!" ejaculated somebody, it 
was never quite known who. But the ex¬ 
clamation gave relief. It broke the spell. 

“ What's the tall party driving at ? ” asked 
Lord Everest of the company in general; 
and everybody began to tell the story at 
once, each one with a slightly different 
version. Yet the conclusion reached by all 
was identical. The Horror was the horror; 
her father was a fiend; and there was 
nothing to do save beat a retreat, immedi¬ 
ately and with such dignity as might be 
preserved in the scramble. But there was 
no disguising the fact that it was a blow—a 
heavy blow. It seemed almost too bad to be 
true, though it must be true, or that brute 
would not have dared his impudent harangue. 
To go—to be turned out, bag and baggage, 
at an hour's notice, from their own, very own 
private Eden, at the beginning of the 
season, with the weather perfect and their 
plans made—such charming plans, too!— 
and all because they had very properly 
shown this vulgar ruffian's daughter her 
place, and kept her in it. It was enough to 
drive one to manslaughter—for it wouldn't 
be murder. 

Everest listened intently to the jumble of 
explanation and execration; then, when a 
few of his friends had paused for breath, he 
shocked the company by bursting into ribald 
laughter. 

“Good old boy! I'm hanged if I don't 
respect the chap ! " he broke out. “If you 
want my opinion, he’s served you all jolly 
well right; you deserve what you’ve got. 
And you’ve eaten his dinner! Jove ! what 
a coup l It’s Titanic. The man must have 
paid ,£20,000 at least for his revenge. But 
I’ll bet he doesn’t grudge the money. Oh, 
these Yankees ! They’re marvellous ! ” 

Mrs. Llynn-Gryffyth rose. “ I think,” she 
remarked, with dignity, “ we should be wiser 
to go and see that our servants begin packing, 
rather than sit squabbling here. As for you, 
Bill, you are as bad as—as bad as a pro- 
Boer.” 

“ Wait a minute, everybody,” said Everest. 
“ Of course, I don’t know what anybody else 
is going to do, but I’ve been invited to \isit 
this amazing old Johnny, and I intend to 
accept his invitation. I expect to enjoy 
myself as well as I ever did in my life, and 
I shouldn't be surprised if the cotillon came 
off yet. Anyone else think of stopping on? 
Because, if so, when I go out into the hall 
for a chat with him, I may as well tell our 


host how many people there’ll be in his 
house-party.” 

“ I'd rather die than stay,” announced 
Mrs. Llynn-Gryffyth. 

Lady “Jack” Avery laughed hysterically. 
“Bill’s right,” she giggled. “It will be a 
glorious lark. / never did anything to the 
girl. I'll stop as chaperon. She’ll need 
one.” 

“It’s like losing an eye-tooth to give up 
the golf,” sighed Dicky Wickham. 

“And the bathing,” “And the fishing,” 
came in murmurs from other quarters. 

“ Let’s take him at his word. It will 
be the joke of the century! ” exclaimed 
Strathallin. 

Everest turned and glanced at him, his 
brown, laughing face suddenly grave. “ Look 
here, I'm responsible for the proposal,” said 
he. “ None of you would have thought of it 
if it hadn't been for me. I’m the only 
innocent one of the lot, therefore I'm the 
only man who can engineer the thing with 
decency. Those of you who are going in 
for this joke have got to give me their word 
to behave themselves afterwards as they 
would in a friend's house, or I'll be shot if 
I'll have anything to do with it.” 

In five minutes Everest had three times 
five candidates and as many promises. 
Armed with these he went forth, while the 
banished ones slipped away, and John Cal- 
mour’s fifteen future guests remained in the 
sal/e a manger to await the return of the 
herald. 

He went out into the big hall. In the 
corner, under the red-shaded lamp, sat the 
master of the house—and the situation—his 
daughter by his side. Everest crossed to 
them with a smart, soldierly step. 

“ Let me congratulate you, Mr. Calmour— 
on your house, you know,” he said. “ Awfully 
jolly house to stop in, and very good of you 
to ask us. I got here only to-night, just in 
time to dress for dinner. Will you introduce 
me to Miss Calmour? I’m Lord Everest— 
Bill, my friends call me, because people are 
always sending me such a lot, I suppose.” 

Solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eyes, 
which he did not remove from the young 
man’s face, the millionaire formally intro¬ 
duced Lord Everest to his daughter Jenny. 
The girl looked up. Her martyrdom had 
not entirely destroyed her sense of humour, 
and she broke into a laugh. Everest laughed, 
too—a nice, friendly, young-sounding laugh. 

“I'm no end obliged to Mr. Calmour for 
asking me, you know,” he said, drawing up a 
chair. “ So are we all, though—er—some of 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE GEE AT BOYCOTT AT THE HOTEL D'ANGLETERRE. 283 



U l M LUHD EVEftttST— BILL, HIV FJtlEMUS CALL Mt." 


us have engagements at Dinard to-morrow; 
but with fifteen or sixteen stopping on the 
house won't seem empty, will it? Is it true 
you are going to give a cotillon next week. 
Miss Calmour? I do hope it is* I heard 
so, and brought some rather pretty favours 
with me from Paris in the hope that you'd 
accept them from me. You will, won't you ? 
And — it*s rather selfish, Pm afraid, to try 
and cut in before any other chap ; but you Ye 
sure to be asked by a dozen men at least, 
and 1 shall lose my chance. May I lead the 
cotillon with you?” 

“I should Jove it,” said Jenny, laughing 
and dimpling. Can I, poppa ? " 

u I guess it will be all right,” said Calmour 

So the great boycott ended and the 
great joke began. Right royally it was 


Digitized by Google 


carried out on both sides. The cotillon was 
a huge success, and Jenny reigned among 
her guests like a young queen* People said 
that Everest's game had been clear from the 
first He would eventually propose to the 
girl because her father was a millionaire, and 
she would accept him because he was an 
earl. As to the facts, everybody was right; 
but as to the motives, they were wrong. 
When Lord Everest proposed to Jenny 
Calmour, after four weeks of the queerest 
visit ever made, it was because he was very 
much in love with her, and thought her the 
dearest as well as the prettiest little girl he 
had ever seen. She accepted him because, 
in her opinion, he was one of the two 
perfect men in the world ; and poppa was 
the other. 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







With a Camera in a Keddah ; 


OR, HOW ELEPHANTS ARE CAUGHT ALIVE. 


By John Swaffham. 



HERE are, I hope, not many 
|>eople in England who have 
not read the story of Little 
Toomai, who was called 
Toomai of the Elephants, and 
of Kala Nag, the fighting 
elephant of the keddahs who had served the 
Government of India for forty-seven years 
after he was taken and trained, and of 
<+ Machua Appa, who was so great that he 
had no other name but was just Machua 
Appa, chief of the native drivers in the 
keddahs of the Elephant Department of the 


Government of India-” 

Once, long ago, men hunted elephants in 
India as now they hunt them in Africa, only 
the white man's powder and shot was not 
then in the hand of every native hunter, so 
that the elephant survives to this day, 
not in twos and threes as in Africa, but in 
dozens and in hundreds. In old times, also, 
the natives dug great pits, but because the 
elephant is a heavy beast he was often killed, 
more often still maimed by the fall. Hence 
the practice was not very general 


However, it had a certain vogue, being 
the easiest and least risky way in which an 
unarmed man could take the greatest of 
beasts. If, too, you wished to have the dead 
body only, the drawbacks in the way of 
maiming or damage to the animal ceased to 
exist. Any possible danger in dealing with 
the enraged and trapped victim was obviated 
by planting a huge stake with a sharp point 
in the centre of your pit. Transfixed on 
this, his struggles soon caused such a flow of 
blood that he died without further bother. 
The keddah system of driving a herd 
into a stockade and there impounding the 
live beasts is no new invention. The hunters 
have used it for hundreds of years, just as, 
only two centuries ago, the men of A thole 
used to make great drivings of the deer in 
the country where now are Forest Lodge and 
Fealar—the great moors which lie under Cairn- 
toul and Ben-y-Gloe, in the heart of the 
Grampians. Here, on great occasions, the 
Duke used to organize drives. The deer 
were driven into a place fenced with high 
wattles and then dispatched at leisure. Simi- 



TilIC HNjI^rril THINGS—PKiCitNj 


UVMo 


MICHIGAN 














WITH A CAMERA IN A KEDDAH. 


285 



Frctn a] 




larly, the hill Rajahs would hunt the elephant 
herds when they came down annually to the 
plain jungles ; but the matter was haphazard 
and go-as-you-please. Now, the sircar pre¬ 
serves the elephant so strictly that to kill 
him, unless he be a “ rogue , 91 involves a 
heavy fine. A whole department of (iovern- 


ment has been organized with the one duty 
of taking him alive. This is the keddah 
service, and I would give you here a sketch 
of the working of a keddah. 

A whole book has been written on the 
subject — Sanderson's Thirteen Years 
Among the Wild Beasts in India”-—a book 



A KE0DAH TRENCH* WITH LlMNG AND CROSS THWARTS OP liAMUOO TO PREVENT 'SUItiJUUICL THE LOOSE EARTH SlDBh 

Digitized by UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















286 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


curiously interesting for many reasons, not 
least because it shows how chance works to 
bring a man to the place for which, in the 
result, it must seem that he was created. In 
1864 Sanderson went out, a young man with 
no particular aptitudes, to grow coffee in 
Mysore Almost immediately the plant 
failed after its periodical manner, and the 
young man was at a loose end. After various 
changes of scene, and within nine years, he 
had successfully carried out his first keddah 
and was embarked on hts life’s career. 

The principle of a keddah is somewhat 
like that of the old duck-decoys which used 


through a foolish curiousness, but because of 
the less futile, though nearly as imbecile, 
habit of crass superstition. Like the bird, 
he knows that man is his enemy. Yet when 
surrounded by a single ring of men he 
shrinks from the moral effort required tu face 
it and break out. More, he knows himself 
in the toils, and the least use of reason would 
show him that to be surrounded and yet to 
have an easy path of escape left open are 
two incompatible things. Nevertheless, he 
takes the path of easy escape and finds him¬ 
self in the keddah, 

I may give you an illustration of this folly 



frana] PARHICADING A STREAM WINCH HUNS THROUGH THE KEDDAH LIKES. [Photo. 


to be so common in Norfolk and the Fen 
counties. Both are founded upon the 
curious foolishness of creatures which are, in 
many respects, among the wisest of created 
things. A duck comes into a decoy because 
he is incurably curious. He knows that a 
dog is his worst enemy, hut seeing a dog 
jumping in and out between wicker screens 
arranged along the bank of a narrow channel, 
he at once swims up to see what manner 
of game the dog is playing, A net 
is dropped across the broad end of the 
“ funnel,” and the duck’s curiosity has cost 
him his life. An elephant is wiser than the 
duck : he is the wisest of all wild animals. 
Hence his troubles come upon him not 


on the part of ** my lord.* When Sanderson 
Sahib was alive any elephant which broke 
lines was shot dead. Escaping servitude in 
hfe he found liberty with death. Sanderson 
passed away and his chief Hindu assistant 
stepped into his place. Like many, if not 
most, natives, this man has a superstitious 
dread of actually taking life. As a result 
elephants escaped and communicated their 
discoveries to the herds, who now con¬ 
tinually break away at the critical last 
moment Perhaps part of the decline 
may be due to the absence of the genius 
which Sanderson brought to his task, but 
that failure to maintain his shooting policy 
may be justly fi¥la accountable for many 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











WITH A CAMERA IN A KEDDAH. 


987 



ttwiaj sanuerson's ihon dkqf-gatr as it closed behind the hemp, [/'Aota. 


fiascos is clearly shown by my story* In a 
keddah drive some few years since a huge 
tusker “ broke out” and escaped. Next year 
the same tusker was with the doomed herd, 
but now he did not break away. On the 
contrary, he led his fellows right towards 
the entrance of the stockade, but then the 
splendid intelligence of his race flashed out. 
Sluing right round in the gate entrance 
so that none could pass, he faced the herd. 
Urged on by the cries and closing in of the 
beaters, his companions came up one by one. 
But he never moved. The gate to which 
hundreds of beaters had driven their prey 
could be entered by none. All day he 
butted away his less sagacious comrades who 
desired to come into the trap, and at night 
he led the whole herd in a wild stampede 
for freedom. Nothing in all the world, not 
even a battery of heavy guns, could stop the 
stampede of a score and more elephants 
when the distance from start to the pale is 
only a few hundred yards. So the labour of 
months was wasted and a whole herd went 
free. Therefore there are now in those 
jungles three dozen and more of elephants 
who know the secret of the keddah path. 
No moral need be drawn. 

At certain seasons of the year the elephant 
herds leave the high hills to feed and find 
shelter in the lower jungle grounds. Thence 


by night they raid the village fields, but all day 
they lie hid in half impenetrable forest. These 
are the days devoted to their hunting, and for 
weeks before the necessary preparations have 
been begun. Now the trackers follow the 
herds, and while word comes down from 
time to time of a move here or a shift of 
ground there, the work at the place chosen 
for the keddah is pushed to feverish com- 
pletion. Hundreds of all but naked coolies 
are digging trenches, building great wattle 
fences of bamboo, barricading the streams 
which cross their lines, erecting the great 
drop-gates, building the inner “tying* up 
stockades,” and setting up the tall crow's-nest 
look-outs, from which the drive shall be 
overlooked and the gate ropes cut at the 
great moment. True, the elephant could 
shiver the fences and tear down the bar¬ 
ricades, but because he is the strongest of 
all the beasts of the forest he is also the most 
suspicious. A single thread of wire or 
a ditch covered over with rafts seems to 
him uncanny and suggestive of traps. 
Always, knowing his bulk, he will test 
the ground on which he is to tread if 
anything give him the least cause to 
fear lest it prove unstable, A ditch, then, 
may not be faced though death be at his 
heels; a barricade of stakes with chains 
between must be avoided at any cost. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Indeed, almost any artificial obstacle will 
hold him* provided only it be strong enough, 
for, though he should not fear it, it has only 
to be higher than he can step across, and it 
becomes as good as a stone wall. An 
elephant is incapable of jumping anything, or 
of moving more than two of his feet off the 
ground at the same moment 

The great circular enclosure goes right 
through the jungle, broken only where the 
drop-gates hang overhead in a screen of 
greenery and young fronds of the bamboo* 
At the far end from this entrance the ground 


endure, if necessary, leagues beyond need of 
thought. Suddenly there is a very present 
alarm, for the danger is here indeed. 

All round the jungle is lined with human 
figures ; here, maybe, a matchlock sputters 
out noisy flame, everywhere there are cries 
and the beating of tom-toms* The great 
beasts are annoyed, frightened, but dignified, 
as befits their kingship of the jungle. With 
only a turn in direction the shuffle continues. 
Then slowly it appears that the enemy is 
only on three sides—the fourth is clear ! At 
this, if panic touched their hearts, apparent 



From 9} 


A NATIVE KfcDDAH tiATKL, 




is, however, cleared. Here and there great 
stumps of trees stand up, and this part is 
fenced off—a keddah within the keddah, the 
H tying-up stockade.” 

Knowing that the jungle has been sur¬ 
rounded for some days by anything up to an 
odd thousand of beaters whose only direction 
is to converge on the gate-end of the keddah, 
let us go back to the herd in the jungle. 
They have been uneasy for days; why, exactly, 
it would be hard for them to tell. There was 
a breath of hidden danger in the free air* 
Now there is more than a hint, a something 
surely wrong. So the wise one leading the 
herd moves off at its shuffle, which looks so 
lazy and slow, but is indeed fast, and one to 


calm returns. They still move, but now 
leisurely. 

The enemy docs not press. By day, if you 
go too near, he makes much noise ; at night 
he has a circle of fires to fright you ; if truth 
were known, the fire dispels his own fears 
also. So for days, weeks perhaps, it may be 
more than a month, the hundreds of the 
beaters glide inward and the great beasts of 
the herd retreat before them. Use will 
sanction all things, and now, if they be 
not hustled, there is every chance of success 
to the hunters. Thus the crux comes, and 
suddenly the wisest of the hunted are aware 
of a new and silent foe, one who never 
moves but is there always, green as the 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










WITH A CAMERA IN A REDD AH, 


289 



From a J 


CiJOLIES HAUMNG UP THE GATE OF THE JS.MER TVING-UI' STOCKADE, 


U’hoto. 


forest itself, built of the daily bamboo, but 
still a menace. Then the final order to 
close m is given* The immovable foe is in 
front, not quite understood, hut between its 
arms is yet the jungle, the undergrowth and 
the great trees of home. Behind the moving 
foe is a serried wall of shouting, tom-tom-ing 
fiends, and the herd Hies into the gulf There 
is a narrow place where not more than two 
may walk abreast, and the leaders halt. But 
beyond, the fence leaps apart as hitherto it 
has narrowed. On, on, the herd presses 
from behind, and nervously, well knowing 
their folly, the leaders pass in. The rout 
stream in to the Iasi. Then crash—axes 
have fallen on the sustaining ropes and the 
great gate plunges down. 

H My lords" are afraid in earnest, but the 
end has not yet begun. Only the gate has 
dropped and with it the curtain on Act I, 

In Act III. the elephant will go forth— 
that is, if he has not died of a broken heart— 
orderly though sullen, a servant of the sircar, 
and a bond-slave to the will of his mahout. 
But before that is Act IL, always a valley of 
tribulation, sometimes a tragedy of tragedies. 

When the elephant has passed into the 
keddah, partly beguiled, I should have said, 
by the enticements of certain traitorous rela¬ 
tions long since the servants of their masters’ 
every order, a gate in the tying rp stockade 

Vol. *jciv-, — 37 


opens, and the tame keddah elephants file in 
with their riders. Mostly these are females, 
but with them will be several tuskers, royal 
fighters and revelling in the fray. The 
science of man has added yet more to their 
brute strength l and now, if any of the wild 
herd is obstreperous, these great beasts will 
batter him to pitiful submission, granting no 
mercy except on absolute surrender. 

The herd which has been captured may 
be large Or small ; say there are now three 
score or seventy animals impounded, all 
in a state of more or less alarm. In such a 
number there will not be above five or six 
to give violent trouble, and these the trained 
keddah tuskers have pounded to submission. 
The most troublesome of all may probably 
be a cow with a calf. According to her size 
and boisterous ness, two to four tame elephants 
will u corner ” her. On each are a driver and 
the keddah assistants with their huge ropes. 
When she is so jammed between the trained 
animals as to be unable to resist, a great 
noose will be slipped round her neck and 
made fast to a forest tree in front. Mean¬ 
while other hunters have slipped down the 
sterns of their mounts, and have roped her 
hind legs to the stumps of other trees. Her 
calf is noosed and dragged off by main force, 
kicking and squeajing, to a similar pillory 

hard IVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








290 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



DiQL«i£P- by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


From a j when moaning wake.s in the jungle—a heed of elephants at dawn. [FM* 









WITH A CAMERA IN A KEDDAH. 


291 


Thus the business goes on, until all the 
herd is left rocking in impotent rage, bound 
fore and aft, straining and wrestling with the 
bonds, or glowering in angry despair* It is 
wild work and not without its risks, this 
binding of the herd. The ropers, running 
under their bellies and dodging their heavy 
tramplings, have need of all their nerve and 
skill. Sometimes the wisdom of their trained 
beasts alone saves them, as when a man 


flies to so gruesome a condition that only 
careful dressing with soothing ointments will 
save the sufferer’s life, Occasionally one 
tears away the thick horny pad which is the 
elephant’s foot, and a bullet brings merciful 
death. 

The elephant who yields shows his sub¬ 
mission in various ways* The one who 
covers his head with soil and dead leases 
taken up in the trunk is pitifully human in 



flying before the onslaught of an enraged 
mother is suddenly whisked off his legs in 
the trunk of a keddah elephant, and finds 
his safety on the huge beast’s neck* For it 
is a strange trait that in all the turmoil and 
fury of his despair the wild elephant has 
never been known to lift a trunk and tear the 
rider from the back of a tame animal 

Naturally the work of binding all the herd 
is not complete in one nor yet in two days* 
When all are shackled and made fast the 
victims are left till exhaustion consequent on 
impotent rage, endless struggles, and tempo- 
rary starvation reduce them to the calm of 
surrender. Yet it is not every one which will 
thus give way* Some will die of pure heart¬ 
break for very shame of their capture* 
Others chafe their huge legs into terrible 
sores, which are irritated with the sand and 


the appeal of his misery* At this period 
gteat heaps of fodder—perhaps their dearest 
luxury, green sugar-cane — are piled before 
the great beasts, whose appetites are never 
proof against the bribe. In his natural state 
the elephant’s existence may be described as 
one long meal, and even if freshly tethered 
he will interrupt his frantic struggles for a 
mouthful, after which he at once returns to 
the interrupted effort to be free. For a 
member of his race to refuse food is an 
almost infallible sign of serious illness* As 
soon as the last individual of a herd has been 
tethered two men are allotted to care for 
and to tame him. In a very few' days the 
victim allows himself to he handled, a girth 
of rope is passed round his middle, and his 
future driver climbs upon his hack and head. 
Finally tethemd to feme elephants before 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













292 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



ELEPHANTS PASSING INTO THE KE|>DAH UNPER SAMDF.RSON's IRON DKOI'-fiATE, WHICH El AS REEK SCKEBNEP WITH 
Frank BAMBOO FKONPS. IPAnl#, 



and behind, or, if still obstreperous, flanked 
on each side as well, the captives are drafted 
out of the keddah and hobbled in “ the 
lines,” where, side by side with the trained 
animals, they await further training. One of 
the first acts in this is perhaps the greatest 
conscious luxury 
in an elephant's 
whole life. Were 
he wild it would 
be the act of every 
evening, but now 
be has not been 
near water for 
weeks. In the 
natural state he 
has his daily bath, 
and it is this 
which is now re¬ 
stored to him, 
despite the ropes 
which still bind 
him before and 
behind. Up and 
down goes his 
trunk, and the 
water sluices back 
and sides till he 
stands there knee- 


deep in the river, no more the dun-coloured 
animal of the dust and turmoil of the 
keddahs, but a huge, shining blackness. 

Two or three months after their capture 
the elephants march out in long lines, roped 
still, but each with his own mahout astride 





















[Photo. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


WITH A CAMERA IN A KEDDAH\ 


From a] 


^ SMALL ONE BIND MK WITH 


his neck. From the line as they go some 
are turned off here to the stud of a neigh* 
homing Rajah, there some are sold at auction. 
Finally, the remnant comes to the railway, 
and special trucks scatter them all over the 
Presidencies. 

The value of a newly-tamed elephant 
varies from j£ 8 o to 
^2,000. Only the 
most magnificent 
beasts will fetch 
anything like the 
latter figure, which 
is based on the 
Oriental's love of 
display. Such an 
elephant is des¬ 
tined for the State 
procession of one 
of the great Rajahs. 

In one of his 
earliest keddahs 
Sanderson records 
a capture of six¬ 
teen bulls, thirty 
cows, three tusk¬ 
less bulls, and 


and one cow grew 
unmanageable in 
the keddah and 
was shot. The 
cost of the opera- 
lions was ^1,556, 
and a complete 
sale at market 
prices would have 
totalled to over 
^“6,500. Nowa¬ 
days, mainly for 
reasons stated 
before, the cap¬ 
tures are seldom 
so large, More- 
over, many 
attempts prove 
quite abortive. 
Thus, although 
the price of ele¬ 
phants has risen 
^hoto. greatly, the ked¬ 
dah establishment 
of the Government of India is glad to pay 
its way and little more. Nevertheless the 
captured animal breeds freely, and the wild 
herds are said to be regularly increasing. 
It may therefore be hoped that this battle 
of the giants will continue for many years 
to come. 






















The Lovable Miss Lingfield. 

By Winifred Graham. 


I. 

ORKING HALL was a de¬ 
lightful place to stay at. So 
thought Alice Lingfield, who 
dearly loved her friends, the 
Sutcliffes, while she revelled 
in the beauty of the quaint 
old house and its extensive grounds. 

The surrounding hills, the unlimited green 
of trees and pastures, making such a restful 
landscape to charm the eye, appealed forcibly 
to this town girl, whose soul delighted in 
simple joys, rural freedom, and the poetry of 
country scenes. 

Alice Lingfield seemed to attract affection 
to an almost embarrassing degree ; there was 
a brightness and fascination apart from her 
beauty which proved wholly irresistible. 

She had high spirits, she was popular, but, 
oh ! how tender and loving she could be with 
children ! The little brood of fair-haired 
girls at Dorking Hall simply worshipped the 
ground she trod on. 

They followed her about, they gathered 
round her knee, ever grouping themselves in 
her wake like bridesmaids to a white-robed 
bride. 

Penelope, the eldest, a warm-hearted child 
of eight years old, who, the previous winter, 
had been heard to call herself “a hunting 
woman,” was Alice Lingfield’s special friend 
and admirer. The four smaller girls, ranging 
to a person aged three, toddled persistently 
after the lovable guest, receiving so much 
favour and encouragement that their fidelity 
could scarcely prove a matter of surprise. 

But to one heart alone these baby creatures 
brought bitterness and sorrow. 

Robert Macalister, commonly known as 
“ Bob,” found in those tiny tyrants enemies 
to his peace of mind. 

At Dorking Hall he had relied upon 
golden opportunities. In London, of course, 
his divinity was, naturally enough, surrounded 
by tiresome bees who hummed about the 
fairest flower of the season, basking in the 
honeyed sweetness of her frank, girlish smiles. 

The country at least should prove different, 
Bob had told himself when he joyfully 


accepted Mrs. Sutcliffe’s invitation to Dork¬ 
ing Hall. Now he found that children were 
even more difficult to deal with than the 
hated rivals of ball-rooms. Penelope, slim, 
fairylike, and sensitive, could not possibly be 
snubbed—Bob’s good nature would have 
revolted at the mere thought; while the 
bonny, picturesque little damsels, Hazel, 
Molly, Dolly, and Diana, made a quartette 
which overwhelmed even the strategy of a 
desperate, though shy, lover. 

The days at Dorking Hall were numbered; 
innumerable engagements would call Alice 
back to the gay town, and he would be no 
nearer—no nearer. The bright tone of the 
country grew clouded; Bob’s laughter had 
a forced note. 

Alice never found the children in the way. 
The sight of them, the touch of their little 
hands, and the music of their merry voices 
were a perpetual joy to her eyes, her ears, 
her senses. 

Even Bob, resentful as he felt, saw a 
certain wonder in it as he came upon Alice 
seated on a mossy bank surrounded by her 
court. 

“ By Jove, they make a pretty picture ! ” 
he said to himself, pausing unperceived by 
an old stone image. 

Alice, in her simple white dress, looked 
the very incarnation of young mother Spring, 
with tender shoots at her feet and in her 
arms. 

There was a somewhat pensive expression 
in her eyes as they rested on the small flock 
of sunny-faced children. Dolly and Molly 
sprawled on the grass, a pair of chubby, 
freckled twins, with exquisite dimples and fat 
flaxen curls. Diana, the baby, nestled close 
to her, crumpling a daisy-chain which Hazel 
had been at great pains to make, while 
Penelope, standing erect, outshone her sisters 
in grace and beauty as a brilliant comet 
dwarfs the lesser stars. 

Penelope was speaking in her musical 
voice; she had no idea that she was pretty, 
much less that her words bore all the mellow 
softness of a sweet-toned bell. 

“You see,” she said, ‘flit’s very awkward 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








THE LOVABLE MISS LING FIELD, 


295 



l!Y JOVE, THEV MAKE A 1‘HEtTV 1‘ICTURIE ! ' HE SAIt),* 


for those poor children in London who have 
rso clothes to wear* and never get anything to 
eat, about taking holidays in the country. 
They want a lot of money for trains, and 
carriages, and buns. lam going to try and 
help them ; that is why I have a collecting 
card,” 

“ A very good idea,” answered Alice* The 
conversation ceased as Bob's shadow fell 
across the path. He threw himself down at 
Alice's side, and began plucking at the grass 
in a nervous, irritable manner. 

To be so near—and yet so far away—- 
within reach of her hand, but beyond the 
range of her keen sympathy, which settled in 
a great flood of loving warmth on the 
children at her knee, was more than flesh and 
blood could stand. 

“Don't they make you hot?” he said, 
as Hazel — lucky infant — dragged down 


Alice’s pretty face and kissed her soft pink 
cheek, 

“Oh I no,” she laughed, rearing her grace¬ 
ful neck in its cool open collar of soft 
transparent lace; “it is my last day but one 
with these ducks of things, and I can't spare 
a minute of them ! I shall miss the country 
terribly, but I shall miss the children more, 
dime enough to think of the heat when lam 
back in London,” 

There was just the suspicion of a mis¬ 
chievous twinkle in Alice's eyes, which made 
her seem like a child herself for the moment. 
Bob only noticed the air of wonderful refine¬ 
ment and the perfect profile of this woman 
who held his heart. 

“You know,” he continued, “it's the 
Derby to-morrow* Mrs. Sutcliffe suggested 
that you and I should ride up to Epsom 
Downs and get a bird's-eye view of the race.” 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





2$6 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE ,. 


“ Delightful! ” said Alice ; “ I should like 
nothing better. Penelope and I planned to 
go the evening I arrived; you’ve been 
counting the days to it, haven’t you, Pen ? ” 

Bob’s face fell. He ground his teeth with 
vexation. Far away on those heights he had 
resolved to tell her the truth, but again she 
carelessly tossed the golden ball of oppor¬ 
tunity far above his reach. 

“Isn’t it a bit rough for Penelope?” he 
said, ruthlessly, casting a sidelong glance at 
the child, and feeling a twinge of conscience 
as he caught her expression of eager antici¬ 
pation. 

Penelope answered the question quickly, 
with a little gasp. 

“ I rode there last year on Billy, and he 
was quite, quite good ! ” she persisted, 
flushing to her temples at the mere idea of 
being left behind. 

She had talked of this ride day after day 
to Alice, and dreamt at night of the wonder¬ 
ful race, the deafening cheers, the fluttering 
colours of the jockeys, the straining horses, 
the long green course. Surely, on Alice 
Lingfidd’s last day, the cup of happiness 
must sparkle to its very brim ! Penelope 
felt a little shudder run through her at the 
thought of possible disappointment. 

Bob subsided and allowed his shoe laces 
to be persistently untied and knotted by the 
twins, who found a strong fascination in shoe- 
gear, both when worn on the feet of guests 
or reposing under dressing-tables. 

He longed to know what was passing in 
Alice’s mind. Was she thinking of him as 
she sat with her imperious little chin resting 
on her disengaged hand ? The other lay in 
Hazel’s possession, who, it seemed to Bob, 
purposely tormented him by her unchecked 
blandishments. 

He was envious and, therefore, bad- 
tempered. In reality her thoughts, as he 
half suspected, were with the little ones. 
The attitudes of delicious abandon so 
characteristic of childhood appealed to her 
artistic eye, and the freshness of these 
young lives brought a maternal thrill to the 
girl’s soul, which she only faintly understood. 

If love were very near her at that 
moment, love of a deep and passionate 
nature, she was aware only of the tender 
flow of childish affection, which fanned her 
spirit like a cool breeze on a summers day. 

But Bob sat plotting, with one eye on 
Penelope. 

“ It’s merely a case for a bribe,” he thought, 
and lightly jingled the coins in his pocket as 
an accompaniment to this soothing idea 


II. 

“ I do hope it will be fine to-morrow ! ” said 
Penelope, as she looked out of the window 
last thing before going to bed, smiling up at 
the clear sky and bright stars. “ You know,” 
she continued, “ it’s the best day of the whote 
year; there are other races, but the Derby 
will be far the nicest, because I shall ride to 
see it with Miss Lingfield ! ” 

She lay awake a long while thinking of 
Alice and her sweet ways, wondering if in 
the whole world there could be anyone else 
so beautiful and delightful, excepting, of 
course, Penelope’s own mother, who, in a 
way, was a little bit like Miss Lingfield. 

At dawn the child crept out of bed, and 
laughed with glee to see the sun rising with a 
promise of bright things to come. 

Very early, before Hazel, Molly, Dolly, 
and Diana thought of opening an eyelid, 
Penelope scampered into her clothes and ran 
off to the garden. She felt like the lark, full 
of song, as she skipped over the dewy grass 
and trilled forth a cheery good-morning to 
the flowers. 

Someone else was restless too, and had 
come out early to breathe the air—someone 
who, like Penelope, gazed at the stars before 
going to bed and thought of Alice Lingfield. 

“ Halloa ! ” said a man’s voice. “ This is 
lucky. I wanted to see you.” 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Macalister,” replied 
Penelope, holding out a small hand. 

She hardly knew why, but something in 
his tone filled her with a certain misgiving. 

“ I wanted to see you ! ” Why should he 
want to see her, unless, unless- 

The words recurred to her mind suddenly: 
“ Isn’t it a bit rough for Penelope? ” 

“ We have a lovely day for our ride ! ” she 
stammered, turning her flushed little face up 
to the sky. 

“ Yes,” he replied, “it’s about the ride I’ve 
been thinking. I want you not to come, 
and—and I’ll give you this if you will just 
say you don’t care to go with us.” 

He held out a very large, imposing coin, 
upon which Penelope fixed her eyes with an 
expression of horror. 

“ How much is it ? ” she asked, in a 
strangled tone. 

“Five shillings,” he replied. “You can 
buy yourself a beautiful doll with that.” 

A long, painful pause —the child turned 
strangely pale—a struggle seemed going on 
in her mind, for her lips twitched and her 
hands clenched convulsively. 

The man and the small girl faced each* 
other, a certain breadiless anxiety in their; 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE LOVABLE MISS LING FIELD. 


397 



*>. 


A 5TKUUGLK SI-EM ED ON 

IN IIKH JWINP/' 


T 

, , _ 

attitudes. It meant * 

much to both, the 
issue of this bargain. 

“ How many pen¬ 
nies are there in five 
shillings?” she asked 
at last, feeling in the 

pocket of her short cotton frock for a card, 
which she carried always now, in the hope of 
collecting stray pence for the poor children 
in need of cour ry air. Each space, ticked 
off, represented a penny. She regarded the 
card with tear-dimmed eyes. 

** Sixty,” he replied, not noticing her 
emotion. 

“Sixty!” She repeated the word with a 
gasp. It sealed her fate—like a dark door 
dosing with a bang upon the looked-for hours 
of pleasure. Only the sacrifice of her own 
amusement, and those unhappy little mortals 
in the densely crowded cities would some of 
them be the better for a few hours* sunshine. 

Vd. 


The bright beams playing on 
the flowers seemed defying her 
to refuse the proffered coin, 
while the very rays reflected 
their sparkle on the silver 
bribe ! Yet Penelope stood 
paralyzed, and her clenched 
hand still hung against her 
side. 

“It is Alice Lingfi eld's last 
day,” sang the birds. “To¬ 
morrow she will be gone.” 

But Penelope turned a deaf 
ear to these subtle twitterings, 
nor would she allow herself to 
listen to the call of the hills. 
With an effort she thrust 
from her mind the thought of 
that vast multitude on the 
usually silent downs. The 
swaying swings and rollicking 
merry-go-rounds viewed in the 
distance* the seething mass of 
mysterious humanity, held for 
the child unlimited enchant¬ 
ment. 1 he wonder of it fired 
her imagination and produced 
intense excitement. 

She had described the scene 
to Alice in stirring words, 
firmly convinced that the sight 
svould be as novel to Miss 
Lingfield as to herself. 

Penelope did not try to 
analyze his reasons for not 
wanting her, the petrifying fact 
was enough in itself, and then 
the heavy piece of money must 
be fairly gained. 

She moved a step nearer and 
let her trembling little fingers 
close over the five - shilling 
piece. 

“ I don't want a doll,” she 
said, “but I—I—shall use it Tor something 
else.” 

As she spoke she quickly concealed the 
card, for fear he might guess the generous 
motives hidden behind her hall-w-hispered 
words. 

That “something else” meant sacrifice, 
denial, and the glorious light which can shine 
in the innocent eyes of a child may bring a 
certain matured nobility to the youngest 
features. Robert Macalister sighed with 
relief—a smile broke over his face. He 
strolled away and began to whistle. 
Penelope walked slowly, very slowly, back 
to the house, biting her lips. 

UNIVERSITY >JF MICHIGAN 




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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


III. 

Nobody knew what was the matter with 
the child, for Penelope did not want to go 
out riding—she appeared listless, weary, 
crushed. Alice felt quite worried about her 
as she rode away, since the little figure stood 
watching her go with such a pitiful droop of 
the shoulders and an expression as of quiet 
resignation to fate. 

Penelope even forgot to play with Hazel, 
Molly, Dolly, and Diana, who found the 
ruling spirit missing from their games. 

44 Miss Lingfield will think I did not care 
to go with her—that is the worst part of all,” 
Penelope told herself, as she roamed about 
the garden. “ I could bear any disappoint¬ 
ment if only it had not hurt her. She 
looked back three times as she rode away 
with Mr. Macalister, and at each look I felt 
I must run and say why I was staying 
behind.” 

Penelope paused by the mossy bank where 
only yesterday they had discussed the ride. 
Now it looked strangely lonely without 
Alice’s bright figure. 

The child, with a pang that cut deeply 
into her sensitive soul, stood silently trying 
for the first time to reason out the man’s 
motive for his odd, inexplicable action. 

Her troubled reverie was broken by light 
footsteps. Mrs. Sutcliffe had come in search 
of her little daughter. 

“ Penelope,” she said, drawing the slight 
figure to her side, 44 you have never had a 
secret fr&m me. Tell me, darling, what is 
on your mind? Do you imagine I can’t see 
that you have been crying ? ” 

Gradually, with gentle words, Mrs. Sutcliffe 
drew the whole story from the child. As 
she listened an expression of great amuse¬ 
ment crept over her face. 

44 Mother, why are you laughing ? I sup¬ 
pose you are glad about the sixty spaces 
being filled up on my card. You want the 
poor children to be happy. If I thought 
Miss Lingfield wasn’t hurt and vexed I 
should laugh, too. When the horses came 
round she shook her head at me and called 
me a ‘ deserter.’ She thinks I don’t love her 
any more. That was why I cried directly 
they were out of sight.” 

“You can’t understand, little woman,” 
said Mrs. Sutcliffe; “but your heart is in 
the right place. And you need not worry 
about Alice. You children have monopolized 
her terribly, all five of you, for the last few 
days, and, of course, you could not be ex¬ 
pected to see that someone else loved her 
too and was greedy enough to want her all 


to himself. If you were older you would 
know this naughty mother of yours has been 
a very cunning matchmaker.” 

Mrs. Sutcliffe laughed again, imparting her 
merriment to Penelope, who, still not quite 
understanding, felt suddenly reconciled and 
happy. 

The younger children, patrolling the 
grounds, joined their mother on the sunny 
bank, their favourite spot, and looking at 
them Mrs. Sutcliffe realized how great a 
part these innocents had played in Alice’s 
romance. 

That Alice Lingfield and Bob Macalister 
were positively made for each other Mrs. 
Sutcliffe had decided from the very first, but 
Bob needed spurring to action by despair. 
Adown an easy path his feet might long 
have dawdled in the rosy byways of flirtation. 

Thus she had watched with joy the girl’s 
pre-occupation in the children’s society. 

“ He won’t be able to stand it much 
longer,” Mrs. Sutcliffe had thought day by 
day; 44 sooner or later he must wrest her 
from them by force ! ” 

Penelope hardly knew why, but she 
awaited Alice’s return with a sensation of 
suppressed excitement. Her mother’s words 
had set her thinking. Was Mr. Macalister, 
perhaps, the someone else who loved Miss 
Lingfield too ? 

Across the hills, down to the valley came 
soft breezes, whispering their tender story of 
love abroad, light-footed and airy. Mrs. 
Sutcliffe felt the very day breathed rapture, 
as she pictured the riders side by side 
under the clear sky. 

At last came the sound of horses’ hoofs in 
the drive, and as Alice alighted, her cheeks 
glowing, her eyes sparkling, her lips parted, 
she unconsciously told the glorious news of 
her freshly discovered love. One glance at 
Bob’s face confirmed the revelation, and Mrs. 
Sutcliffe knew their visit to Dorking Hall had 
been crowned with success. 

44 We have had such a lovely ride ! ” said 
Alice, as Penelope flew ini.i her arms with 
the air of knowing and urderstanding far 
more than she was supposed to know or 
understand. It had been a day of awaken¬ 
ing, a day of surprise ; all the clouds were 
drifting away under Alice’s sunny radiance, 
her happy, sparkling mood. 

The twins struggled each to wrest from the 
other her riding-whip, the stronger of the 
two hugging it close to her baby heart, simply 
because it was Alice’s, and therefore deserving 
of love. Hazel and Diana were in her train 
and PyWlolffc fen ran] adoringly. 


THE LOVABLE MISS LING FIELD. 


299 



Once more the children gathered close, 
drawn by the mute affection they could not 
express in words* Like a blooming rose 
surrounded by fair buds she stood amongst 
the little ones, and Bob no longer grudged 
them her smiles. 

When Alice was dressing for dinner that 
night Penelope crept to her room and 
hovered at her side, watching her as she 
arranged the long coils of hair which crowned 
her daintily-shaped head, 

“I have brought you a bunch of white 
azalea,” said the 
child, “to put 
in your sash, 
because mother 
says you will 
soon be a bride, 

I once went to 
a wedding, and 
the bride smiled 
at all the people, 
and after¬ 
wards we 
dressed up 
with mother’s 
lace shawl 
over our 
heads and 
pretended we 
were being 
married too. 

Are you glad 
Mr, Macalis- 
t e r loves 
you ? ” 

Penelope 


put the question quickly, a note of sudden 
anxiety shaking her voice. 

Alice laid down the silver glass in which 
she had been examining her neatly coiffured 
head. She turned a pair of liquid eyes on 
the little figure and caught Penelope to her 
heart 

“ Glad ! " she whispered, “ Oh ! Pen, Vm 
so glad—I can’t tell you—and, dearest, it’s all 
your doing! You must have guessed he 
loved me, for you made it easy, you gave me 
my happiness, you best of fairy schemers ■ " 

“ I didn’t guess—I did it for the poor 

children/’ 
gasped Pene¬ 
lope, not offer¬ 
ing to explain 
her enigmatical 
words. “But 
wasn’t it lucky 
it made you 
happy too ? I 
feel just as if 
my heart would 
burst — it 
thumps and 
thumps ! n 

She pressed 
her little hands 
together, paus¬ 
ing for breath. 

“ A bride 3 H 
she repeated, 
dwelling on the 
words. “We 
must all of us 
play at weddings 
to-morrow ! ,J 


“ AliE YUlj (JL All MR, UftCALISTER I.QV&S YOU?" 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





The Craze for Panama Hats. 



THE VILLAGE OP TOUtlA, COLOMBIA, FRflM WHENCE COME THE FINEST PANAMA HATS 
From -ri by Puinier \Y<i>dt. Atw JVr±- 


NE HUNDRED POUNDS 
for a straw hat ! Enough with 
which to take a three months 1 
holiday, enough to keep your 
son a year at college, enough 
to buy a small farm* And yet 
so astute a financier as Mr. Lyman Gage, ex- 
Secretary or the LIS, Treasury, recently paid 
that sum for an extra fine Panama hat, and 
reckoned, moreover, that he had made a 
good bargain* King Edward VIE also is 
reported to have paid a Bond Street hatter 
^£90 to secure “the best Panama in London”; 
while Jean de Reszke, the noted tenor, has 
paid the topmost price—something under 
^120 — to procure a similar object in 
America, Ex - Mayor Van Wyck, of New 
York* is chuckling over his success in 
securing a Panama which dealers have told 
him is superior in quality to either King 
Edward's or the one owned by Jean de 
Reszke. He paid only j£$°. 

These instances of extravagance are not 
mentioned as a reflection upon the perpetra¬ 
tors, but merely to illustrate the extent of 
“the Panama hat craze,” one of the most 
expensive fashions ever adopted by men* 
Expensive, because a Panama of even 
medium quality cannot be had for less than 
jQ 5, and if you aim at having one that may 
be tucked away in a vest pocket like a lead 
pencil or slipped through a finger-ring, the 
price is, to most persons, prohibitive, In 


spite of this costliness, however, Panama 
hats are being dispatched from South America 
absolutely in ship loads, and about half the 
population of Ecuador are engaged in supply¬ 
ing hat luxuries for the men of Europe and 
America. 

The craze began last year, and appeared 
to be only transient ; but enterprising 
merchants foretold that this summer would 
find a demand far greater than the 
supply, and they accordingly put in their 
orders about six months ago. Since 
then the Panama hat industry has become 
more lucrative than any other in that part 
of South America adjoining the Isthmus, 
and with the prospect of making a 
fortune in a few years many planters have 
abandoned the raising of coffee and rice* 
The mountain passes of the Andes, from 
Chimborazo northward, arc crowded, day 
and night, with long columns of pack-mules 
and ox-carts bearing their precious burden 
to Panama, which is the clearing-house for 
hats* The streets of Panama itself are 
flanked with the establishments of hat- 
brokers, and half the city is engaged, one 
way or other, in helping to further this 
American “craze.” 

In all the pages of history you will, 
perhaps, find no account of a fad that was at 
the same time so costly as this one and yet 
so generally adopted, not even when plumed 
knights and courtiers trod the 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






THE CRAZE FOR PANAMA HATS. 


301 


earth. In their heyday a considerable sum 
of money was, no doubt, paid for the 
picturesque tL Gainsborough,” expensively 
decorated, which was affected by the men of 
that period ; but it is safe to say that not 
even the extravagant Louis XIV. paid for his 
head-dress the price of the best Panama. 

In our time it has been almost the exclu¬ 
sive privilege of women to spend large sums 
of money on hats, and it is not uncommon 
to hear of a Parisian “ creation ” selling for a 
thousand dollars. With the fashion, now¬ 
adays, of occasionally wearing diamonds or 


humorists to be up-to-date must regild one 
of their stock commodities. It is the women 
now who gasp with astonishment when the 
head of the house comes home with a little 
wisp of straw which he cheerfully proclaims 
has cost him something like a hundred 
pounds. Not only that, but he has the 
effrontery to boast of the purchase and goes 
strutting about because Brown or Jones has 
a Panama hat that is woven in two pieces 
while his, proud man, has never a seam ! 

At first sight the Panama hat “craze” 
would appear to he a lavish folly taken up 



TOMKA NATIVES WKAVJNU i'ANAJVlA HATS. 
From a Fhoto, fry render Ifeyds, New York. 


other precious gems on a head dress, there is 

practically no limit to the depth that a 

woman might plunge in indulging in this 

luxury. The fad of wearing real lace that 
is affected to day is also a costly one. A 
smartly-dressed woman whose ambition is to 
he in the swim of society will often wear two 
or three yards of Irish point-lace that costs, 
perhaps, a yard. It is this sort of 

thing that gives a father or a husband heart- 
disease, a tragedy that has been so useful to 
joke-writers and knock-about comedians. 

But the tables are now reversed, and 


because of a wild desire to u be in style." 
But there are good causes for the Panama’s 
popularity, the chief one being that the 
common straw hat, with its stiff brim, so 
universally worn in this country and abroad, 
is a fragile affair, breaks easily, and has little 
to recommend it excepting lightness of weight; 
while a good Panama may be worn a lifetime, 
can be blocked to any shape, and is exceed¬ 
ingly comfortable to the head. It is, in short, 
a summer luxury, and only its costliness has 
prevented it from being universally worn. 

Among the false noiid ns regarding Panama 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



302 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



FINISHING THE HATS IN THE FACTORY, 
Ftv* n a Pk&i#. hjf V tinder Wrifdt t JV*Hf Fort, 


hats—and there are prevalent a great many— 
is that of its origin. The name, in the first 
place, would lead one to believe that the 
fabric is manufactured in Panama, whereas 
the fact is that Ecuador, Colombia, and 
Guayaquil produce two-thirds of all the 
Panamas in the market The city of Panama 
is merely a shipping port for these hats, which 
are brought from other places. It is the 
metropolis of the northern part of South 
America. The name was originally coined 
by some French merchants who bought straw 


hats in the village 
of Monte Cristo, 
Ecuador, and took 
them back to 
Paris. They at¬ 
tracted attention 
on the boulevards 
there, and when 
queried about 
them the French¬ 
men curtly replied, 
“Chapeaux de 
Panama.™ 

Another illusion 
that prevails gener¬ 
ally is that the 
natives weave 
these precious hats 
under water, but 
the photographs 
shown here con¬ 
clusively disprove 
that. The rumour probably started from 
the method of soaking the raw material in 
water prior to their being woven. There is 
nothing extraordinary about this, the object 
being merely to soften the ** straw,™ so that 
it will be pliable and easy to handle. 

To call the Panama a straw hat is, by the 
way, an anomaly, for it is not made of straw 
at all, the material used in its manufacture 
being either the stem of palm leaves or a 
rare sort of grass that grows in South 
America. The natives are very deft in 













THE CRAZE FOR PANAMA HATS. 


3°3 


curing and weaving both these products. 
The palm they tear in shreds with their 
teeth until it spreads out fan-shape. After a 
long soaking the palm stem is taken out of 
the water and nailed on a rough - looking 
block, at which the workman sits for weeks 
at a time, carefully putting in place shred 
after shred. 

It is this length of time and tediousness 
in labour that account for the high price 
placed on Panama hats. An idea of the 
real situation in Panama may be had from 
the following letter received by S. M. Jackson 
and Co., of New York, from their South 
American agent : “ Replying to your valued 
inquiry of April 25th/ 1 said this corre¬ 
spondent, u regarding which we have had to 
make inquiries, we find that the * finest ’ 
hat required by you would necessitate four 
months to manufacture, and would cost 
between Sodols. and roodols. in gold” 
to jC 2 °)' When a hat costs loodols. in its 
unfinished condition at the place of manu¬ 
facture it is not to be wondered at that the 
same hat, after going through the American 
Customs house, where a 35 per cent, duty is 
exacted, should retail at joodols., or ^100. 

There is one distinction in Panamas of the 
utmost importance, a distinction which, if 
noticed, stamps the wearer as a possessor of 
the real thing, or, on the other hand, a 
pretender Your genuine, high - priced 
Panama is made in one piece and has no 
lining, while 
the inferior 
style of hat, 
made for the 
most part in 
A n t i o q u i a. 

Colombia, is 
woven in two 
pieces and has 
a lining. The 
latter is re¬ 
garded with 
contempt by 
the South 
Americans, 


though they often pass in the United States for 
the “real thing 11 and are priced accordingly. 
The perfect Panamas are woven by the 
women of Ecuador, and those that live in 
the two provinces of Tolima and Suarez, 
Colombia. The men can rarely be induced 
to work, no matter how considerable the 
pay, and contractors have about ceased 
trying to galvanize them with energy. But 
the women are more industrious, and plod 
along week after w T eek tearing the palm leaf 
with certain nicety and then weaving in the 
shreds, one hat at a time. 

The value of a hat depends entirely upon 
its texture and pliability. One that costs 
too, for example, should be so closely 
woven as to appear practically smooth to the 
naked eye. It is, of course, made in one 
piece, and if the owner has not been cheated 
he should he able to squeeze his hat through 
a finger-ring. But a hat capable of this 
treatment is about as rare as a blue diamond. 

There is no telling where the Panama hat 
“craze” will end, or the amount of money 
that has been spent thereon this season. 
The masculine population seem to have 
gone quite mad over it, and dealers are 
taking advantage of the moment to reap a 
harvest, especially in America. “In other 
years,” said a Broadway hatter, “ I would 
have sold several thousand stiff - brim 
Mackinaws in the first pan of the season, but 
this season 1 have sold less than a hundred. 

Only Panamas 
are wanted. 
Women, too, 
have caught 
the infection, 
and you will 
find that be¬ 
fore the sum¬ 
mer is half 
over fashion 
will decree that 
to be up-to- 
date a woman 
must own a 
Panama” 



il ONE-FLKCR' MANAMA HAT OF THK FINEST QUALITY. 
Frotn a I'Setih b]f Vandcr W^vdc, AVw York. 


Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







Some After-Dinner Speakers. 

Written and Illustrated by Harry Furniss. 


N everything variety is charm¬ 
ing, but, alas! we have many 
charming speeches and far too 
little variety. It is too much 
the habit to select the same 
speakers time after time ; a 
man makes one good speech, and he is on 
the strength of it asked to make fifty. In all 
probability he repeats himself, particularly if 
he poses as a humorist ; this performance 
becomes mechanical, the trick consists in 
saying the same thing in different ways. Earl 
Granville, giving some advice to a friend, 
who has since won the reputation of a very 
great speaker, 
said to him: 

“There is no¬ 
thing so tiresome 
as the constant 
reappearance of 
the same man 
and the constant 
repetition of the 
same voice. Out 
of your toasts 
select one for a 
speech, and into 
that speech pour 
all the informa¬ 
tion, all the argu¬ 
ment, all the 
eloquence, all the 
wit, all the pathos 
you can possibly 
scrape together, 
and for God’s 
sake don’t make 
neat and appro¬ 
priate speeches 
between every 
other toast. 

Dismiss them with a sentence. If there is a 
point in that sentence, so much the better ; 
but if not, let it be one sentence without a 
point.” 

If the late Earl gave this advice to his own 
countryman, what would he have thought 
of those irrepressible after-dinner speakers, 
the Americans, who “orate” on every 
possible occasion? As regards their after* 
dinner speaking, I would prefer to give the 
opinion of one of the greatest men in 
England than give my own. This opinion, 
from no less a person than Mr. Joseph 


Chamberlain, was given in the presence of 
Mr. Chauncey Depew, Sir Henry Irving, and 
others well able to discuss the point: it was 
that Americans are not better after-dinner 
speakers than the English. 

I think myself that the average American 
can speak better than the average English¬ 
man, but 1 have heard much better speaking 
on special occasions in England than I have 
heard in similar conditions in America, and 
I have had ample opportunity of making the 
contrast. 

Take haphazard a room full of Americans 
and a room full of Englishmen, and vou will 

find nearly every 
American will 
say something 
and say it well ; 
but, on the other 
hand, few Eng- 
lishmen can 
speak well. That 
is not the point, 
lam referring to 
set after-dinner 
speaking, and 
there is no doubt 
as to the superi¬ 
ority of the Eng¬ 
lish over the 
Americans. 

The best after- 
dinner speaking 
I ever heard was 
at a dinner where 
half-a-dozen 
speakers — all 
English — made 
far more eloquent 
and more witty 
speeches than I 
have ever heard at half-a-dozen American 
show banquets. At the one I have in mind 
Ixird Rath more was at his best. Sir Frank 
Lockwood, Sir Edward Clarke, Mr. Pinero, 
and Lord Russell excelled themselves. All 
the speakers confined themselves to their 
subject. Now this the Americans seldom do, 
as I have just pointed out. They give a 
string of anecdotes, good, bad, and in¬ 
different, and wind up with an eloquent per¬ 
oration in flamboyant style. There is decidedly 
too much playing to the gallery and too little 
“playing the ^e,” ^ we would say, in 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




|,ORD RATHMQRR. 







SOME AFTER - DINNER SPEAKERS. 


305 



order to drag In a story* The best friends of 
the speaker are bowled over without the least 
compunction. This is not playing cricket, 
but it is what I have witnessed Chauncey 
Depew and all American show dinner orators 
play at- It is what their friends expect and 
enjoy. We have a higher motive, and we 
therefore have better speeches. 

The stock toasts, dealing wdth national 
subjects, are dealt with on both sides of the 
Atlantic by out¬ 
pourings of plati¬ 
tudes, and seldom 
with a grain of 
sincerity* In that 
the Americans are 
superior to the 
English* T hey 
“ orate on their 
country’s greatness 
at every opportunity, 
and when it is said 
they are better 
speakers you will 
find it is generally 
held so by those who 
are carried away by 
such rhetoric* As a 
specimen of the best 
American oratory I 
cannot select a better 
example than the 
following brief 
speech, the first 
made by the Hon. 

Joseph Choate in 
this country as 
United States Am¬ 
bassador 

“ I accept this 
cordial welcome, 11 
said the new Am¬ 
bassador, “ not for 
myself, but for that 
friendly nation 
which I have been 
appointed to repre¬ 
sent* The ports of New York and South¬ 
ampton are now closely united by these 
great steamships—which fly between them 
like shuttles in the weaver's loom, con¬ 
necting them by imperishable bonds* This 
mutual commerce and interchange of travel 
will do more to strengthen the ties that 
already unite the two countries than any¬ 
thing else can do ; and if the men and women 
of England could visit the United States as 
freely as our countrymen flock to your shores, 

so that we could know each other better, 
VnU Jtui^-301 


TlfP HON, JOSEPH CIOATE* 


that good understanding and fraternal 

feeling between the two peoples could 
never fail. Southampton has a special 

significance for all Americans* for it 
was from this ancient port, which for 
centuries before had witnessed the embarka¬ 
tion of all sorts of expeditions* that in 
the year 1630 our F J ilgrim Fathers set sail in 
the Mayflower on that historic voyage which 
was to end in the planting of a new nation, 
which proved to be 
the first great depar¬ 
ture of the English 
race from its island 
home and island life* 
Springing from this 
stock a Republic of 
seventy millions of 
people, allied in 
blood, in institu¬ 
tions, In interest, and 
in the hopes of the 
future, stretches forth 
across the Atlantic 
the right hand of 
fellowship, and is 
ready to meet the 
mother country more 
than half-way in 
everything that shall 
tend to promote the 
common good of the 
two nations and 
the general welfare 
of mankind. To-day 
the representative of 
the descendants of 
the hundred heroes 
and heroines of the 
Mayflower traverses 
the same seas in a 
single week in a 
mighty cruiser, just 
converted from a 
swift engine of war 
into a welcome mes¬ 
senger of peace, her¬ 
self an emblem of that sea-power upon which 
the destinies of the Anglo-Saxon race depend* 
As I go to present my letter of credence from 
the President to your illustrious Sovereign, 
who, after more than sixty years, still reigns 
supreme in the hearts of her subjects and 
commands the affectionate admiration of my 
own countrymen as their ever-faithful and 
steadfast friend, I accept your cordial greet¬ 
ing as a harbinger of that practical friendship 
which is henceforth to control and govern 
the conduct of f^g tpyo rations * n 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




3 °G 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Americans have a trick in after-dinner 
speaking. They lead up to a story, or two 
or three, as the case may be, and when you 
are laughing at that story they sit down. An 
American, in fact, saves himself the trouble 
of making a speech by telling a story* 
English speakers are too serious, Americans 
too frivolous. The clever manner in which 
they drag in a story seems to be the clever 
part of their after-dinner oratory. A Depew 
or a Horace Porter will drag in half-a-dozen 
good stories, and throw of! a peroration as a 
sort of solid food after 
several pleasant, but 
not very substantial, 
entrees. 

By the way, there 
is a well-known story 
attribated, I believe, 
to General Horace 
Porter, who was re¬ 
ferred to by the chair¬ 
man in the following 
way 

11 We have here to¬ 
night General Horace 
Porter, and I call upon 
him for a speech. The 
gentleman is like a 
slot machine : you put 
in a dinner and out 
comes a speech/* 

The witty and 
gallant General rose, 
and replied with a 
quick fire of satire 
which killed the 
vulgar chairman on 
the spot :— 

“ The chairman has 
thought fil to liken 
me to a slot machine. 

May I return the com¬ 
pliment, and say that 
he is like one also ? 

He puts in a speech and up comes your 
dinner.” 

I have no doubt, however, that Americans 
are better at an impromptu speech than the 
English. To speak impromptu is dangerous. 
One may kill himself by making an exhi¬ 
bition of imbecility or kill his friends by an 
exhibition of boredom. I rather appreciate 
the remark of the Irishman who, suddenly 
called to fight, took to his heels, and when 
stopped said 

“ It's better to be a coward for five 
minutes than to be a dead man all your life¬ 
time." | 


But the American is always ready with a 
story, and therefore always ready with a 
speech. Now, this last witticism was intro¬ 
duced into a speech at one of the most 
important dinners tn New York, at which I 
was present, by Mr. Depew himself, so you 
see in clever hands a joke need not be a new 
one.’ An American after-dinner speech is 
like one of the sky-scraper buildings in the 
country : there is a frame of commonplace 
built upon a foundation of common sense. 
With marvellous rapidity story after story is 
formed until the 
height of eloquence 
is reached. The 
crust of ornamental 
compliments cannot 
hide the irony it 
covers, and these 
piles of stories are so 
alike you cannot tell 
one from the other. 

Let me show you 
bow the t r i c k is 
done. 

A gentleman at a 
dinner would have a 
little story such as 
this, and would intro¬ 
duce if in this way:— 
“ Mr. Chairman, 
did you know my 
feelings at the present 
moment and realize 
how very ragged they 
are, you would pro¬ 
bably have pity upon 
me, as the benevolent 
lady had for the tramp 
in tatters, when she 
said to him : — 

tf 4 My man, your 
clothes seem to he 
very ragged ; can I 
do anything to mend 
them for you ? 1 To which he replied :— 

“ 1 Well, ma'am, I have a button, and I 
would be very glad if you would sew a coat 
on to it/ 

“ Well, sir, I have a story, and I shall be 
very glad if anyone will sew a speech on 
to it/' 

The joke is almost as worn out as the 
coat, but the Americans seem to enjoy a joke 
the oftener they hear it. 

A gentleman at a dinner is called upon to 
take the place of another on the toast list— 
that is, to make a speech earlier in the 
evening than he }f pf|t down for on the 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



(itiHERAL HORACE PORTEM. 



SOME APTER -DINNER SPEAKERS. 


307 



toast list; ten to one he will begin with 
this 

11 1 feel I have no right here, for my time 
has not yet come. I am reminded of the 
story of the little boy in the village playing 
on a doorstep all by himself, who, when 
good-natured passers-by said : * Why, little 
boy, play all by yourself? Why not join the 
others inside ? * replied : * I mustn't. 1 am 
going to play the baby, and Fm not born 
yet in 

Now, in the case of being called upon 
unexpectedly, the following will be accept¬ 
able at any gathering of Americans 

** I do not understand why I am called 
upon to speak to this toast. The reasons, 
no doubt, are various, but I am not con¬ 
vinced, and I know there is something in the 
compliments paid me, so III not spoil the 
compliments by asking for a reason. If I 
examine that reason, I would probably be as 
the man who said : 1 When that clock hand 
stands at two and it strikes six I shall know 
the time is seven, 1 I am afraid I must finish 
—my glass is run—I have taken up all the 
time one should with a worthless speech. 
Thanks, but Vm not going to imitate the 
parson in the little Presbyterian village, who 
when preaching placed an old half-hour-glass 
on the pulpit; then, when the sand was out, 
he would lean over to his congregation 
and say: * Have another glass and 
linger with me still. 1 I don’t know if 
it were the same parson who, when 
he died, had engraved on his tomb¬ 
stone the simple words, 1 My glass is 
run, 7 and some mischievous urchin 
added one stroke to the last letter, 
and it read, 1 My glass is rum. 1 What¬ 
ever my glass is, I drink to you, and 
III have another glass and linger with 
you still.” 

Numerous instances are recorded of 
speakers mixing their metaphors, and 
either through ignorance or nervous¬ 
ness saying the wrong thing. One 
instance: A certain Duke, presiding 
at the farewell dinner to Mr. John 
Hare, who was starting for America to 
play in Mr. Pinero’s u Problem Plays ” 

(Mr. Pinero was vice-chairman of the 
banquet), made the theme of his 
speech an attack upon the production 
of these very plays! I remember 
many others. One I read about in 
America is too good to omit. 

General Fosse, an American officer 
and supporter of negro emancipation, 
once made a very a nimated address on 

Digitized by 


behalf of the coloured population. A dinner 
was given subsequently to the General, when 
one of the sable guests, being called upon for 
a toast, was desirous of conveying the idea, 
by the sentiment he should give, that the 
General, though he was a white man, was 
nevertheless full of sympathy for the negroes. 
He therefore rose and gave ** Massa General 
Foss; he have white skin, but very black 
heart." 

Sir Henry Irving always makes interesting 
after-dinner speeches, and it is needless to 
say they are delivered in artistic style. His 
speeches are carefully prepared and printed 
in very large block type, easily read at a 
distance. Herein lies the triumph of the 
actor. These slips are artfully placed 
on the table out of the sight of the 
audience ; and while one of the speaker’s 
hands rests artistically on his hip, the 
other toys with a fruit-knife, and with it pages 
of the speech are turned over as they are 
read. So perfectly is this acted, so grace¬ 
fully does the body sway, and so well-timed 
are the pauses in the speech that only those 
seated in close proximity to Sir Henry are 
aware he is reading his speech. If one 
cannot trust to memory this system is prefer¬ 
able to the prompter system, which some 
actors prefer from sheer force of habit A 


Orm\v^wnw G - 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


jo8 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE .. 


friend on the prompt side is entrusted with 
the copy of the speech and acts the role of 
the prompter in the theatre, It is curious how 
some speakers cannot shake off this habit. 
This was most noticeable in the House of 
Commons, when the late Lord Russell sat 
in Parliament as Mr, Gladstone’s Home 
Rule Attorney General, He requiring a level¬ 
headed legal mind for Solicitor - General 
called in Mr* J, Rigby, direct from court 
practice to the front bench in Parliament 
Mr. Rigby was duly knighted and called 
upon to answer questions and make speeches, 
but force of habit debarred him from doing 
either in the stereotyped Parliamentary 
fashion, i.e . 9 standing 
at the table sideways 
to the Speaker, He 
had invariably been 
accustomed to address 
the judge while facing 
hitn, so in like manner 
he must now perforce 
face the Speaker. In 
such matters the 
etiquette of Parliament 
is most punctilious. 

No one standing on 
the floor, while address- 
ing the House, is 
allowed to place either 
foot beyond the edge 
of the mat running 
parallel to the seats. Should he so trans¬ 
gress, loud calls to order are immediately 
heard; yet here was a member of the 
Ministry not only overstepping the red- 
bordered mat, but taking several steps 
round the corner of the table, and—shade of 
Erskine!—standing in front of the mace 
addressing the Speaker. The House accepted 
the humour of the situation and laughed 
heartily, which was the only thing to do 
under the circumstances, for the Solieitor- 
General could not manage to get a word out 
until he stood in the House as he did in the 
court, />., in front of the Bench. 

Another curious illustration of the force of 
habit was the system adopted by Lord Leigh¬ 
ton, late President of the Royal Academy. 
It may be true that “ The pencil speaks 
the tongue of every land,” and it is equally 
true that I^ord Leighton very nearly did 
the same thing. But artists as after-dinner 
speakers are sadly disappointing. That 
linguist and otherwise accomplished Presi¬ 
dent I have mentioned had the reputation 
of being an orator. He certainly, in a weak 
falsetto voice, whined through long winded 


platitudes and prettily-turned sentences ; his 
speeches were exactly the same as his art: 
correct in outline, florid and conventional in 
colour, flat and thin in technique, pleasing, 
smooth, graceful, gorgeously framed—and 
soon forgotten. Lord Beaconsfreld, on being 
asked at the Royal Academy banquet by an 
admirer of Leighton what he thought of that 
artist's speech, replied, with a shrug : “ Hhn, 
the French pastry of oratory,” Rough, ready, 
delightful, and natural, Sir John Millais, on 
the other hand, made no effort and no 
success as a speaker. When he first took 
the chair at the banquet, poor fellow 1 his 
fatal disease was already troubling him. He 
had to appeal to his 
audience for indulgence 
as he was no orator, 
and was furthermore 
suffering from hoarse¬ 
ness, yet by a strange 
coincidence facing him 
on the walls was his 
large ghost picture, 
called “Speak! 
Speak ! ” Lord Leigh¬ 
ton did not read from 
a manuscript, but, 
having written out his 
speech, learnt it by 
h e a r t, and then, 
through force of 
habit, actually fancied 
that he saw it on the wall, and read it 
word for word in imagination. “ That 
accounts for my moving my head from side 
to side while I am speaking,” he informed 
a friend of mine. There is no doubt artists 
can remember the form of what they read as 
they can remember all forms, but it is a 
curious fact that others besides artists have 
in their “mind’s-eye ” some form upon which 
they build their speeches. Charles Dickens 
—in the opinion of those lucky enough to 
have heard the great author one of the 
best after-dinner speakers both as regards 
matter and delivery—likened his speech to a 
cart-wheel. “ The outset was the tyre, he 
being the hub* From the hub to the tyre he 
would run as many spokes as there were 
subjects to be treated, and during the 
progress of the speech he would deal with 
each spoke separately* elaborating them 
as he went round the wheel; and when 
all the spokes dropped out one by one, 
and nothing but the tyre and space remained, 
he would know that he had accomplished 
his task and that his speech was at an end*” 
So wrote hi^ r fup[i^| and manager of his 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



LORD LEIGHTON* 


SOME ASTER- DINNER SPEAKERS , 


309 


reading tours, the late Mn Dalby r and 
adds : u It was my fortune nn many occasions 
to accompany Mr. Dickens when he took 
the chair at public dinners or meetings* and, 
remembering on ail such occasions his plan 
of action, I have been amused to observe 
him dismiss the spoke from his mind by a 
quick action of 
the finger, as if 
he were knocking 
it away.” 

John Bright, 

“ Silver Tongue/ 1 
one of the greatest 
speakers of our 
time* after making 
a remarkable 
speech, happened 
to leave his notes 
on the table. An 
admirer eagerly 
seized them, 

“ Now I shall dis¬ 
cover this extra¬ 
ordinary man’s 
method.” 1 forget 
the actual words, 
but they were few 
and something 
like “ cats,” “ fuzz- 
wuzzy/* “Cali¬ 
ban,” “ Lache&is/’ 

“ abracadabra,” 

"snuff,” ** toads.” Needless to say, he was 
not particularly enlightened. 

An easy method by which to escape any 
effort in after-dinner speaking is to repeat 
the same words 
time after time. 

Our greatest 
cricketer, as is 
well known, does 
not make speeches 
w i th as much 
facility as he 
makes runs; and 
when he was on 
tour in Australia 
as captain of the 
English team had 
to return thanks 
time after time. He 
merely repeated a 
dozen or so words 
of simple gratitude 
precisely the same 
on each occasion, 
and in that way 
established another 


record. After I had an action brought 
against me by the late George Augustus Sala 
for some chaffing remarks made in an after- 
dinner speech, whenever called upon I 
excused myself from making another, being 
nervous that in paying a compliment to some 
thin-skinned person present I might again 

find myself in the 
Law Courts. I 
had a stereotyped 
speech w h i c h 
served for some 
time. 

Our cleverest 
dramatist, Mr. 
Pinero, imitates 
Sir Henry Irving's 
method exactly, 
but he is even 
more deceptive in 
order to conceal 
the fact that he 
reads his speech. 
He more than 
once stops ab¬ 
ruptly, looks 
quickly to a far 
corner of the 
table, evidently 
fixing his piercing 
eye upon some 
particular diner, 
says, “ What do 
I hear that gentleman say?” (Pause,) 
“ Well, if he means by that interruption,” 
etc,, and replies to the imaginary gentleman 
in a delightful, supposititious impromptu. 

That is clever and 
decidedly legiti¬ 
mate, for, after all, 
a speech should 
be an entertain¬ 
ment, and effect, 
however produced, 
is everything, par¬ 
ticularly if speeches 
are endowed with 
that literary merit 
as such speakers 
as l write of pos¬ 
sess ; it is just as 
well they should 
be carefully pre¬ 
pared beforehand 
and guided by 
elaborate notes. 

Of Lord Rose¬ 
bery I would say 
his matter is better 



CHARI.XS DICKfcN^ 




3 io 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


than his manner* To me he never seems to 
feel what he says; his face remains a mask, 
neither the mouth nor the eye being that of 
an orator. 

Mr. Augustine Birrell is now the popular 
humorist after dinner, particularly when 



MM. AUGUSTINE liChRELL. 


political* Mr G. B. Shaw is as amusing, 
audacious, and unconventional in speech as 
he is in his writing. 

I must class with the last two humorists 
an after-dinner speaker who has lately sprung 
into popularity* I refer to Mr. M. H. 
Spiel maun, the well-known art critic, author 
of “The History of Punch" editor of the 
Magazine of Art % etc* I have heard many 
speakers on both sides of the Atlantic, hut 
none better than he—witty, literary, with a 
capital delivery and easy manner, 1 first 
heard him speak as chairman of the New 
Vagabond Club* Out of this vagabond 
jesters wallet I filch a few crumbs of wit : — 

“ We are vagabonds. As Alexander Smith 
says, * Nature makes us vagabonds; the 
world makes us respectable*’ Let me say 
at once, therefore, so that there should be 
nfl mistake, that there is a disreputable type 
of vagabond from whom we entirely dis¬ 


sociate ourselves* We all of us know the 
type and its species—the ‘perverted vaga¬ 
bond’—the man with all our few vices and 
none of our many virtues. He is the sham 
Bohemian, the man who professes to be ‘a 
close friend,’ and is never so close as when 
he is asked for money. He is a ‘hanger-on/ 
for whom literature is as much a ‘hand to 
mouth 1 profession as dentistry. But, ladies 
and gentlemen, even a worm will turn—if you 
keep it long enough, and we turn against the 
smirchers of our name and order.” Then, a 
propos of including 14 lady vagabonds ” as a 
complete change in the policy of the club, he 
tells a capital story: a case of an old gentle¬ 
man comfortably installed in a non-smoking 
railway compartment at Paddington, when 
an Eton boy entered, pulled out a big cigar, 
and was just going to strike a light when the 
old gentleman broke out : “ Young sir, this 
isn’t a smoking carriage.” The boy struck his 



MM, GEORGE 8EHNAKD SHAW. 


match as he replied ; “ Precious soon will 
be ! " Another capital story I recall in that 
rich feast of the best humour : “There is an 
Oriental saying, ‘ Who is the happier—the 
man with a million of money or a man 
with nine daughters ? The man with nine 
daughters, because he doesn’t want any 
more *’" 

To those who are fortunate enough to hear 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






SOME AFTER-DINNER SPEAKERS. 


3 IT 


Mr, Spiel mann speechify* however* this would 
not apply ; for, like Oliver Twist, they would 
certainly “ask for more.” 

It is not often that the toast of 
Navy ” is responded to by a 
witty representative of our 
11 Handy-men,” Of course, 

Lord Charles Be res ford is 
always interesting and amus¬ 
ing ; but then he has some 
set, serious purpose in speak¬ 
ing. For a witty, unofficial, 
nautical after-dinner speaker 
I would suggest Admiral Sir 
William Kennedy : his stories 
are always fresh and amusing* 

I select two. The following 
is an episode in his career 
he amused the Authors 1 
Club with, A retired boat* 
swain of the Royal Navy 
bought a little house within 
sound of the sea, in which 
he lived. Each morning he 
was called at 4 a.m* by a 
boy* w ho received sixpence a 
week for this service. The 
neighbours* curious to know 
the reason of this apparently purposeless 
call, interrogated the boy. 

Neighbours: “Why do you call him at 
4 a.m., and what occurs ? 11 

Boy: “I calls him at 4 a.m., and says 
he to me* says he, 

1 How's the weather? 1 
I answers, ‘A dark and 
stormy morning/ and 
has orders to add, ‘and 
the captain wants you 
immediately on deck/ 

He answers, *Tetl the 
captain to go to Jericho/ 
and he rolls over and 
falls asleep again,” 

Another story—The 
Sea Lawyers* While 


stationed on the coast of Newfoundland the 
admiral, then a captain, and his first lieu¬ 
tenant were made Justices of the Peace, 
in order that they might adjudicate on the 
cases and disputes of the 
inhabitants m remote parts 
of the iron - bound coast 
where J-IVs never ventured 
to voyage* The inhabi¬ 
tants were accustomed to 
store up the questions and 
cases until a man-of-war 
arrived and then bring them 
before the captain. At one 
part of the coast a compli¬ 
cated question of title to 
land was awaiting decision* 
It had been brought before 
several naval captains, all of 
whom had failed to under¬ 
stand it or settle it. When 
H.M.S* Druid arrived on 
the spot the inhabitants came 
down, eager to have the 
knotty point settled. The 
captain and his first lieu¬ 
tenant sat on the quarter¬ 
deck, the inhabitants 
grouped around, and the case was argued 
from early morning to evening. Each 
hour it became more entangled and com¬ 
plicated; the seamen knitted their brows, 
and at the close of the arguments said that 
as it was a case of 
great importance they 
would take time to 
consider and give their 
decision next morn¬ 
ing. The inhabitants 
left, and came down 
next morning, rejoicing 
to think that the case 
would at last be settled, 
but only to see H.M.S. 
Druid disappearing 
below the horizon. 




A. DM I ft Al. .SIR WILLIAM KENNEDY 


Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


1'he IVould-Be Assassin. 


By Edwin Pugh. 



HE Sons o’ 
unanimously 
England was 
They called 
Bermondsey 


Freedom were 
agreed that 
in a bad way. 
themselves the 
Branch of the 


Sons o’ Freedom; but they 
were, in fact, the whole tree—and a leafless, 
fruitless tree, too. They met in a small room 
over the bar of the Box o’ Nails public- 
house, and their induction ceremony was as 
funny as an indifferently modelled plaster 
skull could make it. They were mostly gin- 
bitten loafers who had never done an honest 
day’s work in their lives. They always knew 
what the Government was going to do long 
before the Government had decided to do 
something else. Their watchword was 
“ Progress/’ and their motto: “ Those who 
live only in the past should be made a part 
of the past.” They were noisy and unclean 
and ignorant. And only one of them was, in 
any sense, sincere. 

That one was the secretary, Bertie Spell. 

He was a young man with a sallow, greasy 
face and an epileptic laugh. He could stand 
on a chair and rave as if his foot were on the 
neck of the world. He could spout raw 
treason until he was the only one in the room 
who was not tired. 

“ All very well to talk/’ said Bob Fields, 
the president, one sultry autumn evening. 
“ But fine words butter no parsnips.” He 
sucked ferociously at his pipe. “What we 
want is a man who’ll do something.” 

Bertie Spell looked somewhat abashed. 
He ceased to saw the air with his soft, dirty 
hand. 

“ What is there to do ? ” he asked. “ We 
agitate.” 

“Agitate ourselves. Yuss. And what 
for? What’s the good of it?” He rose 
with a snarl. “ I’d give all the agitators in 
the world for one man with a knife.” 

Bertie pursed his lips. “ Times are not 
ripe for that sort o’ thing.” 

“ I believe you. They’re rotten.” 

“ All very fine to talk ! But what would 
you do ? ” 

“Me? ’Tain’t for me to do nothing. 
The brain plans and the hand strikes. I’m 
the chairman o’ the organization committee 

Digitized by Google 

* o 


o’ this society, remember. You don’t go 
putting a general on outpost duty.” 

“No,” said Bertie Spell, vaguely. “Still, 

I hardly see-” 

“Too busy talking to see anything,” 
grunted Fields. 

Bertie Spell hung his head. Fields seized 
the opportunity to exchange a solemn wink 
with his mates. Baiting the secretary was 
good fun, and easy as cadging. 

“ What we ought to do,” said one, 
McGarron, “ is to make an example o’ 
somebody.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” he was asked. 

“A little blood-letting. Healthy for the 
constitution. I say no more,” McGarron 
replied. 

“ Shoot-?” 

“ Shoot! Stab ! Blow up ! I don’t care ! 
Why should we leave all that sort o’ thing to 
foreigners?. Ain’t we as good men as them 
there Eyetalians ? Well, then ! ” 

“ Who would you begin with, Mac ? ” 
asked little Spider Hayes. 

“ I’d begin wi’ one o’ them there half- 
baked Imperialist blokes, that’s who I’d 
begin with.” 

“ Harringay ? ” 

“ Ah, or Cantelupe,” suggested the chair¬ 
man. “ Think what it’d be to stop his 
gallop. But what’s the use o’ talking ? 
We’re all too good at that. ’Specially young 
Bertie there.” 

“ Fact o’ the matter is,” said little Spider 
Hayes, “ there ain’t a man among us wi’ the 
backbone of a herring.” 

Bertie Spell lifted his head. His high 
cheekbones shone damp. “ Would you do 
it, Spider ? ” 

“ Do what ? ” 

“ Shoot Cantelupe.” 

“ Only let him walk in here. I’d show * 
you, then.” 

“ Drop him a card, Spider. He’d be 
bound to call,” guffawed McGarron. 

“ You know what I mean, Mac,” said 
Spider Hayes, darkly. 

They were all portentously solemn in an 
instant. “ Oh, we know what you mean" 
they said. 

“ But,” exclaimed Spell, as if he were 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












THE WOULD BE ASSASSIN. 





uttering his thoughts, “ why should you 
expect me to—to act, rather than any¬ 
body else ? 77 

l * We don’t expect you to act,” said Fields, 
u That’s our worriment/' 

‘‘After all, if you are the president, I’m 
the secretary/ 7 

“ No need to keep chewing it, Bertie/’ 

They talked of other tilings. But Spell 
sat silently apart 

“ Drink up, Bertie,” said McGarron. 

He drank and spoke rather huskily* “ Any¬ 
body here know any¬ 
thing about pistols ? Jt 
lie asked, H I/ve 
never handled one 
in rny life/ 7 


last he succeeded in extricating something 
bulky and shiny from the muddle of rags 
in which it had become entangled. The 
thing was a pistol. He rested the muzzle ol 
it on the table, crossed his legs, and regarded 
them fixedly. 

11 Here,” said lie, 41 is the weapon.” 

He uncrossed his legs, snapped the trigger, 
and pointed the pistol at Spider Hayes* 
Spider promptly disappeared under the table. 

“ Put it down, you fool! 71 shouted Fields. 
“ It might go off/ 7 


“Nothing to know,” said Spider Hayes. 
“ Y p ou just get your pistol, pop some cart¬ 
ridges into it, and there you are.” 

“ What do they cost ? 77 

“Get an all-right second-hand one for 
five or six bob,” replied McGarron, winking 
furiously. 

Bertie Spell said nothing further nn the 
matter. 

: On the following evening he arrived late. 

shook hands formally all round, per¬ 
formed the usual hocus-pocus with the skull, 
then stalked to the head of the table. He 
struck the sloppy board with bis fist. 

“Brethren, 77 he called out, loudly, in thin, 
nasal tones, “I have got something to show 
you.” 

He thrust his hand into the breast of Ids 
coat and began to struggle with the torn 
lining of his pocket. 

“What is it? Conjuring trick?” asked 
McGarron* 

The others watched him curiously. At 

Jtxiv.—40. 

Diqilized by 

* o 


MIM-U PROMPTLY I>1£AIj bAKLLi L'NUKK THE TAIHE- 


liertie pointed it at him, and he joined 
Spider. 

“ It won’t go off—yet! ” said Bertie Spell 
in the best style of melodrama* “It ir.ift 
loaded,” lie added, a little lamely. 

Spider and the president reappeared, 

“ Why didn't you say so ?” 

“ Playing the goal like that!" 

They resumed their seats, grumbling. 

11 With this weapon,” Bertie Spell an 
nounced, 11 1 mean to strike the first blow 
at the tyranny which triumphs over us.” 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


3 M 

44 Hear, hear ! ” they cried, coughing to 
mask their grins. 

“ With this weapon,” Bertie continued, 44 1 
mean to rid the world of that monster of 
iniquity, Cantelupe ! ” 

They battered on the table with their pots. 

44 Yesterday,” the fatuous youth went on, 
“I was scorned, laughed at, derided, made 
the butt of jests. To-day I come before 
you a foredoomed martyr to the cause of 
freedom.” He indulged in much more 
similar bombast. 

They circled and hummed about him. 
For he brought a breath of determined 
sincerity into their deliberations that made 
them feel, somehow, holy and dedicate. 
Almost he persuaded them that they were 
indeed a band of desperate patriots. They 
did not believe that he was truly serious, of 
course. They regarded the whole display as 
a piece of timely, excellent mumming, and 
no more than that. But the pistol looked 
colourably like real treason, and they were 
elated. The weapon passed from hand to 
hand and was gingerly inspected. The 
trigger was cocked and pulled, and the 
chambers revolved with a murderous click, 
click. 

44 How many traitors, now, could you 
account for wi’ that ? ” little Spider Hayes 
inquired. 

“ Five,” answered Bertie Spell. 44 Suppos¬ 
ing you didn’t miss any.” 

“ It’d work out at about a bob a traitor,” 
mused McGarron. 

For a week Bertie basked in the lustre of 
the pistol. He breathed a rarefied air of 
adulation that intoxicated him. But at 
the end of the week Fields, who had 
grown gloomy in eclipse, remarked rather 
pointedly:— 

44 Well, we’ve had the grand ongtray of 
clowns. Now, when’s the circus going to 
begin ? ” 

“ Meaning the shooting?” said McGarron. 

44 Meaning the shooting,” Fields assented, 
solemnly. 

“ I haven’t bought any cartridges yet,” 
stammered Bertie Spell. 44 I’m going to, 
though. And then-” 

“And then—what?” asked Fields, un¬ 

pleasantly. 

“You will see,” said Bertie. “I say 

nothing.” 

“Seems to me you say a lot,” Fields 
growled. 44 All jaw, you are, like a sheep’s 
jimmy.” 

Bertie Spell was discomfited. “Can’t 

do everything in a minute,” he protested. 

Digitized by CtOOqIc 


44 The thing—details,. you know—wants 
planning out I’m game enough, as I’ll 
prove to you. But what I want to know is, 
how am I to get at him ? ” 

44 That’s easily arranged,” said McGarron. 
“Every week-end he goes down to Bullen 
Priors, in Darkshire, where he’s got a sort of 
a castle, blight him ! All you’ve got to do is 
to go down there, too, next Saturday, and 
wait for him at the station.” 

44 And what then ? ” asked Bertie, tremu¬ 
lously. 

44 What then ? Why, you just shoot him. 
That’s all.” 

“But there would be a lot of people 
about.” 

44 What’s that matter ? All the better.” 

“But-” Bertie moistened his lips. 

44 1 should be arrested. If I killed him I 
should be hanged.” 

44 Of course you would,” they responded, 
cheerfully. “Still, all the hanging in the 
world wouldn’t bring Cantelupe back to life. 
You must think o’ that” 

44 Mark you,” said Bertie, 44 1 don’t mind 
killing him. I’m going to kill him. Ques¬ 
tion is, why shouldn’t I kill him without 
risking being hanged myself ? Why shouldn’t 
I waylay him in some quiet lane and do the 
deed? I could leave one of the society’s 
cards on his body to show why I’d done it” 

44 Cheese it! ” exclaimed Spider Hayes. 
44 We should have the police down on us.” 

44 Well,” said Bertie, 44 1 don’t want to 
collar all the glory myself, you know. No 
reason why you shouldn’t share in it too.” 

This remark, for some occult reason, did 
not please them, however. They exchanged 
alarmed glances. Bertie Spell was display¬ 
ing a grim earnestness of manner that made 
them wonder whether, after all, his talk was 
but mere empty vapouring. In spite of 
themselves they began to feel a certain awful 
respect for the boy. But Fields, jealously 
fearful of this rising tide of favour that 
threatened to rehabilitate his rival in the 
esteem of the meeting, distributed winks, 
thick and fast, to reassure them. 

44 1 put it to you,” said he, 44 ain’t we 
had about enough o’ this here tomfoolery ? 
We know very well what it all amounts to. 
Our young friend and brother has amused 
himself at our expense long enough, I reckon. 
I suggest we closure the subject for good 
and all.” 

Bertie Spell, white and trembling, indig¬ 
nantly protested in a speech that bristled 
with cant Parliamentary terms. This was 
worse than the obstructive methods of a das- 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE WO ULD - BE ASSASSIN. 


3 1 5 



tnrdly Opposition, he maintained. Were they, 
the Sons o' Freedom, to ape the shallow 
artifices of that corrupt House whose very 
existence they had banded themselves to¬ 
gether to abolish ? He requested the hon, 
president to withdraw the offensive term, 
** tomfoolery.' 1 

“ That’s all gay, Bertie,” said Fields, 
M 'Ere, what's Mr. Spell done that his glass 
should be empty ? ” 

A truce to hostilities was called and 
ratified. Bertie, maudlin tears in his eyes, 
shook hands with fields across the table, 

“But, by the sacred emblem of the skull,” 
he declared, “ I'll show you whether Fm a 
wind-bag or a man ! ” 

Next day he bought cartridges, and carried 
a loaded pistol to the Box o’ Nails. During 
a pause in the talk he suddenly rose and 
pointed the pistol at a vase on the shelf. He 
pulled the trigger. There was a dull snap, 
but no report. His fellow-members adjured 
him solemnly to put his weapon up. 

“Blame the thing!” he muttered, and 
tried again. 

This time he fired successfully. The vase 
fell in shattered fragments to the floor, and 
the room was filled with smoke. 

“ Thus shall Cantelupe fall !” said he. 

“’Ere, be careful!” Fields exclaimed. 
“No need to break up the 'appy 'ome.” 


shall CA,\TEi,ype fali. ! saiu nt-' 


“ What l suggest is this,” said Spider 
Hayes ; “ put the instrument o' vengeance on 
the mantelpiece where we can all see it, and 
then drink to the 'ealth of our noble brother, 
Albert Spell.” 

This suggestion was popularly acclaimed 
and forthwith adopted. 

“ Spell 3 ” they roared. “ Spell! ” 

The contents of the glasses gurgled down 
their throats. 

It was in the golden glow of a misty 
November morning, some four or five days 
later, that Bertie Spell alighted from the 
train at Bullen Priors and made his way up 
the winding, hilly High Street toward Glebe 
Place, Cantelupe's country residence. He 
called in at the Olde Lion for a dram, and 
inquired of the landlord, artlessly, if the 
famous Minister was staying in that neigh¬ 
bourhood. The landlord answered “ Yes,” 
and proceeded to give details of Cantelupe’s 
life in retirement. 

“ He is just like one o' we,” said the 
worthy host. “ Potterin' in his garden, 
maunderin' about the lanes, wi' his dogs an’ 
his fly-net, or mayhap a greenheart rod— 
you’d never take him for the great man he 
be up to Lunnon.” 

Bertie thanked him and, with new agitating 
tremors in his breast, pursued his way. 

He found Glebe Place readily, it was an 
old greystone 
manse, built on a 
wild, weed-infested 
patch of upland. 
A high wall en¬ 
closed it. There 
was a tiny lodge 
beside a great gate 
of scrolled iron¬ 
work. Bertie Spell 
peered through ihe 
gate. A rubbly 
carriage- drive led 
straight to the door 
of the house ; but, 
saving the presence 
of a strutting pea¬ 
cock and a host of 
humbler birds, 
there was no sign 
of life visible. So 
Bertie decided to 
await contingen¬ 
cies. 

He withdrew to a belt of trees that over¬ 
shadowed the lane, and sat down on a 
fallen trunk and took out his pistol He 
had by this time grown accustomed to the 
Original from 
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316 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


look and heft of the weapon; but he was 
still, nevertheless, a little afraid of the deadly 
thing. His hand trembled as he toyed with 
it. Once he dropped it on the damp, dead 
leaves, and a frightened cry escaped him. 
He restored it to the pocket of bis shabby 
overcoat. For two or three hours he loitered 
there in the wood ; and the hope grew in him 
momentarily that Cantelupe would not appear. 
He had taken only an excursion ticket and 
must return that day at nightfall. 

It was afternoon when, at last, he heard 
the iron gates of Glebe Place clang harshly 
together. He stepped cautiously to the edge 
of the thicket and gazed out through a trailing 
vine on the narrow road. 

An old gentleman in a tweed suit was 
strolling leisurely away from him. His head 
was bent over a book, which he held close to 
his eyes, as if he were short-sighted. A big, 
shaggy dog, that had followed him from the 
house, lay rolling in the dusty highway. 
The old gentleman turned and whistled, and 
Bertie Spell recognised in the puckered, 
pink and white face the features of the 
hated Cantelupe. Never before had he seen 
the great man in the flesh, but many cari¬ 
catures had made his features familiar to 
him. He had a feeling of mild, unreason¬ 
able surprise at finding that Cantelupe was 
not tricked out in some absurd disguise, such 
as the comic papers delighted to present him 
in; that he was neither old woman nor 
clown, neither rat. mole, dog, ass, pig, ape, 
but just a conventionally-clad English gentle¬ 
man, betraying an obvious feebleness of old 
age in every precise, deliberate movement. 
The dog got up and trotted after its master. 
Bertie Spell, having considered the situation, 
followed on also. 

But he still kept in the friendly shelter of 
the trees. It was parlous boggy under¬ 
foot and damp overhead, for there had been 
a heavy dew. At each step he shook down a 
shower of sparkling drops. The brambles 
clung to his clothes and tore his hands. His 
boots sank deep in the slushy soil, rotten 
with decaying pine-cones, husks of nuts, and 
skeletons of leaves. Still, at each stride he 
gained on Cantelupe; for the old man went 
very, very slowly. 

When he was come almost abreast with 
his quarry Bertie plunged deeper into the 
belt of wood, made a wide detour that brought 
him upon an open common, then struck 
toward the road again some three furlongs 
farther down. The covert was too sparse 
to conceal him now; so, taking heart of 
necessity, he climbed down into the road. 

Diqiiized by GoOQ lc 

* o 


It was a lonely spot. The tortuous way 
wound north and south between high, 
powdery banks, all covered with hanging 
ferns and grasses. There was no one in 
sight, no sign of human habitation. Bertie 
SpelMurked behind a tree and waited. 

Presently Cantelupe appeared, still poring 
over his book, the great, shaggy dog ambling 
heavily beside him. Bertie Spell was afflicted 
with symptoms of collapse : a dryness of the 
throat, a weakness in the knees, heat at the 
stomach, chill at the extremities. A dank 
moisture that broke out on him made the air 
feel icy cold about his head. He was within 
an ace of retreating into the wood again and 
abandoning his enterprise. But he remem¬ 
bered in time his daring vows, and the mani¬ 
fold humiliations that any pusillanimity on 
his part would entail now. 

It is hard to follow the workings of such 
a mind. Perhaps he did, indeed, imagine 
himself to be a hero. Perhaps, in the muddy 
recesses of his inner consciousness, there 
lived a sincere sentiment of perverted 
altruism which made the killing of Cantelupe 
seem to him an act of righteous retribution. 
Certainly vanity and a weak, overweening 
desire to gild his own poor name and cut a 
romantic figure of sacrifice before the world 
played their part in nerving him to perform 
what he had threatened. He stepped into 
the middle of the road and cocked his 
trigger. 

Cantelupe, all unaware of what awaited 
him, came steadily on. The dog ran ahead 
and nosed at Bertie’s knees. Bertie felt 
that there was no further time to waste. 
Cantelupe was not more than twelve yards 
away. He lifted the pistol to a level with 
his eyes, took hurried aim, and fired. 

There was a little, dull snap, but no 
report. 

Frenziedly he readjusted the trigger, pulled 
it again—and again the weapon missed fire. 

Cantelupe was so close to him now that he 
had no time to make a third attempt. He 
could see the old man’s rheumy eyes and 
venous forehead over the top of the book. 
To avoid an actual collision he stepped aside. 
The dog growled. 

Cantelupe lowered his book. “Down, 
Queen! ” He stared at Bertie Spell. 
“ Halloa, young man ! What do you want ? ” 

He blinked at Bertie owlishly. 

“ Pardon me. I’m so blind. Do I know 
you ? ” 

He drew a pair of spectacles from his 
pocket, adjusted them on his nose, then 
scanned Bertie’s shrinking figure from sodden, 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE WO ULD - BE ASSASSIN. 


3 J 7 



dripping hat to muddy boots* His gaze 
rested particularly on the pistol. 

“ I see,” said he, “ Well, let me have a 
look at it." 

As one in a dream Bertie handed the pistol 
to him. 

“H’m! h’m !, ” the old man doddered* 
“You were taking it up to The Place, I 
suppose* H’m! I don't know that I want it* 
But Ill look at it. I'll look at it. H’m!” 
He was examining the pistol closely* “ Looks 
like—— But I can’t see here. 1 must put 
it under a glass. Are you living in the 
village ? ” 

“No, sir,” faltered Bertie Spell, giddy with 
perplexity. 

14 Visitor ? H’m ! Excursionist ? H’m ! 
Perhaps you’d better come up to The Place 
with me, then. You’re not a dealer?” he 
inquired, suspiciously* 

“ No, sir,” 

“ Glad to hear it. Can’t stand dealers. 
Come along.” 

They retraced their steps adown the lane, 
Camelupe carrying the pistol and walking at 
an enhanced pace; Bertie Spell shuffling 
beside him with a head like a humming-top. 

Digitized by Google 


The porter swung back 
the iron gates, and they 
went up the weed grown 
carriage drive to the 
house. In the spacious 
stone hall Cantelupe asked 
Bertie:— 

“ What will you drink ? 
Whisky? H’m! Brandy? 
H’m ! ” 

“ Brandy,” said Bertie 
Spell, who felt that he 
needed it. 

“Bring some Cour- 
voisier up to my museum,” 
said Cantelupe to a foot¬ 
man. “ Come on, young 
man.” 

He led Bertie Spell 
upstairs to the most mar¬ 
vellous room that he had 
ever beheld. There were 
glass cases ranged round 
the walls from floor to 
ceiling. They were stored 
with a wondrous collec¬ 
tion of strange treasures 
—precious and rare anti¬ 
quities, miracles of beauty 
from sea and mine, costly 
ornaments from the utter¬ 
most ends of the earth, 
curious products of alien civilizations, living, 
moribund, and dead. 

“ Have a look round while 1 examine this 
pistol, mister,” said Cantelupe. “Ah, thank 
you,” as a footman entered with a jingling 
tray. “ Will you please help yourself ? ” 

Bertie Spell helped himself with fine 
liberality. 

“It's the best dream-brandy I ever tasted,” 
he reflected. 

Cantelupe had taken the pistol to the 
window and placed it under a powerful lens. , 

“What’s it loaded with ball-cartridge for? 
Wrong size, too,” he quavered, peevishly. 

“ You’ve jammed it, you silly man.” 

Bertie, drying his palms on his trousers, 
knew not what to answer, Cantelupe ex¬ 
tracted the cartridges carefully, one by one, 
as if absent-mindedly. 

“ H’m ! ” he said, at last. “ Er—really, 
young man, I have so many fire-arms, the 
place is a perfect armoury. People seem to 
think they can shoot all their rubbish here 
and get a price for it. Still, as this is a 
S^verae, and those French pieces are hard 
to get—-—” He faced about “ How much 
do you want for it ? Til pay your expenses 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


313 


down here and back, of course. Came 
by excursion, didn’t you ? Well, how 
much ? ” 

41 Really, sir, it was not my intention-- 

“Pouf! Don’t tell me you came down 
here for the sake of the fresh air. The pistol 
betrays you. What’s your price ? ” 

“ I paid five shillings for it, sir/ 1 Bertie 
Spell blurted 
forth. 

Cantelupe put 
the pistol down 
abruptly. “ You 
paid how much ? ” 

“ Five shillings 
sir.” 

The Minister 
groaned. 

“ Why is it I 
can never pick up 
these bargains ? ” 
he exclaimed, 
testily- “ Where 
did you get it ? ” 

“At a pawn¬ 
broker’s in the 
Borough, sir.” 

C a n telupe 
nodded disconso¬ 
lately. 

“ I suppose you 
know how much 
ids worth ?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Man" cried 
Cantelupe, “are 
you a rascal or a 
fool? Why don’t 
you haggle with 
me? 1 could 
heat you down 
with an easy con¬ 
science then. But 

if you really don’t know the value of it- 

Oh, but you do E Come, now, no more 
nonsense. How much do you want for it?” 

Bertie Spell, bewildered and defeated, 
stammered out, “ I would rather leave it 
to you, sir.” 

“Come here/ 1 said Cantelupe. “Turn 
your face to the window, hold up your head, 
man.” He subjected Bertie to a keen 
scrutiny. “ Y r ou seem to be an honest 


fellow,” he said. “ You should be intelligent, 
too, if I am any judge of a face. You 
drink too much, though.” He paused, 
pondered. “ I’ll give you six pounds for the 
piece, and your expenses. I really couldn't 
offer you more than that What ? ” 

He counted out six pounds arid ten 
shillings on the table. Bertie Spell, wonder¬ 
ing when he would 
wake up, pocketed 
the money. 

“Now be off 
with you,” said 
Cantelupe, laugh¬ 
ing gleefully as he 
picked up the 
pistol again, and 
gloated over it. 
“ Be you fool or 
rascal, that’s the 
last doit you’ll get 
out of me.” 

He offered 
Bertie his small, 
tenuous hand. “ I 
am much obliged 
to you, sir,” he 
said. “If you 
should happen to 
come across any 
other things of this 

sort-" 

He, the great 
and wicked Can- 
telupe, himself 
escorted Bertie 
Spell to the door. 

“ Good - bye/’ 
he said, shaking 
hands again. 
“ Don't forget me. 
Mister—er—what* 
ever your name is.” 

The iron gates clanged behind Bertie 
Spell, and he was on the tree-lined road 
again. 

“ Forget you 3 ” he said aloud, as he 
trudged toward the station, rattling the 
gold in his pocket. “Forget you 1” He 
took out the coins one by one and tested 
them with his teeth. “ Long may he 
wave E ” he cried. “ He’s as good as his 
money.” 



Digitized by Google 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





































The Humour of Sport, 


I,—AUTOMOBILISM. 


Bv James Walter Smith. 


H E joke-maker and comic 
draughtsman have discovered 
in automobilism a veritable 
El Dorado. Within the last 
two years, since the motor-car 
became popular and the joke- 
makers themselves became more full of 
knowledge of the subject, the humorous 
journals of this and other countries have 
been increasingly full of pleasantries, verbal 
and pictorial, hitting off the infirmities of 
motor-cars and the foibles of those who drive 
them. The result is a budget of fun which, 
being collected together, should cause a 
hearty laugh, and in this laughter the two 
classes into which the world is divided — 
those who mote and those who don’t— 
should be able to join. 

Inasmuch as our old friend Bucephalus, or, 
as he is better known, the common or garden 
horse, was probably the first to get an acute 
sensation on sight of the first automobile, so 
have the fun- 
makers done their 
best to try to 
tell us what the 
horse has thought 
upon this matter* 

Just what he did 
think is still open 
to doubt, other¬ 
wise there would 
have been one 
subject only for 
the artist to de¬ 
pict, but we may 
take it for granted 
that when the first 
motor - car came 
his way the horse 
realized that it 
was all up with 
his profession* 

The cab - horse 
had visions of a 
grazing-ground in 
which he should 
end his peaceful 

Diqiliz 


days, the plough - horse gave a gratified 
sigh as he looked forward to the day of a 
horseless plough, and the coster's donkey 
brayed with increasing vehemence and 
pricked up his ears at the passing whirr as 
the picture of ’Arry on a mechanical barrow 
flitted before his mental vision. One startled 
equine, as may be seen in our illustration, 
coming across a runaway and upturned motor, 
expressed his disdain of the whole thing by 
getting to work at once with his hind legs. 
Even the u bobby' 1 stood by in astonishment 
as the outraged but respectable farm-horse 
emphasized his protests with the pointed 
remark, ** You can go, but, hang it, you can't 
kick," whereas another, shown on the next 
page, took the automobile tor a live waggon, 
and was content merely with a fit of hysterics* 
The third picture illustrates the old- 
time saying that familiarity breeds con¬ 
tempt* It was not long before the equine 
world forgot its first impression and deter- 


Thb Hokse <io a runaway upturned motor) : ** You can but f hang it, you can't kick*" 

UKAffft BV WARWICK RPYSOLIJS YOU “ THE KING/' 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


DAAW 

ed by Google 










320 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 




The Horsts {seeing bin first mstor-csr); “Look at this—a live waggon l Isn't that enough 
to Live one hysterics?'' 

t)KAWS BIT J« S. FUUEI& FOR “ I'trCK*" 


mined to treat the new invader with a 
withering scorn. To day he allows a whizzing 
automobile to pass him by without trcmor } 
knowing that sooner or later he will expe¬ 
rience the felicity of a towing in ,J one of the 
despised machines. In the motor-car v. 
horse contest the race is not always to the 
swift The point was briefly put by one of 
our American friends in his picture of a city 
girl and an old farmer on a country road. 
u Mercy !” cried the timid miss, u here 
comes an automobile ! Is your horse afraid 
of them?* 1 With reassuring words the 
farmer replied: 

“ Oh, no, miss ; 
he*s drawed so 
many of 'em up 
the hills hereabout 
that he's lost all 
respect for 'em.” 

H u morons 
artists have made 
a deal of fun at 
the,recklessness of 
the chauffeur, and 
the jokes built up 
on this foundation 
have been even 


during 1901/* 
Again, one chauf¬ 
feur asks another: 
“ Have any bad 
luck during your 
trip vesterday ? M 
“ Oh,” was the 
answer, “ I ran 
j over a man, but I 
\ don't think 1 hurt 
the machine at 
all” In another 
case, where an 
automobile had 
broken down, the 
chauffeur was busy 
trying to discover 
the trouble. The 
impatient owner of 
the machine at last broke out: u Hurry up, 
Felix ; there are a lot of people crossing the 
street whom we are missing.” 

With their fondness for animal jokes, the 
American artists have depicted many scenes 
in which the effect of automobilism is shown 
upon the members of that kingdom. One 
of these, representing the horseless cab on 
its first trip in the jungle, will be found, upon 
close examination, to be a very happy and 
comprehensive skit upon the history of auto- 
mobilism. The artist is a little rough on 
the sport when he makes the monkey the 


more numerous 
than the pictures, 
14 W ho got the 
annual booby prize 
from the automo¬ 
bile dub ? ” asked 
one motorist of 
another “ Oh,” 
was the reply, 
“ Slowgo got it. 
He ran over only 
fourteen people 


t’AMTLiAHinr fS^ivEDi Cuntfmi't,— Mi&s Manhattan (timidly): 41 Mercy, here comes an aula 
mobile E Is your horse afraid of them ? ,r 

Unde Waybadi (reassuringly); "Oh, iiO, mhs ; he's drawed So many of 'em up the hills her* 
alsout that he's Josl all respect For Vm.” 

DRAWN |JV R, u, ElfHIIAKT. FQH ** FUCK," 

v v ,L Original from 

ZGd oy v ^ n y i V. UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





















THE HUMOUR OE SPORT 


3 21 



When the Horseless Cap Stkikfs the Jum;lb» 

DKAWN uv U* J* L- KD« '* JtDGE* J 


chauffeur, but 
he shows the 
rapidity with 
which the more 
intelligent 
members of the 
animal kingdom 
have grasped its 
pleasures ; the 
appearance of 
the cab, more* 
over, has caused 
dire consterna¬ 
tion. The ostrich 
promptly buries 
its head in the 
water, the tiger 
loses his tail 
under the for¬ 
ward wheel, the 
kangaroo leaps 
affrighted from 
the path of the 
reckless cab; 
birds, boars, 
lions, zebras, 
and Polar hears 
wildly scatter, 
while the simian 
policeman re¬ 
monstrates for¬ 
cibly with an 
VoL Jt.xtiv,—41 



No, this ir, not a collection or tubercular microbes escaping from the Congress, 
bill merely the Montgomery Smiths in llieir motor-car enjoying the 
. beauties of the country. 

PKAXVJf RY STARK’iVQDP. R wfoOUCFD »Y Pli M M E3510N Oi I < UtMll!C TO t-i 

ilized by VjOOQ \ ov "rvxw" 


obst reperou s 
rhinoceros; the 
sun meanwhile 
looking on in 
derision at the 
genesis of jungle 
automobilism 
and the exodus 
of the jungle 
screecher s. 
This delightful 
picture should 
be looked at in 
connection with 
the instanta¬ 
neous view 
t a k e n in an 
American park, 
shown on page 

323 - 

The hideous, 
though harm¬ 
less, masks and 
general cos- 
t um e s with 
which the mo¬ 
torists bedeck 
themselves have 
likewise been 
considerably 
ridiculed by the 
humorist. One 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











322 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 




REPRODUCED BY 
OF “PUNCH*' 


of the fun-makers, In his drawing of two 
motorists on their plunging steed, assures us 
that his drawing shows, not a collection ol 
microbes escaping from a tuberculosis con¬ 
gress, but merely the Montgomery Smiths 
enjoying the beauties of the country* 

He who starts 
out on his first 
motorcar trip is 
very likely to get 
an automobile 
face, and the artist 
who made the 
study in expres¬ 
sion, happily en¬ 
titled “ Sua cuique 
voluptas,” or 
“ Every man has 
his own plea¬ 
sures,” has cleverly 
depicted those 
pleasures. The 
man on the lefL of 
the carriage looks 
as though he were 
in for a non-stop 
run with a police 


summons in the distance, 
whereas the chauffeur, with a 
sort of Mephistophelian de¬ 
light upon his countenance, 
spurs on his engine of destruc- 
tion with a carelessness of 
11 bobbies n born of practice. 

It is all right for the joke- 
makers to poke fun at break¬ 
downs and repairs, but if the 
artist were sitting on top of 
an iron fly-wheel, a gasolene 
tank, a ivater-jacket, a pump, 
rods, levers, gear - wheels, 
valves, a throttle, a thumping 
engine, boiler - tubes, fire, 
water-tank, electric battery, a 
condenser, a reversing switch, 
a piston, and the thousand 
and one intricate parts of 
which various motor-cars — 
steam, electric, gasolene, and 
otherwise—are made, he would 
have something to think of, 
and when a breakdown did 
occur he would well deserve 
to be scoffed at as he scoffs at 
others* The expert motorist 
needs all hjs wits about him at 
such a moment, should have 
a practical knowledge of ma¬ 
chinery, and should be com¬ 
petent to deal with any accident that might 
occur. Thanks to mechanical improvements 
in the automobile, accidents and repairs are 
becoming increasingly infrequent, and if 
improvement goes on as it has been going 
the humorist who has discovered his highest 


Qunrr or Vkiuknti.v Palpitating Moto.r*caf : 

be ail fight as soon as, I’ve 
UKAWN BY L, SAVE* HULL.. RKJ'KOUUCEP. BY 


T here's no need to be alarmed 
c;-lII it." 


it will 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













THE HUMOUR OF SPORT. 


323 



Enough to Make a Horse Laugh. 

DRAWN ftV i D. EIIKHAHT FOR “ PUCK- 

satisfaction in portraying the motor and 
motorist in the accident and repairing stage 
will soon find his occupation gone. The 
people, too, are getting used to it, and it 
will not be long before the automobile 
enthusiast will make his repairs without the 
running fire of comment from an admiring 
crowd. The owner of the violently palpi¬ 


tating motor-car who 
cries out to the 
yokels : “ There's no 
need to be alarmed ; 
it will be all right 
as soon as IVe dis~ 
covered the what 
d’ye call it/' is, of 
course, an amateur 
with a keen but mis- 
/■ placed appreciation 

of the virtues of a 
pitch-fork. It is one 
¥ y „ of the first lessons in 

automobilism that no 
man should interfere, 
by means of pitch- 
forks or otherwise, 
with the running- 
gear of a car, unless 
he is well prepared 
with renewal parts 
for the car — and 
himself. 

He who is en automobile, from the mere 
man who suffers a side-slip on a greasy road 
—“enough/'as one artist shows, “to make 
a horse laugh ''—down to our old friend 
Santa Claus, who, marching in the van of 
progress, fails to get his Christmas presents to 
the children because of a breakdown in the 
snow, must be prepared to meet all sorts of 


An Instantaneous View Taken in Central Park, New Yoke* 

/^Wawn dv AL 13 EKT levering eok <e LiiQriginal from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















3^4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



Whv Some Children Didn't Get Their Presents. 
UKAWK bv c D. ditbliON FOR " LIFE. 1 



derision* One equine member of a newly- 
organized coaching club bolstered up its 
class dignity by making a new rule to the 
effect that when an automobile goes 
lame it must get 
another auto¬ 
mobile to haul it 
home* A noted 
automobile club 
made its runs 
more interesting 
by arranging be¬ 
fore the start that 
each member 
should put so 
mu c h into a 
pool. After the 
run the pool was 
divided amongst 
those w h o s e 
automobiles had 
not broken 
down. An eco¬ 
nomical gentle¬ 
man is reported 
to have said to 
another: “I 
made a good 
bargain with 
Jones just now.*’ 

“Yes? What 
was it?” u Well, 

Fm to let him 
have the exclu¬ 
sive use of my 
automobile, and 
he's to [jay for 
half the repairs*” 

This was surely 


a case of misdirected economy, for it is 
shown in one of our illustrations that the 
fun conies in when you are your own 
mechanic* Says Biggs, in overalls and shirt¬ 
sleeves, to a lady 
friend : “ Yes, I 
enjoy my motor¬ 
car immensely.” 
The lady re¬ 
marks : “ But I 
never see you 
out,” To which 
Riggs proudly 
replies : “ Oh, I 
haven't got that 
far yet. I am 
just learning to 
make my own 
repairs.” 

To judge by 
some of the acci¬ 
dents, according 
to a recent wit, 
auf&m oh lesse 
n l oblige pa$^ and 
the light-hearted 
way in which 
these accidents 
are joked about 
may appear to 
some people as 
if the present- 
day humorist 
had little con¬ 
science and less 
propriety* On 
behalf of the 
humorist, how 
be it said 


Where the Fun Cdmfs In.—B iggs : 1 Yes t I enjoy my moi-jr-Cur 
immensely 

She : “Hut I Never See you out-"* 

Ltigg*: "Q-i, I haven't gen that far yet. T am just learning to make 


my own repairs. 


ukawJ nv w. i„ Jacobs’ kok " lti 


Original from 


ufflftRSITY OF MICHIGAN 1 














THE HUMOUR OF SPORT 


S 2 $ 




mobilism partakes of 
a troublous as well 
as a nomtroublous 
existence. But the 
troubles which to an 
outsider would be 
overwhelming seem 
to possess a certain 
form of gratification 
to the motor enthu¬ 
siast. “ Did you 
hear about Grigsby's 
auto?" said one 
keen motorist to 
another. “ Jt ran 
away with him, went 
over an embank¬ 
ment, turned a 
somersault, hit a 
tree, killed Grigsby, 
and wasn’t injured 
a particle!" “Gad! 
That's a beauty," was 
the answer. u What 
make is it ? ” Our 
artist has recorded 
the actual scene of 
this little passage of 
humour, while an 
old farmer in the distance tries to pry a 
11 stalled ” motor-car out of the ruts. 

Another of the joys of motoring is shown 
in our picture below, which, the artist 


A Beauty. — “ Did you hf*nr a bom Grigsby'* auto? It ran away with him, went ever an embank 
m( jii. turned a pomcrs^uli, hit a killed Grigsby, and wasn't injured & panicle [ 11 

11 Gatt 1 That's a beauty. What make is it ?” 

DRAWN BY W, H, CALLAWAY 1 OR ‘‘PUCK, 

that these jokes, by constant repetition, may 
bring the motorist to a better sense of his 
responsibilities. It is not cavalier-like to get 
personal pleasure at the expense of danger to 
otliers. What a 
hard-hitting com¬ 
ment on excessive 
speed is the little 
jesting dialogue 
that foliows : “ See 
that man with the 
hard face ? He’s 
killed his man." 

“ Indeed ! Chauf¬ 
feur or motor- 
man ? ” 

If our pictures 
may be said to 
show anything, 
they show the joys 
of motoring as well 
as the mortifica¬ 
tions. Life is after 
all a series of ups 
and downs, with a 
certain percentage 
of the population 
travelling along a 

tt reinytit 'inA hirmui Tmp. Joy* of Motortno.—N o, this is not a dreadful accident. He is simply lightening a ntir or 
siraignt anu narrow wn , cthinE and shc ^ hopmg he Wjin t ( > c m y ch i otlgcr . 

path, and auto- drawn hv l. raven mill. reproducer by fermi’ssWn of tiie i-rofrietor'i of "hunch/ 1 

* njm y N | v ERS , TY 0 F m c H !GA N 














326 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




Brothers in Adversity.—F armer: “ Pul! up, you fool! The mate’s bulling t 

Moicrisc : ** So's the car! " 

DRAWN BY L* HAVES HILL. Ktil 1 KCJDUCET.D BY PERMISSION OF THE I'KOJ'RIETDRS OP ** PUNCH. 


assures us, does not depict a dreadful 
accident. The gentleman with the very 
obvious pair of legs is "simply tightening a 
nut or something,” while the eternal woman, 
as the foreigner says, stands by "hoping he 


won’t be much longer*” 
and your fair company on 
a lonely turnpike as evening 
comes on is indeed a joy* 

Sometimes you can’t stop 
when you want to. “ Pull 
up, you fool!" cries the 
farmer in our picture, "the 
mare’s bolting ! ,J u Sos the 
car lcries the brother in 
adversity, as his motor-car 
violently bumps along with 
imminent danger to him¬ 
self, hU property, and the 
neighbouring fence. 

The private and pointed 
opinions of some motorists 
upon countries th/ough 
which they have passed, if 
these opinions were col¬ 
lected, would form many 
volumes of interesting read¬ 
ing. It is one thing to spin 
along a straight road in a 
perfect working car, but it 
is another thing to get into 
a hilly country when your 
gasolene gives out. Gaso 


To find yourself 


lent cars, by the 
way, are not so 
good for hill- 
climbing as steam 
automobiles, but 
if you use gaso¬ 
lene and you are 
in difficulty you 
can always de¬ 
pend upon your 
mechanic to help 
you out. One of 
the Punch artists, 
who may have 
had experience of 
the country, gives 
us a glimpse of 
the trouble in 
Morocco which 
awaits the motor¬ 
ist. The car, no 
doubt, makes a 
deep impression 
wherever it goes, 
but Alfonso has 
to pay the piper 
for his employer’s fun* Seriously, the French, 
who have done much touring in their posses¬ 
sions, coveted and otherwise, on the shores 
of the Mediterranean, agree that Morocco is 
a country which motorists should leave to 
politicians and other sportsmen. 


Diary or an Automokii.ist Abroad.— Tangier, Friday.— Out car makes a deep 
impression in Morocco. Alfonso* my mechanic* who accomp-ijiic* me, thinks \ is not a 
ji'n>J country for mourning." 

DRAWN UY (i. Dt ARMOUR. REPRODUCED BY P Z fJ pp gpjlPffdfff Cl E I 1 SQPRIETOHS OP "PUNCH." 

^ °°S ie U NIV ERSITY 0 F Ml C H IGA N 





THE HUMOUR OF SPORT. 


3 2 7 



Motorist (a novice) has been giving Chairman of local Urban Council a practical demonstration of the ease with which a 
motor-car can l* controlled when travelling at a high rate. 

DRAWtf B¥ G, H, JALLANT)* K E PKuOUCi£1> KV PHRMtS*lCJU OF THE tROPKIETORS OF “ PUNCH.’ 


To the general public—and in this 
category may be included those penniless 
or superior-minded individuals who own 
not, or do not care to own, a motor-car, as 
well as those whom seductive advertisements 
describe as 14 being about to purchase”— 
automobilism presents many peculiar and 
varying phases. The husband in the follow* 
ing story belonged to the penniless, and 
therefore sceptical, class. “ I dreamed last 
night,” said his wife, 11 that you had given me 
an automobile." “ H*m, yes,” answered the 
knowing one, “you must have had a horse¬ 
less nightmare; and, by the 
way, my dear, dreams usually 
go by contraries ! ” Another 
good wife remarked to her 
spouse, “ You seem pleased 
that my doctor recommended 
a five-mile walk. 1 ’ 4< Yes, my 
dear/ 1 was the reply, “1 was 
afraid he would recommend 
an automobile." 

The urban councils, which 
for many months have had 
under consideration the ques¬ 
tion of speed, will hardly be 
convinced of the ease with 
which a motor car can be con¬ 
trolled when travelling at a 
high rate by the practical 
demonstration given in one of 
our pictures. It is to be noted 
that the motorist who has 
been plunged suddenly over 


a fence into a stream, top-hat and all, 
has been designated a novice by the 
draughtsman. This particular accident has, 
however, happened in the best - regulated 
motoring families, and it usually happens to 
a gasolene car if you yourself drive an electric, 
or to an electric if you yourself swear by 
gasolene. At all events, this sort of accident 
invariably happens to the other fellow, and 
if it does happen to you, you either keep 
quiet about it or pay the artist not to put 
you in a picture. There is such widespread 
and well-founded fear amongst automobilists 
regarding a sudden surprise of 
this sort, either because it de¬ 
velops the automobile face or 
kills you entirely, that it is 
sometimes a wonder why so 
many people have been found 
ready to take the risk. The 
attitude of the public regard¬ 
ing the perils of automobilism 
is well and humorously shown 
by the accompanying picture 
of the fly and the carpet- 
sweeper* 

We desire to thank Messrs. 
James Henderson and Son, 
of Red Lion Court, Fleet 
Street, for permission to re¬ 
produce the Puck , Judgei 
and Life drawings which 
we have selected from their 
Pictorial 



l 'Hi E Htrf comes an automobile l publication, 

tSHAWN FDR 11 LIFE." ‘-'NCjCtSmcS^LVl 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














fcosT Tommy J epps 


ARTHUR. 

MO^Ri5o/i t 





L 

T Stratford Main Railway 
Station there are about half-a- 
dozen platforms, with stairs 
and an underground passage 


join 


them : and on Rank 


Holiday all these platforms, 
as well as the stairs and the passage and the 
booking-offices, are packed so closely with 
excited people that there seems to' be no 
room for one single walking-stick mor$?, ^en 
a thin one. The fortunate persons in front 
stick to the edge of the platform somehow 
by their heels, in defiance of all natural laws. 
When, a train arrives, the people in the 
hooking-office rush at the passage, the people 
iti the passage rush at the stairs, the people 
on the staiis rush at the platform, and nothing 
seems left for the people on the platform hut 
slaughter and destruction, beginning with 
the equilibrists at the edge. And yet 
nobody gets killed. Half the people seem 
to be on the wrong platforms, but are wholly 
unable to struggle through to the right ones; 
and I believe the other half are on the wrong 
platforms too, but don't know it. And yet 
everybody seems to get somewhere, eventually. 


Jepps’s family party was one of a hundred 
others in Stratford Station, and in most 
respects very like ninety-five of them at 
least. There was Thomas jepps himself, 
head of the family by courtesy, but now 
struggling patiently at its tail, carrying the 
baby always, and sometimes also carrying 
Hobby, aged four. There was Mrs, Jepps, 
warm and short of temper ; there were Aunt 
Susan, rather stout, and Cousin Jane, rather 
thin ; and there was Cousin Jane's sister's 
young man’s aunt, warmer than ’Tilda Jepps 
and stouter than Aunt Susan, and perpetually 
losing something, or losing herself, or getting 
into original difficulties in the crowd. And 
then, beside the baby and Bobby, there were 
Tommy and Polly, whose ages were eight 
and five respectively, though it was Polly who 
tyrannized. It was the way of this- small 
woman to rate her bigger brother in imitation 
of her mother’s manner; and Tommy, who had 
the makings of a philosopher, was, as a rule, 
moodily indifferent to the scolding of both, 
so long as he judged himself beyond the 
radius of his mother’s arm and hand. 

“ What ’a 1 you bin an’ done with the 
tickets now ?” demanded Mrs, Jepps of her 
husband in the fpidst of the wrestle in the 

bookfn §fl^SsiTY OF MICHIGAN 


















3*9 


LOST TOMMY JEPPS . 


“ Me ? ” asked Jepps, innocently, from 
behind the baby's frills. “ Me ? I—I 
dunno. Ain’t you got ’em ? ” 

u Yes,” piped Tommy, partly visible 
beneath the capacious lunch-bag of Cousin 
Jane’s sister’s young man’s aunt “ Yes, 
mother’s got ’em ! ” 

“You look after- your-little brother an’ 
don’t go contradictin’ me ! ” snapped* Mrs. 
Jepps. “ Of course I ain’t got ’em,” she 
went on to Jepps. “ You’ve bin an’ lost 
’em, that’s what you’ve done ! ” 

“ Don’t contradict mofher,” Polly echoed, 
pragmatically, to her wicked brother. “ You 
be a good boy an’ look after Bobby. That’s 
what you’ve got to do. Ain’t it, mother ? ” 

“ Oh, don’t worrit me ! ” answered the 
distracted parent. “ Where’s them tickets ? 
Did he give ’em to you, Aunt Susan ? ” 

Aunt Susan hadn’t seen them, and passed 
the question on to Cousin Jane. Cousin Jane, 
with a reproachful look at the unhappy Jepps, 
declared that he had never given them to 
her , whatever he might say or fancy; and 
her sister’s young man’s aunt gasped and 
stared and swayed in the crowd, and dis¬ 
claimed all knowledge of the tickets ; also 
she announced that whatever had become of 
them she expected to be taken to Southend, 
and that whatever happened she wasn’t going 
to pay again. Poor Jepps defended himself 
weakly, but he was generally held to have 
spoiled the day’s pleasure at the beginning. 
“ I think you’ve got ’em, really, ’Tilda,” he 
protested ; “ look in your purse ! ” 

“ Yes,” piped Tommy once more, this 
time from behind Aunt Susan; “ I see 
mother put ’em in her purse ! ” 

Mrs. Jepps’s plunge at Tommy was inter¬ 
rupted by Jepps. “ You might look, at 
least,” he pleaded. 

“ Look ! ” she retorted, tearing open her 
bag and snatching the purse from within. 
“ Look yourself, if you won’t believe your 
own wife ! ” She spread the purse wide, and 
displayed—the tickets ; all in a bunch, 
whole tickets and halves mixed together. 

u He’d better not let me get hold of him,” 
said Mrs. Jepps, a moment later, nodding 
fiercely at Tommy. “Aggravatin’ little 
wretch !* He’ll drive me mad one o’ these 
days, that’s what he’ll do ! ” 

With that the family was borne full drive 
against the barrier, and struggled and 
tumbled through the gate, mingled with 
stray members of other parties ; all to an 
accompaniment of sad official confusion in 
the matter of what ticket belonged to which. 
But there was no easy rallying in the sub- 

Vol. xxiv. —42. 

Digitized by 

* o 


way. The crowd pressed on, and presently 
Cousin Jane’s sister’s young man’s aunt got 
into a novel complication by reason of her 
umbrella (which she grasped desperately in 
the middle) somehow drifting away horizon¬ 
tally into the crowd at her full arm’s length, 
so that in a moment she was carried irre¬ 
sistibly up the first steps of the wrong 
staircase, clifiging to her property with might 
and main, trailing her lunch-bag behind her, 
and expostulating with much clamour. Jepps, 
with the baby, watched her helplessly; but 
Tommy, ducking and dodging among the 
legs of the crowd, got ahead of her, twisted 
the umbrella into a vertical position, and, so 
releasing it, ducked and dodged back again. 
Cousin Jane’s sister’s young man’s aunt was 
very angry, and the crowd disregarded her 
scolding altogether—laughed at it, in fact; 
so that Tommy, scrambling back trium¬ 
phantly through the crush, came very handy 
for it. 

“ If I was yer mother I’d give you a good 
sound hidin’, that’s what Td do,” said Cousin 
Jane’s sister’s young man’s aunt. 

Tommy began to feel resentful, philo¬ 
sopher as he was. And when his mother, 
having with difficulty been convinced that 
the staircase she insisted on was another 
wrong one, and that the one advised by 
Tommy was right, forthwith promised him 
one for himself when she got him home, he 
grew wholly embittered, while his sister Polly 
openly triumphed over him. And so, with a 
few more struggles and family separations 
(Cousin Jane’s sister’s young man’s aunt was 
lost and recovered twice)* the party at length 
found itself opposite an open third-class 
carriage door, and climbed in with all the 
speed it might. 

“Ah, well,” said Aunt Susan, “here we 
are at last, an’ no more bother till we get to 
Southend, any’ow.” 

“ Thefe’ll be a lot afore you get there in 
this Jrayi, mum,” observed a cynical coster, 
who had been greatly impressed—on the 
toes—by Aunt Susan’s weight. 

“ What! ” exclaimed Cousin Jane ; “ this 
is the Southend train, ain’t it ?” 

“ No, mum,” replied the coster, calmly ; “ it 
ain’t.” 

Mrs. Jepps caught at the door, but it was 
too late. The train was gathering speed, and 
in a few seconds it was out of the station. 
“There,” said Mrs. Jepps, desperately, “I 
knew it was the wrong platform ! ” 

“Then you was wrong again, mum,” 
pursued the sardonic coster ; “ ’cos it was the 
right ’un. But this ’ere’s the wrong train.” 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


33° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



“‘what! exclaimed cousin jane; ‘this IS THE SOUTHEND train, ain’t it?'*’ 


“ Mother !” squeaked Polly, viciously, 
“Tommy says—go away, I will tejl—Tommy 
says he knew it was the wrong train when 
we got in.” 

“What! You young—you didn’t ! How 
did you know ? ” 

“ Read it on the board,” said Tommy, 
sulkily. “ Board in front of the engine. 
GO.L, Col, C.H.E.S.T.-chest, E-” 

“Take him away, somebody,” yelped Mrs. 
Jepps. “Take the little imp out o’ my sight 
or I’ll kill him —I know I shall ! Knew it 
was the wrong train an’ let us get in ! I — 
oh ! " 

“ Why,” pleaded Tommy, in doleful be¬ 
wilderment, “ when I told you about the 
tickets you said I was drivin’ you mad, an’ 
when I told you about the platform you said 
you’d whop me when you got me home, 
an’ now 'cos I didn’t tell you about the 
train-” 

“ He’s a saucy young varmint, that’s what 
he is,” interrupted Cousin Jane’s sister’s young 
man’s aunt, whose misfortunes were telling 
on her temper as well as reddening her face. 
“ Lucky for him he ain’t a child o’ mine, 
that’s all. I’d show him ! ” 

“ So would I ! ” added Cousin Jane. 

“ He’s a perfect noosance to bring out,” 
said Aunt Susan ; “that’s what he is ! ” 

“ You’re a naughty, wicked boy, Tommy ! ” 
said his superior little sister. 

Tommy’s spirits sank to the lowest 

Diqilized by CiOO 1 ? le 
¥ o 


stage of dejection. There was no under¬ 
standing these grown-up people and no 
pleasing them. They were all on to him 
except his father, and even he seemed sadly 
grieved, in his mild fashion. 

The cynical coster had been chuckling in 
a quiet, asthmatic sort of way, rather as 
though some small but active animal was 
struggling in his chest. Now he spoke 
again. 

“ It’s all right, mum,” he said. “ Don’t be 
rough on the kid. You can change at 
Shenfield, jest as good as if you come in the 
right train all the way.” 

This was better, and the spirits of the 
party rose accordingly; though their relief 
was balanced by a feeling of undignified 
stultification. 

“Givin’ us all a fright for nothing,” said 
Aunt Susan, with an acid glare at the un¬ 
happy Tommy. “It’s a pity some children 
ain’t taught to keep their mouths shut ! ” 

“ Why, so I did, an’ mother said she’d-” 

“Be quiet, now ! ” interrupted Mrs. Jepps. 
“ Be quiet ! You’ve done quite enough 
mischief with your clatter. Catch me bring¬ 
ing you out again on a holiday, that’s all ! ” 
And so for the rest of the journey Tommy 
remained in the lowest depths of despondency; 
never exhibiting the smallest sign of rising to 
the surface without being instantly shoved 
down again by a reproof from somebody. 

The cynical coster got out at Romford, 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


























331 


LOST TOMMY JETTS. 


with another asthmatic chuckle and an un¬ 
disguised wink at Tommy, The tram jogged 
along through Harold Wood and Brentwood 
to Shenfield Junction, and there the party 
found the Southend train at last. With the 
j>eopte already there they more than filled 
the compartment, and Tommy had to stand, 
a distinction which- cost hjm some discom¬ 
fort ; for when he stood by the door he 
was blamed for interfering with Polly's and 
Bobby’s enjoyment of the landscape, and 
when he moved up the carriage his efforts to 
maintain his equilibrium seriously disturbed 
the repose of Aunt Susan's corns. 

The day was bright, and Southend was 
crowded thick everywhere with holiday¬ 
makers. Mrs, Jepps rallied her party and 
adjured Tommy. “ Now you, Tommy, see if 
you can't begin to behave yourself, an’ take 
care of your little brother an 1 sister, S'pose 
a man was to come and take them away ! 
Then I s’pose you’d wish you'd been a better 
boy, when it was too late! 11 

Td make him wish it a quicker way than 
that! " said Cousin Jane’s sister's young 
man's aunt, spitefully ; for she had not yet 
got over her earlier misfortunes. 

As the words left her mouth a horrible 
squeak rent her ears, and a long pink 
11 trunk "—one of those paper tubes which, 
when blown, extend suddenly to a yard long 


and as suddenly retreat into a little curl — 
shot over her shoulder into her eye, and was 
gone again. With a gasp and a bounce she 
let go umbrella and lunch-bag together ; and, 
while a grinning boy went dancing and 

Digitized by Goode 


trumpeting away in the crowd, a trickle of 
fragrant liquor, which would have smelt much 
the same if it had been gin, issued from the 
lunch-bag and wandered across the pave¬ 
ment, And Tommy Jepps, startled in the 
depth of his gloom, hastily stuffed his fist 
against Ins mouth, and spluttered irrepressibly 
over the knuckles. For indeed in his present 
state of exasperation Tommy had little 
sympathy for the misfortunes of so very 
distant a relation as Cousin Jane's sister’s 
young man's aunt. 

Tommy's father was mildly horrified, and 
murmured deprecatingly from among the 
baby's frills. “Tommy!” he said, .in an 
awe-struck whisper. “Tommy I.* Nothing 
to laugh at! " 

11 Get out o'my sight," cried Mrs. Jepps, 
making a miss at Tommy's head with her 
own bag. “Get out of my sight before 
I-" 

Tommy got out of it with all possible 
celerity, and took his place in the extreme 
rear of the procession which formed as soon 
as the lunch-bag had been recovered and 
cleared of broken glass. The procession, 
with a score of others like it, went straggling 
along the High Street towards the beach, 
where the crowd was thicker than ever, 

There were large open spaces, with shows, 
and swings, and roundabouts, and stalls, and 
cocoa-nut shies,and among 
these the Jepps column 
wound its way, closing up 
and stopping here and tail¬ 
ing out lengthily there. 
It stopped for a moment 
before a shooting-gallery, 
and then lengthened out 
in the direction of a band 
of niggers ; arrived oppo¬ 
site the niggers it closed 
up once more, and Mrs. 
Jepps looked about to 
survey her forces. There 
was Jepps, perspiring 
freely under the burden of 
the baby, for the day was 
growing hot ; there were 
Aunt Susan, Cousin Jane, 
and Cousin Jane's sister's 
young man’s aunt, whose 
shorter name was Mrs. 
l.unn, red and ruffled ; 
there were Polly and Bobby; but—Mrs. 
Jepps gave a second glance round before she 
would believe it—there was not Tommy, 

Mrs. Jepps’s chin dropped suddenly, and 
she began darling and dodging, looking this 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







332 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


way and that, among the crowd. 44 Tommy ! ” 
she cried, “ You Tommy ! ” with a voice 
still a little angry, but mainly anxious. 
44 Mercy on us, where’s the child gone ? ” 

Jepps came back, with blank alarm on so 
much of his face as was visible above the 
baby and its clothes, and the rest of the 
party started dodging also. But all to no 
purpose. Their calls were drowned in the 
general hubbub, and their questings to and 
fro were fruitless ; Tommy was lost! 

44 Oh ! my child ! ” cried Mrs. Jepps; 44 my 
lovely, darling boy ! What shall I do? 
He’s lost! He’s been stole! The best 
child as ever was ! ” 

44 Such a little dear ! ” said Cousin Jane. 

44 Such a jool of a duck!” said Aunt Susan, 
affected almost to tears. 

44 Oh, oh!” gasped Mrs Jepps, with signs 
of flopping and fainting ; 44 an’—an’—you 
called him a noosance ! ” 

44 An’ you called him an imp! ” retorted 
Aunt Susan. 44 You should ha’ treated him 
better when you had him.” 

44 If he was a child of mine,” said Cousin 
Jane’s sister’s young man’s aunt, sententiously, 
44 I’d ha’ been a little more patient with him.” 

Jepps was off to the nearest stall to ask 
the stall-keeper if he had seen a boy. It 
seemed that the stall-keeper had seen a good 
many boys that morning. But had he seen 
Jepps’s own boy ? This conundrum the stall- 
keeper gave up without 
hesitation. 

But Jepps’s example did 
something, and presently 
the whole party scattered 
for the hunt. Jepps was 
left with the baby in his 
arms and the other two 
children about his knees, 
and he had strict orders 
not to lose any of them 
nor to wander far from a 
certain indicated point, 
near which the rest of the 
party might find him on 
occasion. He was not 
allowed to join in the 
search because somebody 
must take care of the 
children and Mrs. Jepps 
felt that she would die of suspense if con¬ 
demned to wait inactive. 

Mrs. Jepps was anything but inactive, and 
the other ladies were as busy as Mrs. Jepps. 
Before they separated they seized on a 
wandering apple-woman, who was confused 
and badgered into a cloudy admission that 

Digitized by C*QGQ lc 
o 


she had seen a boy with a man somewhere a 
little while ago, or perhaps rather before 
that, and, her replies being considered 
evasive, she was unanimously suspected of 
complicity. 

It speedily grew apparent that small boys 
with men, together with small boys plain, 
were rather numerous in the many crowds; 
and one mistaken pursuit followed another 
for a sad long time, while Aunt Susan 
narrowly escaped a visit to the police-station 
on a charge preferred by the indignant parent 
of a child whom she chased and seized 
violently from behind, because of a supposed 
resemblance to Tommy when viewed from 
that aspect. 

So it came to pass that, Aunt Susan having 
rejoined Mrs. Jepps, the two, fatigued and a 
trifle hysterical, returned to where they had 
left Jepps. As they turned the last corner, a 
red-headed man, with his hat in his hand, 
came running past them and vanished in the 
crowd, while they almost immediately per¬ 
ceived Jepps in the distance striving his 
utmost to raise a gallop, while Polly and 
Bobby hung to his coat-tails, and the baby 
tumbled and struggled in his arms. 





4 $# 


44 Stop him!” cried Jepps, choking with 
the breathlessness of his trot and the flapping 
of the baby’s cape over his mouth. 44 Stop 

him ! It’s him ! He’s stole my-” 

44 The villain !” cried Mrs. Jepps, turning 
and charging the crowd. 44 Stop him ! He’s 
stole my child ! ” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






LOST TOMMY /EPPS. 


333 


“Stop him!” gasped Jepps again. “He 
snatched my-” 

But Mrs. Jepps and Aunt Susan were deep 
in the crowd, chasing and grabbing this time 
at red-headed men. Red-headed men, how¬ 
ever, were scarce in that particular corner 
just at the moment, and the scarcest of all 
was the particular red headed man who had 
rushed past them. 

Jepps, gasping still, came up with his wife 
and Aunt Susan in the midst of a knot of 
people, answering the inquiries of curious 
sympathizers as he came along. 

“ Was it a good 'un ? ” asked another family 
man, with another baby in his arms, just as 
Jepps reached his wife. 

“ Yes,” answered Jepps, “ a real good 'un !” 

“ The best in the world! ” sobbed Mrs. 
Jepps. 

“ I won it in a raffle,” Jepps added. 

“What?” cried Aunt Susan, “won it in a 
raffle ? What do you mean ? Is this a time 
for sich jokes, Thomas ? ” 

“Jokes?” bleated poor Jepps. “ It ain't 
no joke ! He stole my watch, I tell you ! 
Snatched it while I was a-trying to keep 
baby quiet! ” 

“Your watch!” Mrs. Jepps exclaimed. 
“ Your watch ! Thomas Jepps, you ain't fit 
to be trusted neither with a watch nor a 
family, you ain't! ” 

II. 

Tommy had lagged behind a little at the 
rifle-gallery, a place where you shot into a 
sort of tunnel with a target at the other end. 
The tunnels — there were four of them — 
interested him deeply, and he walked round 
to the side of the establishment to see how 
they were built. They were long, tapering 
metal tubes, it seemed, painted red. Tommy 
walked along to the very end, hoping to see 
something of the target mechanism, but that 
was boxed in. Here, at some little distance 
from where his wandering started, his atten¬ 
tion was arrested by a man in a little crowd, 
who offered to eat a lighted newspaper for 
the small subscription of two shillings. It 
seemed to Tommy that so handsome an offer 
must be closed with at once, so he pushed 
into the crowd. 

And that was how Tommy Jepps was lost. 
For each individual member of that crowd 
agreed with Tommy, feeling convinced that 
some of the others would be sure to sub¬ 
scribe so reasonable a sum without delay, 
so that the subscription was a long time 
beginning. And when at last it did begin 
it grew so slowly that at last the champion 
fire-swallower of the world and elsewhere 

Diqilized by C*OOQ lc 
* o 


was fain to be content with eighteenpence, at 
which very reasonable sum his contract was 
completed. Having witnessed this, Tommy's 
eyeballs retired to their normal place in his 
head, and his mouth, which had been wider 
open than the fire-swallower's, closed slowly. 
The crowd opened out, and Tommy, who 
had been effectually buried in it for half an 
hour, awoke to the realization that the rest of 
his party were nowhere to be seen. 

For the moment it seemed a rather 
serious thing. Then, with a pause of reflec¬ 
tion, he saw his misfortune in quite another 
light. He looked cautiously about him, and, 
after a little more consideration, he resolved 
that he would not be found—just yet, at any 
rate. He had enjoyed the society of his 
family for some time, and he resolved on a 
temporary change. 

Tommy was not only a philosopher, but a 
sagacious boy of business. He had come 
out for a day's pleasure, but he must attend 
to business first; and one piece of business 
must needs be transacted to make things 
quite secure. So he started off back to the 
railway-station, keeping a wary eye for his 
relations as he went. 

The station was just a little less crowded 
now, though it was busy enough still. 
Tommy had not quite settled how, exactly, 
he should set about his business, but he 
kept % his eyes open and looked out for a 
friend. Grown-up people, as a rule, were 
difficult to negotiate with ; you never could 
tell for certain what they would do or say 
next, and it was apt to be something un¬ 
pleasant when it came. But there was a sort 
of grown-up persons—Tommy could never 
have described them—who were quite excel¬ 
lent, and always behaved like bricks to boys. 
And they were not such a rare sort of people, 
either. So he kept watch for some person of 
this kind, resolved to ask help and advice. 
Presently he saw one —a stout, red-faced man 
in a staring tweed suit, with a big gold watch- 
chain. Several other stout men were with 
him, and they were all laughing and chuckling 
together at a joke one of them had made 
about half an hour before. 

“Please, sir!” said Tommy, craning his 
neck up at the red-faced man. 

“Eh! Halloa!” said the man, almost 
falling over him. “Well, young 'un, what's 
up ? ” 

“Please, sir, will they give me another 
ticket home, and who ought I to go and ask 
for it ? ” 

“Another ticket home? What for? Lost 
your own ? ” 

Original from 

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334 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


11 No, sir—mother's got it But I’ve lost 
mother.” 

11 O—o—o—oh ! Lost your mother, eh? 
Well, would you know your way home if you 
had the ticket ? " 

“ Yes* sir. But”—this with a sudden 
apprehension—** but I don't want to go 
home yet" 

“No? Why not?” 

“ I come out to have a holiday, sir.” 


41 Stratford, sin" 

a That's all right,” said the loser, moving 
off with his hand in his pocket. “I was a 
bit rash. It might ha' been Manchester ’ " 

11 That's saved me one d,'' observed the 
red-faced man, spinning his shilling again, 
and dexterously transferring it to Tommy's 
startled palm. 41 You go an' buy the town, 
you despTit young rip l An' take care you 
don’t go losing the last train 3 ** 



*'‘ IlEA'.E, MR. WILL THEY GIYR ME ANOTHER TICKET HOME 9 


The red face broadened into a wide grin, 
and some of the stout men laughed outright 
“So you're gain' off cm the spree all by 
yourself, are you?" said the red-faced man. 
44 That's pluck. But if you go asking for 
another ticket they'll keep you in the office 
till your mother comes for you, or take you 
to the police-station. That wouldn’t be much 
of a holiday, would it ? ” 

Tommy was plainly dismayed at the idea, 
and at his doleful face several stout men 
laughed aloud. tE Come, Perkins,” said one, 
“it's only one and a penny, half single. I'll 
toss you who pays ! ” 

u Done ! ” replied the red-faced man. 
“Sudden death—you call,” and he spun a 
shilling. 

41 Heads ! ” called the challenger. 

41 Tails it is,” was the answer. “ You pay. 
What station, young f un ? ” 

Digitized by Google 


Tommy was almost more amazed than 
delighted. This was magnificent—noble. 
As soon as he could, he began to think. 
It was plain that being lost had its advan¬ 
tages— decided advantages. Those stout 
men wouldn't have looked at him a second 
time in ordinary circumstances, but because 
he was lost—behold the shilling and the rail¬ 
way ticket t Here was a discovery: nothing 
less than a new principle in holiday making. 
Get lost, and make your holiday self- 
supporting. 

He did not buy the town, but began 
modestly with a penn'orth of bulls'-eyes, to 
stimulate thought. He sucked them pen¬ 
sively, and thought his hardest: thought so 
hard, indeed, that in his absence of mind he 
swallowed a bull's-eye prematurely, and stood 
staring, with a feeling as of a red-hot brick 
passing gradually through his chest, and an 

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335 


LOST TOMMY JEFFS. 


agonized effort to remember if he had heard 
of people dying through swallowing bulls’- 
eyes whole. The pain in the chest presently 
passed off, however, and he found himself 
staring at a woman with a basket of apples 
and oranges. 

“ Apples, three a penny,” said the woman, 
enticingly. “ Oranges, a ha’penny each. 
Tnere’s nice ripe ’uns, my dear ! ” 

“ I’ve lost my mother,” replied Tommy, 
irrelevantly. 

“ Lost yer mother ! ” responded the woman, 
with much sympathy. “ Why, I wonder if 
you’re the little boy as I was asked about ? 
Has yer father got pale whiskers an’ a round 
’at, an’ a baby which knocks it off, an’ yer 
mother an’ three other ladies an’ yer little 
brother an’ sister ? ” 

Tommy nodded—perhaps rather guiltily. 

The woman swung her basket on her arm 
and gave him an energetic push on the 
shoulder. “ You go straight along down 
there, my dear,” she said, pointing, “an’ 
then round to the left,. an’ yer father’s 
waiting by the second turning. Don’t 
forget! Here—have an apple ! ” And she 
thrust one into his hand. “ And an orange,” 
she added, impulsively, stuffing one into his 
jacket* pocket. 

This was really very satisfactory. He had 
half expected the apple, but the orange was 
quite an extra—in fact, the whole contribu¬ 
tion had been wrung from the honest apple- 
woman by the pathetic look occasioned by 
the swallowing of the bull’s-eye. Tommy 
went off in the direction she indicated, but 
somehow made the mistake of turning to the 
right instead of to the left at the critical 
point, being much occupied with thought. 
For he w r as resolving to look, all day, as 
pathetic as could be expected of a boy with 
a holiday all to himself, and an entirely new 
invention to make it pay. 

And, indeed, the invention paid very well. 
Tommy perambulated the crowded beach on 
a system of scouting devised for the occasion. 
He made a halt at each convenient booth or 
stand, and from behind it carefully recon¬ 
noitred the crowd in front. No doubt he 
was searching anxiously for his sorrowing 
relatives ; but somehow, though he altogether 
failed to meet them, he never seemed dis¬ 
appointed. 

And meantime, as I have said, the inven¬ 
tion worked excellently. He did not always 
set it in motion by the mere crude statement 
that he had lost his mother—he led up to it. 
He asked people if they had seen her. In 
this way he procured a short sea voyage, by 

Diqitized by GoOQ lc 

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interesting the mother of an embarking „ 
family which did not quite fill the boat. He 
had his railway ticket, he explained, and 
could get home, but meantime he must make 
his holiday as best he might. That excellent 
family yielded a penny and a bun, as well as 
the experience in navigation. A similar 
family was good for a turn on a roundabout. 

“Got no change,” said the roundabout 
man, as roundabout men do. For it is their 
custom, if possible, to postpone giving 
change, in the hope of their patrons emerg¬ 
ing from the machine too sick and giddy to 
remember it. “ Got no change. I’ll give 
it you when you come off.” 

“ Not you,” retorted paterfamilias, made 
cunning by experience. “ You’ll be too 
busy, or forget, or something. Here’s a boy 
what’s looking for his mother; we’ll make up 
the tanner with him.” 

So the morning went; and Tommy 
acquired a high opinion of the generosity of 
his fellow-creatures, and a still higher one 
of his own diplomacy. Not that it always 
succeeded. It failed sometimes .altogether. 
There was a cocoa-nut shy proprieter, for 
instance, whose conduct led Tommy to 
consider him a very worthless person indeed. 
He began by most cordially inviting Tommy 
to try his luck—called him a young sports¬ 
man, in fact. Tommy was much gratified, 
and selected a stick. 

“Money first,” said the man, extending a 
dirty palm. 

“ Lost my mother,” replied Tommy, confi¬ 
dently, having come to regard this form of 
words as the equivalent of coin of the 
realm. 

“ What ? ” The man’s face expressed 
furious amazement. 

“ Lost my mother,” Tommy repeated, a 
little louder, surprised to find anybody so 
dull of comprehension. 

“ ’Ere, get out! ” roared the outraged 
tradesman, who was not educated to the 
point of regarding a cocoa-nut shy a necessity 
of life for a lost boy. “Get out ! ” And he 
snatched the stick with such energy that 
Tommy got oat >vith no delay. 

He was so far cast down by this ruffian’s 
deplorable ignorance of the rules of the game 
that his next transaction was for cash. 

He saw a man selling paper “trunks” of 
the sort that had so seriously startled Mrs. 
Lunn on the family’s first arrival, and he 
greatly desired one for himself. But the 
trunk-merchant was an unpromising-looking 
person—looked, in fact, rather as though he 
might be the cocoa-nut man’s brother. So 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



336 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Tommy paid his penny, and set out to amuse 
himself. 

The toy was quite delightful for a while, 
and utterly confounded and dismayed many 
respectable persons. But after a little time 
it began to pall; chiefly, perhaps, because it 
interfered with business. If you wish to 
appeal to the pity of any lady or gentleman 
in the character of a lost child, it is not 
diplomatic to begin by blowing a squeaking 
paper “ trunk ” into that lady's or gentleman’s 
face. It strikes the wrong note, so to speak: 
doesn’t seem to lead up to the subject. So 
presently Tommy tired of the “trunk,” and 
devised a new use for it. For he was a 
thrifty boy, and wasted nothing. 

He looked about to find some suitable 
person to whom to offer the article for sale, 
and at length he fixed on a comfortable old 
lady and gentleman who were sitting on a 
newspaper spread on the sand, eating sand¬ 
wiches. Now to the superficial it might 
seem that a stout and decorous old couple 
of about sixty-five years of age, and thirty- 
two stone total weight, were not precisely the 
most likely customers on Southend beach for 
such an implement as Tommy had to offer. 



“ PLEASE WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUY THAT?" 


lady ; “ we don’t want a thing like that! ” 
And the old gentleman sat speechless—partly 
because his mouth was full of sandwich. 

“ I’ve lost my mother,” said Tommy. 

For a moment more the old couple con¬ 
tinued to stare, and then the old lady 
realized the pathos of the situation in a flash. 
Tommy suddenly found himself snatched 
into a sitting position beside her and kissed. 
And the next moment he was being fed with 
sandwiches. 

“ Poor little chap! ” said the nice old 
lady. “ Poor little chap ! Lost his mother 
and tried to sell his toy to buy some¬ 
thing to eat ! Have another sandwich, my 
dear.” 

Tommy did not really need the sand¬ 
wiches, having been eating a good deal all 
day, and being even now conscious of sundry 
pockets distended by an apple, a paper of 
bulls’-eyes, several biscuits, and a large 
piece of toffee. But he wished to be polite, 
so he ate as much as he could and answered 
the old lady’s questions to the best of his 
ability. He told her his name, his age, 
where he lived, and what sums he could do. 
He assured her that he knew his way home 


But Tommy was not superficial, and he knew 
his business. 

“ Please would you like to buy that ? ” he 
asked, looking as interesting and as timid as 
he could manage. “ Only a ha’penny. It 
cost a penny.” 

“ Why, bless the child ! ” cried the old 

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and had his ticket safe; and he eased her 
mind wonderfully by his confidence that he 
could find his mother very soon, and particu¬ 
larly because of his absolute certainty of 
meeting her, at latest, at the railway-station. 
And finally, not without difficulty, he tore 
himself away, bearing with him not only the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









LOST TOMMY JEPPS . 


337 


rejected “ trunk,” but also added wealth to 
the amount of fourpence. 

He did very well with the “trunk ”—very 
well indeed. He never got quite so much as 
fourpence again ; but he got some pennies, 
one twopence, and several halfpennies. He 
continued to select his customers with care, 
and rarely made a mistake. Some selections 
were unfortunate and unproductive, however, 
but that he quite expected; and it sur¬ 
prised him to find what a number of 
benevolent persons, made liberal by a fine 
Bank Holiday, were ready to give a copper 
for a thing and then let him keep it. But he 
never fell into the inartistic error of offering 
his stock-in-trade to any person in the least 
likely to use it. Persons of sufficient age 
and dignity were easily to be found by a boy 
of discrimination, even on Southend beach. 

But everything must come to an end at 
last, and so did the trunk. Having carefully 
observed a large, good-tempered-looking 
woman sitting under an umbrella, and having 
convinced himself that she was not likely to 
need a paper trunk for personal entertain¬ 
ment, he proceeded to business in the usual 
manner. 

“ Lost yer mother ? ” said the woman, 
affably. “ All right, you’ll soon find her. 
Here’s yer ha’penny.” 

And with that this unscrupulous female 
actually took the trunk, and handed it over 
to some children who were playing hard by. 

Tommy felt deeply injured. He had no 
idea those children were hers. It was 
shameful, he thought, to take advantage of a 
lost boy in such an unexpected fashion as 
that. And he had really begun quite to like 
that trunk, too. 

But it had paid excellently, on the whole ; 
and, at any rate, with his accumulated capital, 
he could make an excellent holiday for the 
rest of the day : to say nothing of what he 
might still come in for on the strength of his 
distressful situation. 

So he went on combining business with 
pleasure, till he was driven to absolute flight 
by an excellent but over-zealous old gentle¬ 
man who insisted on taking him to the 
police-station. It was a narrow squeak, and 
it was a most fortunate circumstance that the 
zealous old gentleman was wholly unable to 
run. As it was, the adventure so disconcerted 
Tommy that he concluded to relinquish 
business altogether for a time, and seek some 
secluded spot where he might at leisure 
transfer some of his accumulated commis¬ 
sariat from his bursting pockets to a more 
interior situation. 

V * xxiv -- 43 

* O 


The cliffs at Southend, as you may know, 
are laid out as public gardens, traversed by 
precipitous paths, embushed with shrubs, 
and dotted with convenient seats. But 
Tommy did not want a seat. He was, in 
fact, a little tired of keeping a constant look¬ 
out, and since there were his own party, the 
apple-woman, whom he had espied in the 
distance twice since their first encounter, and 
the zealous old gentleman, all at large some¬ 
where in Southend, he judged it safest to 
lie under a convenient bush, in some place 
commanding an interesting view, and there 
begin a leisurely picnic. 

He found a capital bush, just behind one 
of the seats; a thick bush that no eye could 
penetrate from without, yet from between 
the twigs of which he had an excellent view 
of the sea and some part of the gardens. It 
was almost as good as a pirate’s cave, which 
was very proper, for, on the whole, he felt 
something of a pirate himself to-day. He 
began his picnic with toffee. 

Presently his attention was drawn to a 
man who came up the path with a very 
laboured air of casual indifference, although 
he was puffing visibly as he came, as if he 
had been running. He was a red headed 
man, and, as he walked, he glanced anxiously 
over his shoulder. The seat before Tommy’s 
retreat was empty, and the man threw him¬ 
self upon it, so that his legs obstructed 
Tommy’s view. And then, to Tommy’s 
utter amazement, the man’s hand came 
stealing out behind him into the bush, and 
there deposited on the ground, absolutely 
under Tommy’s nose—two watches ! 

The hand was withdrawn as stealthily as it 
came, and the man began with some difficulty 
to whistle a tune. And now up the same 
path there came another man, plainly follow¬ 
ing the first: a tail, w T ell-set-up man who 
walked like a policeman, which, indeed, 
was exactly what he was—a policeman in 
plain clothes. 

“ Well, Higgs,” said the new-comer, sus¬ 
piciously, “ what’s your game to-day ? ” 

“ Game ? ” whined the red headed man, in 
an injured tone. “ Why, no game at all, 
guv’nor, not to-day. Can’t a bloke come out 
for a ’oliday ? ” 

“Oh, of course,” replied the other; “any¬ 
body can come out for a holiday. But 
there’s some as does rum things on their 
holidays. I’ve got my eye on you, my fine 
feller! ” 

“ S’elp me, guv’nor, it’s all right,” protested 
the red-headed man, rising and moving off 

t\ little way. “ I’m on’y ’avin’ a ’oliday, 

Original from ' 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


33« 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


guv'nor ■ You can turn me over if you 
like ! ” 

Now Tommy did not know that to turn a 
man over meant to search him s but he did 
not stop to wonder. For what occupied the 
whole of his attention now, even to the 
exclusion of the very toffee in his mouth, was 
the astounding fact that one of the watches 
was his own father's 3 

There was no mistake about it. There 
were initials on the 
silver case—not his 
father's initials, for, 
indeed, he had won 
the watch in a raffle ; 
but Tommy knew the 
letters well enough. 

Plainly the man had 
stolen it ; and, in 
fact, three links of a 
broken chain were 
still hanging to the 
bow; and Tommy 
knew the chain as 
well as he knew the 
watch. 

Tommy was a boy 
of business, a philo¬ 
sopher, and a prac¬ 
tical person. He 
knew nothing of the 
second watch, 
whether it was the 
redheaded man’s or 
another’s. But he 
did know that this 
with the broken 
chain was his father's 
—he had had it in his hands a hundred 
times, So with no more ado he put it in 
his trousers pocket, on top of the bag of 
bulls'-eyes, and then quietly withdrew from 
the bush, leaving the red headed man and 
his enemy talking some yards away on the 
opposite side. 

“ I can't go home without him!" cried 
Mrs, Jepps that evening in the booking- 
office of Southend Station. “ My darling 
child ! I can’t ! 1 can't ! ” 

* f But come an' ask the station-master," 
reasoned her husband. u He might ha* 


come here to see about get tin' home. We 
never thought o' that!” 

A small boy, who had been mistakenly 
trying to weigh himself by clinging desperately 
to the arm of the machine used for luggage, 
let go as he recognised the voices, and carne 
out of the dim corner, looking uncommonly 
bulky about the pockets. 

“Halloa, mother!” said Tommy, “I’ve 
been waiting for you since—well, I’ve been 
waiting a long time ! ” 
This time Mrs. 
Jepps really did faint. 
But it was not for 
long. When she 
came to herself, with 
water from the wait¬ 
ing-room bottle in her 
hair and down her 
back, she recovered 
her customary energy 
with surprising 
rapidity. “ Tommy, 
you wicked, ungrate¬ 
ful little wretch ! " 
she said; “ a nice 
holiday you've made 
o'this for me 1 Wait 
till I get you home, 
that's aU !” 

“ Why, Tommy,” 
said his father, 
“wasn’t there no 
party as stole you, 
after all?” 

“ I don*t believe 
parties steal boys at 
all,” said Tommy; 
“but parties steal watches.” And with that 
he hauled out what Jepps had never expected 
to see again. 

This phenomenon completed the demoral¬ 
isation of the party; it also dissipated the 
storm that was gathering about Tommy's head. 

“ Lawks, child!” cried all the ladies at 
once. And Cousin Jane’s sister’s young 
man’s aunt clung for support to the nearest 
object, which was a porter. 

“ Come! ” squeaked Tommy, with a new im¬ 
portance in his voice, rattling the money in his 
trousers pockets. “ Got your tickets ? Keep 
close to me, an’ I’ll show you the right train.” 



Digitized by Google 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



The Tragedy of Martinique. 

Being the complete personal narrative of Chief Officer Ellery S. Scott* of lho Quebec liner ss, Roraima, which 
was destroyed by a volcanic rain of fire in the harbour of St, Pierre on ihe morning of May Sib, 1902. 


E left New York on Saturday, 
April 26th, aboard the Quebec 
Line steamsh 1 p Roraima % Gap- 
lain Mugs*ah, bound for Dem- 
erara, via the Windward 
Islands. Our crew numbered 
forty-seven, and we had aboard twenty-one 
passengers, men, women, and children. It 
was Thursday, the 8tb of May, that trouble 
came. When this day came in, overcast with 
partial clouds, we were lying at anchor off 
the Island of Dominica. At r a.m. we hove 
anchor and made a course south by east 
half-east for Martinique, 

Everything went well till 4,45 a.m. I was 
on the bridge for the morning watch, The 
night was fair and the sea 
calm. Suddenly, without 
warning, we came into 
thick, heavy smoke and 
falling ashes, off the 
north - east end of the 
Island of Martinique, 

This disturbed me so 
much that I called the 
captain and asked what 
he thought of the 
weather. I had never 
seen an active eruption 
in the islands before, but 
years ago I saw Etna 
aflame, so I knew some¬ 
thing about volcanoes, 
and of course we had 
every reason to suppose 
that the smoke and 
ashes were from Mount 
Pelee. The wind at this 
time was to the east of 
south, and the smoke 
from the mountain blew directly towards us. 
We skirted the island, keeping about two 
miles off shore, but on account of the 
currents that were setting us in towards the 
land we had to steer various courses, some¬ 
times drawing off and at others drawing in. 
The current was never steady. It ran 
terribly strong, and we took it for granted 
that this was due to some volcanic action 
going on. To a certain extent the captain 
and I were alarmed. It was a fine dust, a 
sharp, grey ash, that was falling. At 6.15 a.m. 
we anchored off St. Pierre. 

The harbour master and doctor soon came 
alongside and passed the ship. The next to 


come aboard were our company’s agents, 
Messrs. Plessoneau and Testarte. The cap¬ 
tain had a talk with them and asked whether 
they thought there was any danger from the 
volcano. Dense columns of smoke were 
then rising majestically from the peak of 
Mount Pel£e and ascending towards heaven. 
But at this time it was perfectly clear over 
the harbour, for we were full five miles to 
the south of the mountain. The agents were 
very reassuring. There had been no damage 
done since the destruction of the sugar 
refinery a few days before, but Plessoneau and 
Testarte both said that a number of people 
wanted to get away to St. Lucia, and as we had 
a cargo for that port the captain asked me to 
go through the holds and 
find whether it were pos¬ 
sible to get at the cargo 
for St, Lucia without first 
unloading the goods for 
Martinique. I found we 
should have to move a 
great deal of Martinique 
cargo, so Captain Muggah 
decided that it was wisest 
for us to stop where we 
were and discharge the 
cargo. The reason that 
we had not got to work 
on it earlier that morn¬ 
ing was because, the 8 th 
of May being Ascension 
Day, there were special 
services in all the churches 
of the city. Grand mass 
was being said at the 
cathedral, and the rich 
people had come over to 
St Pierre to attend it 
labourers and everybody else were religiously 
inclined for that day. 

The two agents had been to early mass, 
and as they had not broken their fast they 
requested something to eat, but would not 
stop for our regular breakfast as tht7 were 
in a hurry to go aboard the Rod dam, which 
had just steamed in, saying that as the 
Roddam was from Barbados, and the 
quarantine on Barbados had not been lifted 
at Martinique* they would not take our 
mail matter ashore with them, but would 
return for it later. 

Meantime our sailors, under the boatswain, 
were cleaning up the sand and dust r which 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




CHEEP OFFICER E. % SCQTT> OF THE ** flORAI M A," 
JVflwi « jPjWI+j. hjf Path, y. y. 











340 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


lay fully a quarter of an inch thick over 
everything—just like white sand. The ship 
was covered with it from end to end. It had 
$ifted into everything. When the captain 
and I came off the bridge our uniforms were 
completely covered with it. Passengers and 
crew were gathering up the sand and ashes 
to keep as mementos. Some would put it 
in envelopes, others in tin tobacco-boxes, 
and I can remember a big negro giving me a 
cigar-box filled with it, which I took, little 
thinking what a plenty I should have of it 
before I made home again. 

Meantime the officers were grouped for¬ 
ward on the deck enjoying the grand view of 
Pel£e as huge volumes of smoke rose from 
it. The smoke appeared to roll right up 
into the heavens, and then southward and 
easterly winds drove it away to sea, so that 
where we were lying the air was compara¬ 
tively clear. The sun was shining out nice 
and bright. Everything appeared to be 
pleasant and favourable except the column 
of black smoke. 

It was a few moments past 8 a.m. As we 
stood talking there the third mate said to 
me : “I must get my camera. I have only 
one more plate, but this is a sight that must 
not be missed.” With this he turned and 
made for his cabin. 1 never saw him again. 
Just then, all at once, there was a sublime 
outburst from the mountain. Whether more 
than one crater opened it would be hard to 
say, but a conflagration came right out of 
the mountain in one grand burst, with a 
noise so terrible that beside it a thunder-clap 
would sound like a pistol-shot alongside the 
roar of a twelve-inch gun. Then it came 
rolling down the mountain over the interven¬ 
ing hills—the molten slag, flame, and smoke, 
one immense cloud of it, luminous, awful, 
rolling down like fire. It took just a moment. 
As it came sweeping down there seemed to be 
an inexhaustible supply following it, an endless 
tornado of steam and ashes and burning gas. 
The instant we saw this grand outbreak 
coming towards us the captain rushed to the 
bridge, calling to me to heave up anchor. I 
sprang forward to the steam windlass; the 
carpenter beside me was bending forward to 
start the machine going when destruction 
struck us. 

The thing was indescribable. It seemed 
to whirl earth and sea before it, just as the 
western cyclones wipe up the trees and 
everything in their paths; but this was an 
explosive whirlwind, setting fire to every tiling 
as it went. It w*as only a few seconds of 
time, but a$ it rolled over the intervening 


miles towards the city that city was doomed, 
l^va, fire, ashes, smoke, everything com¬ 
bined, swept down on us in an instant. No 
railroad train could have escaped it. We 
could only see one side of the torrent, but 
more of it was pouring down the rear of 
the mountain, creating a tremendous back 
draught and increasing the fury about us still 
further. 

Then came darkness blacker than night, 
and as the awful ruin struck the waters it 
just rolled along, setting fire to the shore and 
the ships. The Roraima rolled and careened 
far to port, then with a sudden jerk she went 
to starboard, plunging her lee rail far under 
water. The masts, smoke-stack, rigging, all 
were swept clean off and went by the board. 
The iron smoke-stack came off short, and the 
two steel masts broke off 2ft. above the 
deck, perfectly clean, without a jagged edge, 
just like a clay pipe-stem struck with a big 
stick. We had started to heave the anchor, 
but it never left the mud. There we were, 
stuck fast in hell. The darkness was some¬ 
thing appalling. It enveloped everything, 
and was only broken by the burning clouds 
of consuming gas which gave bursts of light 
out of the darkness. The ship took fire in 
several places simultaneously, and men, 
women, and children were dead in a few 
seconds of time. This was a few minutes 
after eight o’clock. 

The saloon and the after-end of the ship 
blazed up at once. The Roraima was lying 
with a heavy list to starboard, pointing towards 
the shore. Hot ashes fell thick at first. They 
were soon followed by a rain of small, hot 
stones, ranging all the way from the size of 
shot to pigeons’ eggs. These would drop in 
the water with a hissing sound; but where 
they struck the ship’s deck they did little 
damage, for the decks were protected with a 
thick coating of ashes from the first outburst. 
After the stones came a rain of hot mud, 
lava apparently mixed with water, of the con¬ 
sistency of very thin cement. Wherever it 
fell it formed a coating, clinging like glue, 
so that those who wore no caps it coated, 
making a complete cement mask right over 
their heads. For myself, when I saw the 
storm coming I snatched a tarpaulin cover 
off one of the ventilators and jammed 
it down over my head and neck, looking 
out through the opening. This saved me 
much, but even so my beard, face, nostrils, 
and eyes were so filled with the stuff that 
every few seconds I had to break it out of 
my eyes in order to see. This mud was not 
actually burning, but it steamed, and there 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE TRAGEDY OF MARTINIQUE. 


34i 



*^*“<*1 JkluUfrT JELfCIS IN ERUPTION. I I'holo. 


was heat enough in it to dry on the head 
and form a crust so that it fitted like a 
plaster-cast. 

I remember that Charles Thompson, the 
assistant purser, a fine-looking, burly black 
from St. Kitts, who stood beside me, had 
his head so weighted down with the stuff 
that he seemed to fed giddy and was almost 
falling. When he asked me to break the 
casing off his head 1 was afraid it would 
scalp him when I took it off. I could fed 
the heat on my own head very plainly 
through my tarpaulin covering, and his scalp 
must have been badly scorched. 

Everybody was not on deck at this time. 
Some of the passengers were dressing, some 
still In their bunks. In some cases they 
were poisoned almost instantaneously by the 
noxious gas. In others they were drowned 
by the water which swept in hot through the 
open port-holes of the submerged state-rooms 
on the starboard side. 

The darkness was appalling, only lit by 
the flames from the after-end of the ship and 
by the lurid glare of the conflagration on 
shore when some big warehouse caught fire, 
and the great puncheons of rum burst with 
a loud report and shot their blazing contents 
into the air. At this time I went to the 
lower bridge, feeling my way along, in order 
to find the captain. There on the bridge 
I almost stumbled on a crouching figure 
with a hideous face, burned almost beyond 
recognition. 

II Who are you?” i cried, for I did 

uraiiizeo uy v,. s\ ■ \ , 11 


not know him, crouched there in the 
darkness. 

The man looked up, his face terrible to 
see. 

“Mr, Scott,” he said, “don't you know 
me ? " 

I said, “ My God, it*s the captain !" 

He got on his feet as best he could. 
Then, seeing one of the boats still left which 
was hanging in a crippled condition, he 
wanted to know if we couldn't clear her 
away, 

“ Well, captain,” I said, u the boat is stove 
in and no use, and she is jammed so that 
twenty men couldn’t budge her, and we have 
got no one to help us,” 

Just then Benson, the carpenter, and 
Thompson, the third mate, came on the 
bridge. Thompson was scorched black, 
while Benson’s principal burns seemed to be 
on his hands. The captain ordered that boat 
to be cleared away anyhow. With a knife 
1 cut the forward davit tackle fall, but she 
wouldn't move. She was jammed. It was 
impossible to get her clear, and when he 
found that it was impossible the captain 
said, “ Mr. Scott, jump overboard and save 
yourself.” 

<l No, captain,” said I, ** I won't leave the 
ship." 

lt Well,” said he, “ find out how the ship is 
and what is the condition of our people. 
Find out how the women and children are.” 

After looking round and finding the after- 
end of the ship lafi on fire and people burned 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


34 * 

and dying everywhere, and fire breaking out 
in several places forward, I went back to 
report to the captain how things were* When 
I reached the bridge he was gone. He had 
either fallen overboard or jumped to relieve 
his own sufferings, which must have been 
very terrible. 

There were only four of us really able- 
bodied : Benson, the carpenter; Thompson, 
the assistant purser ; a black labourer from St. 
Kitts, and myself. The men who helped us 
were horribly burned, but it was wonderful to 
see their heroism. Two engineers who had 
lost all the skin on their hands were still carry¬ 
ing things about to help us, using their upper 
arms and elbows. The command devolved 
upon me. The first thing to be done was to 
get the fires out forward {for the wind was 
blowing off shore and raking the ship) so 
that sve should not be cremated alive. 


thanked God, Part of the crew got the 
passengers—women and children—on the 
upper deck forward, hoping that the Roddam 
would come near enough to take them 
aboard. 

All at once, not more than 100ft away, 
she stopped. We said : “ Well, perhaps she 
doesn't see us.” I ran at once to the wheel- 
house and grabbed a handful of signal-lights. 
Two of them I found were blue lights and 
one the company's special signal. We set 
them off (they hurned brightly, like fire¬ 
works), trying to attract the Roddam*s atten¬ 
tion and to show her that some living people 
were aboard, but to our horror the ship 
slowly backed out into the darkness, leaving 
us absolutely disheartened. When the others 
spoke about it to me I said: ** She has only 
backed out of the line of smoke. She will 
come back again and take us off ” ; but after 



JVwjbJ THE *’ KDRAIMA IN FLAMER. 


Fortunately the water was calm. It 
appeared as though the thick rain of mud 
had smoothed the water, but it still swirled 
and rolled past us, owing to the volcanic 
currents. The pumps were clogged and 
wouldn't work, but every man still able to 
walk did his best. Two of them began to 
lower buckets over the side, and then, forming 
a fire line, we passed them up forward and 
dashed the water at the flames. All this time 
thick darkness continued. Then all at once, 
about half-past eight, it lighted a little and 
we could see the steamer Roddam steaming 
straight towards us as though coming to take 
us off. We had no means of knowing at 
the time that she was almost as badly off as 
we were, for she had steerage-way and came 
up close enough for us to see that the for¬ 
ward part of her was all right. We took it 
for granted that she had been out of the line 
of fire. It looked like a rescue, and we 

Digitized by GoOSlC 


a while the wind veered south, the smoke 
cleared, and we could see nothing more of 
her. 

This was about 8.45. How long we could 
stay afloat was the question. There was no 
time for deliberation. All of us who could 
rushed to the life-belts, which were distri¬ 
buted through the ship in various places, and 
we put them round every living soul aboard. 
When a mother had a child in her arms we 
would pass the preserver right round both of 
them together. 

The next thing was to find out what con¬ 
dition our battered hull was in and to put 
out the small fires which had ignited again 
here and there. The worst one was in the 
port steerage, far forward. The women's 
quarters, as it happened, had been freshly 
cleaned and painted at Demerara, the mat¬ 
tresses were neatly piled inside, while the 

door was kept locked lest the crew should 

Urigmarfram 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












THE TRAGEDY OF MARTINIQUE 


343 


steal the beds. The starboard ports, how¬ 
ever, were left open, and the volcanic fire 
sweeping in ignited the mattresses. We tried 
to open the door; but, finding it fast, several 
of us grasped a big plank and, making a 
battering-ram of it, smashed the door in. 
.Two great piles of mattresses were all afire. 
It was a bad outlook, for if the fire gained 
headway there it would sweep the ship; and, 
worse than this, we had a matter of three 
thousand cases of kerosene oil, great kegs of 
varnish, and barrels of tar stowed away in 
the forward hold of the ship, not a dozen 
feet from where the fire was. Out on the 
deck, just over the steerage quarters, were 
the cattle-pens, which were used to store 
some io,oooft, of spruce lumber—enough 
to burn a city—and standing about close by 
were a number of puncheons of temper 
lime, a highly inflammable substance used in 


mattress would come the lifeless body of 
some messmate who bad died trapped like 
a rat. 

After a time all the smaller fires came 
under control, and we got a breathing spell 
so that we could look about us. The sight 
was fearful All around us were sailors and 
passengers, men, women, and children, burnt 
and dying, crying aloud for water, 

Thompson, the assistant purser, who was 
such a great help to me throughout the 
struggle, had an interesting story to tell after¬ 
wards, He had seen the ruin coming, but 
had time to fling himself through the open 
doorway of his state-room and close the door. 
The next instant the ship veered over, and 
water hot from the fire sweeping over it 
poured into his cabin until he was up to his 
neck; then the ship righted, the water 
receded, and Thompson struggled out on the 



the making of sugar. This temper lime, 
which takes fire if it comes in contact with 
water, was already smouldering, and the 
smoke was hanging thick about it. 

It was a bad fight, this at No. 2 hatch. 
Two of us lowered buckets over the side and 
hauled up water, while the others dashed it 
upon the mattresses. The water w r ould 
quiet the flames for a moment, and then 
one of us would dash in, pull out a mat¬ 
tress, and throw it overboard. But the 
instant a smouldering mattress came into 
the current of air outside it would blaze up 
again, and it needed lively work to get one 
clear without being badly burned, 

AH this was exhausting work, but there 
was more to follow. We soon saw that 
the firemen’s quarters on the starboard bow 
were breaking out in flames. We touglit 
them hard and steadily and again dragged 
out the mattresses one by one, and more 
than once as we did so, out with the 


starboard alley and came upon two women 
horribly burned and begging piteously for 
water. He rushed into a neighbouring state¬ 
room which was half-filled with water, and 
finding a can was about to try to fill it from 
the little tank of fresh water above the basin 
when he felt something soft beneath his foot. 
Looking down he saw the dead face of a 
man. Then hurrying out to the officers’ 
mess-room he ran to the water-tank. Within 
it the water was thick and muddy and 
almost hot. Fortunately there was still a big 
cake of ice in it, and this he dumped into his 
bucket and carried it out to the unfortunates 
to cool their mouths. 

Gradually we collected the survivors and 
laid them on deck forward near hatch No, i t 
all of them crying for water, but many of the 
unfortunates could not drink at all. The 
flaming gases had burned their mouths and 
throats, and even the linings of their 
stomach, so terribly that in many cases the 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










344 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


passages of the throat were almost entirely 
closed, and many of the unhappy creatures 
could not drink at all. When we put the 
water into their mouths it stayed there and 
almost choked them, and we had to turn 
them over to get the water out, and still they 
would implore us for more. Fortunately the 
darkness was beginning to lift now, the 
flaming city supplying us with plenty of light. 
We broke open the ice-house door and 
hauled out blocks of ice and broke them into 
small pieces. These the sufferers could hold 
in their mouths when they could no longer 
drink. Several of them had their tongues 
burned out. The coatings of their mouths 
and tongues and the linings of their noses 
were in some instances entirely gone, so that 
the air when they attempted to draw breath 
would block their throat and nostrils and 
smother them. 

All this time the groans and the shrieks of 
the sufferers were heart-breaking. You read 
about the rich man in the place of torment 
looking up and asking for water. Well, that 
is about as near as I can come to describing 
it, but everything that happened sticks in 
my mind like a nightmare. I can see now 
one of the passengers, a man, lying on 
the fo’c’s’le deck, hideously scarred, crying 
for water. When we gave it to him he could 
not drink it. It would not pass down his 
throat. He was crawling around on deck on 
his hands and knees calling for water, and at 
last we were afraid he would fall overboard, 
so with the assistance of another man I 
brought him down to the main deck. As 
soon as ever he got there he caught sight of 
Thompson with his water-can and at once 
began to crawl after him for water, like a dog. 
Thompson kept giving him drink, but he 
could not swallow, and the only way to keep 
him from following around after the water-can 
was to attend to him and no one else, 
so the poor wretch had to be left. 
The man’s tongue was literally burned out 
of his head. His arms w’ere cruelly 
burned from his shoulders to his finger-ends. 
But the worst burns were internal. The 
fire did not seem to penetrate the clothing, 
but wherever the flesh was exposed it burned 
mercilessly. 

I saw one little coffee-coloured baby fear¬ 
fully scorched lying in the arms of a white 
nurse called Clara, who had come from New 
York with a family named Stokes. The 
child was in a dying condition, with its 
tongue lolling out of its mouth and the 
skin of the tongue all gone. There was still 
life in the little thing, and as Thompson came 

t GooqIc 


along he gave it some water, but it was no 
use. Clara’s arms vrere badly burned, and 
at last she had to lay it down. When she 
did so the second engineer, Evans, picked it 
up and held it gently till it died in his arms. 
Then he laid it in one of the deck state¬ 
rooms. The door was open, so that we could 
all see it, and the sight was so pitiful that I 
went in and, shaking a pillow out of its case, 
put the little disfigured body inside and then 
laid it on the bed, so that it looked decent 
and Christian. I am thankful to say that 
Clara survived and went to the hospital. I 
think there is a very good prospect of her 
coming round again. 

This same Clara helped us take care of 
Mrs. Stokes and her three children, two boys 
and a girl. The wretched woman’s mouth 
could not open and her teeth were set. We 
took a small spoon and put some crushed ice 
between her teeth, and could hear her mur¬ 
mured thanks. Poor creature, she did not 
live long enough to see two of her children 
die. The elder boy died ten or fifteen 
ihinutes after. Later we got the baby (who 
was little more than an infant in arms) and 
the girl on the rescue boat, but the baby died 
before it reached land. These two children 
and a woman from Martinique were the 
only people who asked for anything to eat. 
Thompson found some in the store-room in 
the oven keeping warm. Every eatable out¬ 
side had been destroyed. 

The women behaved very well, though 
they were all terribly burned. One big 
coloured woman, for all her burns and scalds, 
kept singing hymns. Between the verses her 
cry was the same as the cry of everybody, 
“Give me water, water.” As soon as she 
got a drink she seemed to revive, and then 
she would begin her singing again. The last 
hymn she sang was “ Nearer, my God, to 
Thee,” and then she died where she was 
sitting. 

There was another woman, a Mrs. 
McAllister. Thompson, who was busy 
seeing after everybody, got a bed out of 
the men’s quarters and set it down in the 
damp mud on deck so that she could rest 
there. She lay still for a while and then 
called Clara, the nurse-girl. “ Won’t you 
sing a couple of hymns for me,” she said, 
“and offer a short prayer, for I am dying ?” 
The nurse knelt right down there in the 
ashes and began to sing :— 

Rock of Ages, cleft for me. 

Let me hide myself in Thee. 

We could only hear snatches of the hymn, 
for we had w^rk to do. but in each lull we 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE TRAGED V OE MARTJJVJQUE. 


345 



could hear her sweet voice. She sang 
again: u Safe in the Arms of Jesus,” and 
then, clasping her hands, looked up to 
heaven and offered a short prayer. Then 
Mrs. McAllister thanked her and bade her 
good-bye. 

By this time the air was getting a little 
purer, so that it was possible to breathe. At 
that first fierce blast it was so strong and 
fiery that it struck men dead on the spot. 

While Thompson and Thomas, a labourer, 
were trying to alleviate the sufferings of the 
dying, Benson, the carpenter, and I went 
through the different holds of the ship. We 
found the hull tight. What water was in her 
had come down her hatches when she first 
heeled over. We sounded under the ship 
and found twenty-five fathoms of water ; then 
the second engineer reported that the engines 
and boiler were safe and that there was no 
danger of an explosion. The second and 
fourth engineers were seared with fresh scars, 
hut they stayed at their posts to see that the 
boilers were safe before they left them. Tt 
was out of the question to get up steam, 
however, for there was no smoke-stack and 
consequently no draught, and if there had 
been there was nobody to keep the fires 
going. Besides, even if the ship had been 
able to steam off before the wind the flames 
in her stern would have swept her decks, 
instead of burning quietly at the after-end of 
her as she lay at anchor. 

There was but one thing to do, so, with 
the assistance of those who could do any¬ 
thing at all, we started to construct a raft. 
First of all we lowered over the side two 
large skids full rSft long. Skids are 
long, solid planks bolted together with screw 
bolts and fitted to the outside of the ship's 
breast below the davits to prevent chafing 
when boats are lowered. Then two of 
us let ourselves down, and after lashing the 
skids firmly together the others passed down 

VoL x.sfiv',— 4+ 


lumber from the stock in the cattle pen, and 
these w r e spiked to the skids and made a raft 
secure and large enough to carry all who 
were living on board the ship. We counted 
the survivors over and found that we had 
twenty-four living persons on the ship. 

All this took considerable time, and after 
we got the raft itself constructed the next 
thing was to get provisions for her. The 
Roraima carried four boats. Three had 
been destroyed and the fourth was jammed 
on the davits, but from her we got oars and 
rowlocks, We also passed down a compass, 
lanterns, cases of provisions, a can of oil, and 
kegs of water. We got everything ready in 
case the fire from the after end of the ship 
drove us out before some other means of 
relief came to us. 

It was between 2 and 3 p m that a French 
man-of-war, the Suger, Captain Pierre Lc 
Bris, steamed into the harbour of St Pierre, 

Wc saw her coming towards us, but after 
our experience with the Roddam I did not 
feel sure of anything We got out the 
British ensign and, tying U oottom upward 
on a stick, lashed it on one of the port davits, 
that being the highest stick left on the ship. 

The Suger at once answered the signal and 
sent a boat alongside. We were the first 
ship she noticed. No other ship was show¬ 
ing any special signals to attract her attention, 
and all we could make out of the craft about 
us were merely burning hulks. Soon she 
sent two other boats to our aid, towed by 
a steam launch. Gradually we got the 
passengers over the side on the raft, from 
which they could step more easily on to the 
boats. 4 Those who were most helpless and 
maimed we lowered first, and those best able 
to help themselves were left until the last. 
After the passengers came the crew, then the 
officers. The second engineer went ahead, 
and I followed last. Just before I w T ent over 
the side I |Sf$bt of a solitary sheep, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











34<5 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


the last of thirty which had been swept over- 
board. The poor creature was bleating pitb 
fully, so I went back and laid open Us head 
with an axe, which seemed to me a mercy. 
We left behind us between twenty and thirty 
dead bodies, some lying about the deck, 
some in the fo'cVie, some in their bunks, 
where they had been smothered at the first 
fearful burst of poisonous gas. My own poor 
boy was there somewhere. From the moment 
of the explosion I never saw him again. He 
was a likely young fellow, and used to say 
how some day he would have a ship of his 
own and would take me along as mate. As 
we went away some of the bodies looked so 
awful that we could not bear to look on 
them. The only thing I think of now is this : 
How did we ever come through it all and 
live to escape the mad house? 

At the time we left the ship she was afire 
from her stem to the aft engine-room bulk¬ 
head. As we looked back we saw a strange 
thing. A common reed chair, such as you 


often see on the deck of a Transatlantic liner, 
was hanging in the air to the ship's stern. 
It had been fastened to the after flag and 
braced below so that it hung off in space just 
beyond the reach of the flames. Some poor 
wretch had rigged it there and sat in it to save 
himself from fire, afraid to jump on account 
of the fierce rush of the volcanic currents 
below. AVe could see him there, sitting in 
his chair, long before we left the ship, at the 
back of the solid wall of fire which divided 
us # from him, and he must have suffered 
terribly before he dropped from his perch 
and went overboard. AVe could not get at 
him on account of the fire in the forward 
part of the saloon, hut a state-room was at 
hand close by, with plenty of lifebuoys, and 


he might have got one and put it on ; but, 
strangely enough, after all that fire, there 
hung the empty chair literally intact. The 
next morning, the 9th, when the ship Corona 
steamed into the harbour of St. Pierre, the 
captain said that the chair was still hanging 
there unharmed. 

When we were all taken aboard the war¬ 
ship the surgeon and his staff attended care¬ 
fully to the worst cases, dressing their wounds 
and doing everything to alleviate their suffer¬ 
ing. # They also did everything possible for 
the comfort of those who were not in such a 
terrible condition. Meantime the man-of- 
war's launch steamed up as close to the city 
as possible, alongside the shore, which was a 
fiery furnace, and right at the water’s edge 
they picked up a number of people, amongst 
others our third officer, Thompson, who 
had managed to swim ashore. There were 
also three others of our people there—one 
passenger and a couple of the crew. 

The Suger then steamed slowly to Fort 
de France, her boats 
searching the shore 
and sea and picking up 
everybody they found 
alive. AVreckage and 
driftage were scattered 
everywhere over the 
water, and now and 
then you could see a 
plank with an arm or 
leg curled over it, while 
the remainder of the 
corpse was hidden be¬ 
neath the surface, or, 
again, some body 
doubled over a spar, 
while the head and 
legs hung helplessly 
beneath the water. 

At 9 p.m. she landed at the pier at Fort de 
France, where a number of stretchers carried 
up the wounded to the ambulances, which 
w-ere in waiting at the head of the little 
wharf to take them to the hospitals. 

I said that the last t saw of Captain 
Muggah was on the bridge in the first 
hideous moments of darkness. loiter l 
heard more of him. It seems that just 
after I left him to work at the boats, Dan, 
the ship*s cooper, a black labourer whom 
we had taken on at St. Kitts, saw him 
slip and fall overboard. The ship had a 
list, and her deck was covered with slippery 
mud, so his fall was probably accidental. 
But whether he jumped or not no man can 
say. If he duij Sift dial mortal agony, who is 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










347 


THE TRAGEDY OF MARTINIQUE , 


there willing to blame him ? Well, Dan saw 
the captain go, and catching up one of the 
hatches he leaped right after him, and 
striking out in the whirling current put the 
hatch under the captain's arm to help sup¬ 
port him in the water. Then he struck out 
for shore, pushing his burden ahead of him, 
but there was such a tremendous current that 
he could make little headway, and gradually 
drifted alongside a burning hull which lay a 
few cables* length from the Roratma. 

Some of the crew, who were frantic to 
escape, hauled him towards them and then 
threw over a booby-hatch, which Dan made 
fast to his ow n raft, Then the men tossed 
down some bedding, on which Dan laid the 
captain and one or two unfortunates from 
the other ship, who were lowered from the 
burning deck. Two or three sailors followed, 
and then all together they started the raft 
towards the shore, stopping every now and 
then to pick up some poor wretch floating in 
the water. 

As they were paddling painfully along, 
using pieces of board for oars, they sighted a 
small boat, such as the natives of Mar¬ 
tinique use, looking like a canoe with high 
sides. One of the sailors, a native, at once 
jumped overboard and swam to the boat. As 
soon as he climbed into her he started back 
towards the raft, but on his way he came 
across another Martinique man clinging to a 
spar. He took him aboard and then, since 
two of them could paddle the boat with ease, 
he suddenly lost interest in his companions 
on the raft, and right there, in plain sight of 
his messmates, he turned his boat and made 
off towards Fortde France. 

This was too much for the crew of the raft. 


They lost their nerve. Dan, the cooper, did 
his best to make them drive their raft back 
to the ship, but they absolutely refused to 
return and made for the shore. Eventually 
they reached land, but just as they struck 
the shore Captain Muggah died. During all 
the hours on the raft he was more or less 
conscious, and in spite of his awful suffering 
he kept begging Dan not to go to the shore 
for safety, but to take him back to his ship. 
Try as he would, however, Dan could not 
induce the men to do this. No sooner had 
he landed than he got a stick of timber and 
started all alone to swim back to the ship. 
He reached the raft and brought me the news 
of Captain Muggah, and also of their officer, 
Thompson, who had reached the shore alive. 

The whole of the survivors of the Roraima , 
four of them women, were taken aboard 
the Suger. Not all of them reached Fort 
de France alive. Some died on the way, 
others were dead before the next morning ; 
how many I could not find out. On the 
morning of the 9th, when I tried to go to 
the hospitals, I could only secure a permit 
to enter one. There I came upon the 
second engineer and carpenter, the fourth 
engineer, the quartermaster, and two sailors. 
Two had died there during the night, one 
a fireman. Everything possible was being 
done for the poor fellows, but the doctor told 
me that the bums were all poisonous, and 
that wherever a scar was deep blood-poison¬ 
ing set in. 

A few days later our company’s ship, 
the Corona, touched at Fort de France 
and took such of us aboard as were able 
to travel. On the 20th day of May I 
landed once more in New York. 














T all began with a fight that 
Robert had with the baker’s 
boy, who was a large one, and 
very cheeky even for the size 
he was. Robert began it, it is 
true, by light-heartedly lasso¬ 
ing the baker’s boy with a skipping-rope when 
they met him on their way to the sand-pit to 
get the day’s wish from the psammead. Rut 
the baker’s boy behaved in a most cowardly 
and ungentlemanly way. Instead of fighting 
with fists, he pulled Robert’s hair and kicked 
him. However, he won, for Jane hung on 
to Cyril so that he couldn't help Robert 
without hurting her, and Anthea was poor- 
spirited enough to cling to the baker’s boy 
and offer abject apologies in Robert's name. 
The fray ended in the boy’s chasing Robert 
along the road down to the pit and kicking 
him into a heap of sand. 

Cyril was angry with Jane. Robert was 
furious with Anthea. The girls were per¬ 
fectly miserable, and nobody was pleased 
with the baker's boy. There was, as French 
authors say, “a silence full of emotion/’ 
Then Robert dug his toes and his fingers 
into the sand and wriggled in his rage, 44 He’d 
better wait till I’m grown up—the cowardly 
brute. Beast—I hate him ! Rut Til pay 
him out. Just because he’s bigger than me ! M 
“You began/’ said Jane, incautiously. 

(l 1 know 1 did, silly, but 1 was only 
rotting—and he kicked me—look here.” 

Digitized by CiOO^Ic 


Robert tore down a stocking and showed 
a purple bruise touched up with red, 

u I only wish I was bigger than him, that’s 
all/’ 

He dug his fingers in the sand and sprang 
up, for his hand had touched something furry. 
It was the psammead, of course. 44 On the 
look out to make sillies of us, as usual,” as 
Cyril remarked later. And, of course, the 
next moment Robert’s wish was granted, and 
he was bigger than the baker’s boy - oil, but 
much, much bigger. He was bigger than 
the big policeman who used to be at 
the crossing at the Mansion House years 
ago—the one who was so kind in helping 
ladies over the crossing-and he was the 
biggest man / have ever seen, as well as the 
kindest. No one had a foot-rule in their 
pocket, so Robert could not be measured ; 
but he was taller than your father would be 
if he stood on your mother’s head, which I 
am sure he would never he unkind enough 
to do. He must have been roft. or lift, 
high, and as broad as a boy of that height 
ought to be. His Norfolk suit had fortu 
nately grown too, and now he stood up in 
it, with one of his enormous stockings 
turned down to show the gigantic bruise 
on his vast leg. Immense tears of fury 
still stood on his flushed giant fare. He 
looked so surprised and he was so large to 
be wearing an Eton collar that the others 

could not help laughing. 

Urigirfal from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






BIGGER THAN THE BAKERS BOY. 


349 


“The sammyadd’s done us again,” said 
Cyril. 

“Not us— me” said Robert. “If you’d 
got any decent feeling you’d try to make 
it make you the same size. You’ve no 



“THE sammyadd’s DONE US AGAIN, SAID CYRIL.** 


idea how silly it feels,” he added, thought¬ 
lessly. 

“ And I don’t want to; I can jolly well 
see how silly it looks” Cyril was beginning, 
but Anthea said : — 

“Oh, don 1 11 I don’t know what’s the 
matter with you boys to-day. Look here, 
Squirrel, let’s play fair; it is hateful for poor 
old Bobs, all alone up there. Let’s ask the 
sammyadd for another wish, and if it will I 
do really think we ought to be made the 
same size.” 

The others agreed, but not gaily; but 
when they found the psammead it wouldn’t. 

“ Not I,” it said, crossly, rubbing its face 
with its feet. “ He’s a rude, violent boy, 
and it’ll do him good to be the wrong size 


for a bit. What did he want to come digging 
me out with his nasty wet hands for? He’s 
a perfect savage. A boy of the Stone Age 
would have had more sense.” 

Robert’s hands had, indeed, been wet— 
with tears. 

“Go away and leave 
me to get dry in peace, 
do,” the psammead 
went on. “ I can’t 
think why you don’t 
wish for something 
sensible — something 
to eat or drink, or good 
manners, or good 
tempers. Go along 
with you, do.” 

It almost snarled as 
it shook its whiskers, 
and turned a sulky 
brown back on them. 
The most hopeful felt 
that further parley was 
vain. 

They turned again 
to the colossal Robert. 

“Whatever shall 
we do ? ” they said, 
and they all said it. 

“ First,” said Robert, grimly, “ I’m 
going to reason with that baker’s boy. 
I shall catch him at the end of the road.” 

“ Don’t hit a chap littler than yourself, 
old man,” said Cyril. 

“Do I look like hitting him?” asked 
Robert, scornfully. “ Why, I should kill 
him. But I’ll give him something to 
remember. Wait till I pull up my 
stocking.” He pulled up his stocking, 
which was as large as a small bolster- 
case, and strode off. His strides were 
5ft. or 6ft. long, so that it was quite 
easy for him to be at the bottom 

of the hill ready to meet the baker’s boy 
when he came down swinging the empty 
basket, to meet his master’s cart which had 
been leaving bread at the cottages along the 
road. 

Robert crouched behind a haystack in the 
farmyard that is at the corner, and when he 
heard the boy come whistling along he 
jumped out at him and caught him by the 
collar. 

“ Now,” he said, and his voice was about 
four times its usual size, just as his body was 
four times its. “ I’m going to teach you to 
kick boys smaller than you.” 

He lifted up the baker’s boy and set him 
on the top of the haystack, which was about 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




35 ° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



“HE LIFTED UK THE BAKER'S BOY AND SET HIM ON THE TOP 
OF THE HAYSTACK.’* 

16ft. from the ground, and then he sat 
down on the roof of the cowshed and told 
the baker’s boy exactly what he thought of 
him. I don’t think the boy heard it all—he 
was in a sort of trance of terror. When 
Robert had said everything he could think 
of, and some things twice over, he shook the 
boy and said :— 

“And now get down the best way you 
can,” and left him. 

I don’t know how the baker’s boy got 
down, but I do know that he missed the 
cart and got into the very hottest of hot 
water when he turned up at last at the bake¬ 
house. I am sorry for him, but, after all, it 
was quite right that he should be taught that 
English boys mustn’t use their feet when 
they fight, but their fists. Of course, the 
water he got into only became hotter when 
he tried to tell his master about the boy he 
had licked, who had turned into a giant as 
high as a church, because no one could 
possibly believe such a tale as that. Next 
day the tale was believed—but that was too 
late to be any good to the baker’s boy. 

When Robert rejoined the others he found 


them in the garden. Anthea 
had thoughtfully asked 
Martha to let them have 
dinner out there, because 
the dining-room was rather 
small, and it would have 
been so awkward to have 
a brother the size of Robert 
in there. The Lamb, who 
had slept peacefully during 
the whole stormy morning, 
was now found to be sneez¬ 
ing, and Martha said he had 
a cold and would be better 
indoors. 

“And really it’s just as 
well,” said Cyril, “ for I don’t 
believe he’d ever have 
stopped screaming if he’d 
once seen you the awful size 
you are! ” 

Robert was indeed what a 
draper would call an “out¬ 
size ” in boys. He found 
himself able to step right 
over the iron gate into the front garden. 

Martha brought out the dinner—it was 
cold veal and baked potatoes, with sago 
pudding and stewed plums to follow. 

She, of course, did not notice that Robert 
was anything but the usual size, and she gave 
him as much meat and potatoes as usual and 
no more. You have no idea how small your 
usual helping of dinner looks when you are 
four times your proper size. Robert groaned 
and asked for more bread. But Martha 
would not go on giving more bread for ever. 
She was in a hurry because the keeper 
intended to call on his way to Benenhurst 
Fair, and she wished to be dressed smartly 
before he came. 

“ I wish we were going to the fair,” said 
Robert. 

“ You can’t go anywhere that size,” said 
Cyril. 

“ Why not ? ” said Robert. “ They 
have giants at fairs, much bigger ones than 
me.” 

“ Not much, they don’t,” Cyril was 
beginning, when Jane screamed “ Oh ! ” with 
such loud suddenness that they all thumped 
her on the back and asked whether she had 
swallowed a plum-stone. 

“No,” she said, breathless from being 
thumped, “ it’s not a plum-stone. It’s an 
idea, l^et’s take Robert to the fair and get 
them to give us money for showing him ! 
Then we really shall get something out of the 
old sammyadd, at Last 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














BIGGER THAN THE BAKER 1 S BOY. 


3Si 


“lake me, indeed,” said Robert, indig¬ 
nantly. “ Much more likely me take you !” 

And so it turned out. The idea appealed 
irresistibly to everyone but Robert, and even 
he was brought round by Anthea’s suggestion 
that he should have a double share of any 
money they might make. There was a little 
old pony-trap in the coach-house—the kind 
that is called a governess-cart. It seemed 
desirable to get to the fair as quickly as 
possible, so Robert, 
who could now take 
enormous steps, and 
so go very fast in¬ 
deed, consented to 
wheel the others in 
this. It was as easy 
to him, now, as 
wheeling the Lamb 
in the mail - cart 
had been in the 
morning. The 
Lamb’s cold pre¬ 
vented his being of 
the party. 

It was a strange 
sensation, being 
wheeled in a pony- 
carriage by a giant. 

Everyone enjoyed 
the journey except 
Robert and the few 
people they passed 
on the way. These 
mostly went into 
what looked like 
some kind of stand¬ 
ing-up fits by the 
roadside. Just out¬ 
side Benenhurst 

Robert hid in a barn, and the others went 
on to the fair. 

There were some swings, and a hooting- 
tooting, blaring merry-go-round, and a shoot¬ 
ing-gallery, and cocoa-nut shies. Resisting 
an impulse to win a cocoa-nut—or, at least, 
to attempt the enterprise—Cyril went up to 
the woman who was loading little guns before 
the array of glass bottles on strings against a 
sheet of canvas. 

“ Here you are, little gentleman,” she said. 
“ Penny a shot.” 

“No, thank you,” said Cyril. “We are 
here on business, not pleasure. Who’s the 
master ? ” 

“ The what ? ” 

“ The master—the head—the boss of the 
show.” 

“ Over there,” she said, pointing to a stout 


man in a linen jacket who was sleeping in 
the sun; “ but 1 don’t advise you to wake 
him sudden. His temper’s contrairy, espe¬ 
cially these hot days. Better have a shot 
while you’re waiting.” 

“ It’s rather important,” said Cyril. “ It’ll 
be very profitable to him. I think he’ll be 
sorry if we take it away.” 

“Oh, if it’s money in his pocket,” said 
the woman. “No kid, now. What is it?” 

“ It’s a giant 11 
“ You are kidding.” 

“ Come along and see,” said Anthea. 
The woman looked doubtfully at 
them, then she called to a ragged 
little girl in striped stockings and 



IT WAS A STRANGE SENSATION, BEING WHEELED IN A I'ONY-CARRIAC.E BV A GIANT. 


a dingy white petticoat that came below 
her brown frock, and leaving her in charge 
of the “shooting-gallery” she turned to 
Anthea and said : “ Well, hurry up. But 
if you are kidding you’d best say so. I’m 
as mild as milk myself, but my Bill, he’s 

a fair terror, and-” 

Anthea led the way to the barn. “ It 
really is a giant,” she said. “ He’s a giant 
little boy, in Norfolks like my brother’s 
there. And we didn’t bring him right up to 
the fair because people do stare so, and they 
seem to go into kind of standing-up fits when 
they see him. And we thought perhaps 
you’d like to show him and get pennies, and 
if you like to pay us something you can, 
only it’ll have to be rather a lot because we 
promised him he should have a double share 

ofw UffiWR#tif MICHIGAN 



352 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


The woman murmured something indis¬ 
tinct of which the children could only hear 
the words, “ swelp me,” “ balmy,” and 
“ crumpet,” which conveyed no definite idea 
to their minds. 

She had taken Anthea’s hand, and Anthea 
could not help wondering what would happen 
if Robert should have wandered off or turned 
his proper size during the interval. But she 
knew that the psammead’s gifts really did 
seem to last till sunset, however inconvenient 
their lasting might be, and she did not think, 
somehow, that Robert would care to go out 
alone while he was that size. 

When they reached the barn and Cyril 
called “ Robert!” there was a stir among the 
loose hay, and Robert began to come out. 
His hand and arm came first; then a foot 
and leg- When the woman saw the hand 
she said, “ My ! ” but when she saw the foot 
she said, u Upon my civvy ! ” And when, 
by slow and heavy degrees, the whole of 
Robert’s Enormous bulk was at last com¬ 
pletely disclosed, she drew a long breath and 
began to say many things, compared with 
which “ balmy ” and “ crumpet ” seemed 
quite ordinary. She dropped into under¬ 
standable English at last. 

“ What’ll you take for him ? ” she said, 
excitedly. “ Anything in reason. We’d 
have a special van built—leastways, I know 
where there’s a second-hand one would do 
up handsome—what a baby elephant had 
as died. What’ll you take ? He’s soft, ain’t 
he ? Them giants mostly is; but I never 
see—no, never. What’ll you take? Down 
on the nail. We’ll treat him like a king and 
give him first-rate grub and a doss fit for a 
bloomin’ dook. He must be soft or he 
wouldn’t need you kids to cart him about. 
What’ll you take for him ? ” 

“ They won’t take anything,” said Robert, 
sternly. u I’m no more soft than you are— 
not so much, I shouldn’t wonder. I’ll 
come and be a show for to-day if you’ll give 

me-”—he hesitated at the enormous price 

he was about to ask—“ if you’ll give me 
fifteen shillings.” 

“ Done,” said the woman, so quickly that 
Robert felt he had been unfair to himself, 
and wished he had asked for thirty. “Come 
on, now, and see my Bill, and we’ll fix a 
price for the season. I dessay you might get 
as much as two quid a week reg’lar. Come 
on—and make yourself as small as you can, 
for gracious sake.” 

This was not very small, and a crowd 
gathered quickly, so that it was at the head 
Qf an enthusiastic procession that Robert 

Diqilize<J by GO QIC 

o 


entered the trampled meadow where the fair 
was held, and passed over the stubbly yellow, 
dusty grass to the door of the biggest tent. 
He crept in, and the woman went to call her 
Bill. He was the big sleeping man, and he 
did not seem at all pleased at being 
awakened. Cyril watching through a slit in 
the tent saw him scowl and shake a heavy 
fist and a sleepy head. Then the woman 
went on speaking very fast. Cyril heard 
“ Strewth ” and “ Biggest draw you ever, so 
help me ! ” And he began to share Robert’s 
feelings that fifteen shillings was indeed 
not nearly enough. Bill slouched up to the 
tent and entered. When he beheld the 
magnificent proportions of Robert he said 
but little. “Strike me pink !” were the only 
words the children could afterwards remem¬ 
ber, but he produced fifteen shillings, mainly in 
sixpences and coppers, and handed it to 
Robert. 

“ We’ll fix up about what you’re to draw 
when the show’s over to-night,” he said, with 
hoarse heartiness. “ Lor’ love a duck, you’ll 
be that happy with us you’ll never want to 
leave us. Can you do a song now, or a bit 
of a breakdown ? ” 

“ Not to-day,” said Robert, rejecting the 
idea of trying to sing “ As Once in May,” a 
favourite of his mother’s, and the only song 
he could think of at the moment 

“Get Levi, and clear them bloomin’ 
photos, out,” said Bill. ‘‘Clear the tent— 
stick up a curtain or suthink,” the man went 
on. “ Lor’, what a pity we ain’t got no tights 
his size! But we’ll have ’em before the 
week’s out. Young man, your fortune’s 
made. It’s a good thing you came to me 
and not to some chaps as I could tell you 
on. I’ve known blokes as beat their giants 
and starved ’em too, so I’ll tell you straight 
you’re in luck this day if you never was afore. 
’Cos I’m a lamb, I am—and I don’t deceive 
you.” 

“ I’m not afraid of anyone’s beating me” 
said Robert, looking down on the “ lamb.” 
Robert was crouched on his knees, because 
the tent was not big enough for him to stand 
upright in, but even in that position he could 
still look down on most people. “ But I’m 
awfully hungry; I wish you’d get me some¬ 
thing to eat.” 

“ Here, ’Becca,” said the hoarse Bill, “get 
him some grub—the best you’ve got, mind.” 
Another whisper followed, of which the 
children only heard “ down in black and 
white”—“sealed and stamped first thing 
to-morrow.” 

Then the woman v ent to get the food—it 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



BIGGER THAN THE BAKER'S BOY. 


353 


was only bread and cheese when it came, 
but it was delightful to the large and empty 
Robert—and the man went to post sentinels 
round the tent, to give the alarm if Robert 
should attempt to escape with his fifteen 
shillings. 

“As if we weren’t 
honest,” said Anthea, in¬ 
dignantly, when the mean¬ 
ing of the sentinels dawned 
on her. 


making a speech. It was rather a good 
speech. It began by saying that the giant it 
was his privilege to introduce to the public 
that day was the eldest son of the Emperor 
of San Francisco, compelled through an 
unfortunate love affair with the Duchess of 



WHEN THE GIRL CAME OUT 
SHE WAS PALE AND 
TREMBLING. ’ 


Then began a very strange and wonderful 
afternoon. 

Bill was a man who knew his business. 
In a very little while the photographic views, 
the spy-glasses you look at them through, so 
that they really seem rather real, and the 
lights you see them by, were all packed 
away. A curtain —it was an old red and 
black carpet, really—was run across the tent. 
Robert was concealed behind it and Bill was 
standing on a trestle-table outside the tent 

Vol. xxiv.-4$ 


the Fiji Islands to leave his 
own country and take refuge in 
England—the land of liberty, 
where freedom was the right 
of every man, no matter how 
big he was. It ended by the 
announcement that the first 
twenty who came to the tent-door should see 
the giant for threepence apiece. “ After 
that,” said Bill, “ the price is riz, and I 
don’t undertake to say what it won’t be riz 
to. So now’s yer time.” 

A young man squiring his sweetheart on 
her afternoon out was the first to come 
forward. For that occasion his was the 
princely attitude—no expense spared— money 
no object. His girl wished to see the giant? 
Well, she should see the giant, even though 
seeing the giant tbit threepence each, and 
the ortttf ej^t^inif e;n|s afl penny ones. 












354 


THE STEAND MAGAZINE . 


The flap of the tent was raised—the couple 
entered. Next moment a wild shriek from 
the girl thrilled through the crowd outside. 
Bill slapped his leg. “That’s done the 
trick,” he whispered to ’Becca. It was, 
indeed, a splendid advertisement of the 
charms of Robert. When the girl came out 
she was pale and trembling, and a larger 
crowd than before was round the tent. 


“ What was it like?” asked a bailiff. 

“Oh, horrid—you wouldn’t believe,” she 
said. “ It’s as big as a barn, and that fierce. 
It froze the blood in my bones. I wouldn’t 
ha’ missed seeing it for anything.” 

The fierceness was only caused by Robert’s 
trying not to laugh. But the desire to do 
that soon left him, and before sunset he was 
more inclined to cry than to laugh, and 
more inclined to sleep than either. For by 
ones, and twos, and threes people kept 
coming in all the afternoon, and Robert had 
to shake hands with those who wished it and 
to allow himself to be punched, and pulled, 


and patted, and thumped, so that people 
might make sure he was really real. 

The other children sat on a bench and 
watched and waited, and were very bored 
indeed. It seemed to them that this was 
the hardest way of earning money that could 
have been invented. And only fifteen 
shillings. Bill had taken four times that 
already, for the news of the giant had 
spread, and tradespeople 
in carts and gentle-people 
in carriages came from 
far and near. One 
gentleman with an eye¬ 
glass, and a very large 
yellow rose in his button¬ 
hole, offered Robert, in 
an obliging whisper, £\o 
a week to appear at the 
Royal Aquarium. Robert 
had to say “ No.” 

“I can’t,” he said, 
regretfully. “ It’s no use 
promising what you can’t 
do.” 

“Ah, poor fellow, 
bound for a term of 
years, I suppose. Well, 
here’s my card. When 
your time’s up come to 
me.” 

“ I will — if I’m the 
same size then,” said 
Robert, truthfully. 

“ If you grow a bit, so 
much the better,” said the 
gentleman. 

When he had gone, 
Robert beckoned Cyril 
and said : — 

“ Tell them I must and 
will have an easy. And 
I want my tea.” 

Tea was provided, and 
a paper hastily pinned 
on the tent. It said :— 

“ CLOSED FOR HALF AN HOUR WHILE 
THE GIANT GETS HIS TEA.” 

Then there was a hurried council. 

“How am I to get away?” said Robert. 
“ I’ve been thinking about it all the after¬ 
noon.” 

“Why, walk out when the sun sets and 
you’re your right size. They can’t do any¬ 
thing to us.” 

Robert opened his eyes. “ Why, they’d 
nearly kill us,” he said, “when they saw me 
get my right size. No, w$ must think Qf 

* 7 UlflVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



“when your time’s up come to me.” 














BIGGER THAN THE BAKER'S BOY. 


355 


some other way. We must be alone when 
the sun sets.” 

“ I know,” said Cyril, briskly, and he went 
to the door outside which Bill was smoking 
a clay pipe and talking in a low voice to 
’Becca. Cyril heard him say, “Good as 
havin’ a fortune left you.” 

“ Look here,” said Cyril; “ you can let 
people come in again in a minute. He’s 
nearly finished his tea. But he must be left 
alone when the sun sets. He’s very queer at 
that time of day, and if he’s worried I won’t 
answer for the consequences.” 

“ Why, what comes over him ? ” asked Bill. 

“I don’t know; it’s—it’s a sort of a 
change ,” said Cyril, candidly. “ He isn’t at 
all like himself—you’d hardly know him. 
He’s very queer indeed. Someone’ll get 
hurt if he’s not alone about sunset.” This 
w T as true. 

“He’ll pull round for the evening, I 
s’pose ? ” 

“Oh, yes—half an hour after sunset he’ll 
be quite himself again.” 

“ Best humour him,” said the woman. 

And so, at what Cyril judged was about 
half an hour before sunset, the tent was again 
closed “ whilst the giant gets his supper.” 

The crowd was very merry about the 
giant’s meals and their coming so close 
together. 

“ Well, he can peck a bit,” Bill owned. 
“You see, he has to eat hearty, being the 
size he is.” 

Inside the tent the four children breath¬ 
lessly arranged a plan of retreat. 

“ You go now” said Cyril to the girls, 
“and get along home as fast as you can. 
Oh, never mind the beastly pony-cart, we’ll 
get that to-morrow! Robert and I are 
dressed the same. We’ll manage somehow 
like Sydney Carton did. Only you girls must 
get out, or it’s all no go. We can run, but 
you can’t—whatever you may think. No, 
Jane, it’s no good Robert going out and 
knocking people down. The police would 
follow him till he turned his proper size and 
then arrest him like a shot. Go—you must. 
If you don’t I’ll never speak to you again. It 
was you got us into this mess, really, hang¬ 
ing round people’s legs the way you did this 
morning. Go— I tell you.” 


And Jane and Anthea went 

“We’re going home,” they said to Bill. 
“ We’re leaving the giant with you. Be kind 
to him.” And that, as Anthea said after¬ 
wards, was very deceitful, but what were they 
to do ? 

When they had gone Cyril went to Bill. 

“ Look here,” he said, “ he wants some 
ears of corn ; there’s some in the next field 
but one. I’ll just run and get it. Oh, and 
he says can’t you loop up the tent at the 
back a bit. He says he’s stifling for a 
breath of air. I’ll see no one peeps in at 
him. I’ll cover him up and he can take a 
nap while I go for the corn. He will have 
it; there’s no holding him when he gets like 
this.” 

The giant was made comfortable with a 
heap of sacks and an old tarpaulin. The 
curtain was looped up and the brothers were 
left alone. They matured their plan in 
whispers. Outside the merry-go-round blared 
out its comic tunes, screaming now and then 
to attract notice. Half a minute after the 
sun had set a boy in a Norfolk suit came out 
past Bill. 

“I’m off* for the corn,” he said, and 
mingled quickly with the crowd. 

At the same instant a boy came out of the 
back of the tent past ’Becca, posted there as 
sentinel. 

“ I’m off* after the corn,” said this boy 
also. And he, too, moved away quietly and 
was lost in the crowd. The front-door boy 
was Cyril, the back-door boy was Robert— 
now, since sunset, once more his proper size. 
They walked quickly through the field and 
along the road, where Robert caught Cyril 
up. Then they ran. They were home as 
soon as the girls were, for it was a long way, 
and they ran most of it. It was, indeed, a 
very long vray, as they found when they had 
to go and drag the pony-trap home next 
morning, with no enormous Robert to wheel 
them in it as if it were a mail-cart, and they 
were babies and he was their gigantic nurse¬ 
maid. 

I cannot possibly tell you what Bill and 
’Becca said when they found that the giant 
had gone. For one thing, I do not 
know. 


n- ■ a Pnnnlp Original from 

Digged by t UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


Curiosities* 

[ IVe shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay fat smh as are accepted, ] 



THE “ YOUNGEST-LOOK1NG” MAN FGR HIS AGE. 

Most people asked to give the age of the gentle’ 
man whose photograph we reproduce would say that 
he probably would be not more than forty, yet the 
sitter, Mr. R* Troughtoii, 16* Rydal Terrace, Kendal, 
is over sixty years of age \ to he exact, just sixty-one 
and a half* lie is able to claim the unique distinc¬ 
tion of being the youngest-looking man for his age in 
Great Britain. Some time ago the Editor of Tit-Bits 
offered a prize of live guineas to the reader of that 
paper who should prove to be the youngest-looking 
man over sixty years of age. Photographs w ere sent 
from all parts of the country, and the number of 
** youthful” men, of ages varying from sixty to 
ninety, in the United Kingdom* came its quite a 
revelation. The winner of the prize had several 
dose rivals* and is certainly to be congratulated ; if 


he only feels as young as he looks, Mr. Troughton 
should Jive to acquire the distinction of becoming a 
centenarian.—Mr. J. Henry Hogg, Kendal. 


THE OLD MAN IN THE MIRROR. 

“ Among the odd photographs that you have 
published in your Curiosity section there are few that 
are so puzzling as the one I send you. After photo¬ 
graphing a dressing-table 1 found that I unconsciously 
took my own portrait. Bending low, however, in 
doing so, the top only of my head is visible, and 
assumes a grotesque shape, somewhat resembling an 







lA 






ttiGUfifc* 
1 UH T 
PM 


irate old gentleman.”—Miss 
Cecity Deane Koe, 5, 
Boulevard de Grancy, 
Lausanne, Switzerland* 


SMARTNESS IN THE 
AMERICAN POSTAL 
SERVICE, 

“This envelope was 
mailed to me late one 
Sunday night and reached 
me promptly next morning 
before 8 mm., and i think 
it shows the efficiency of our 
postal service. The profile 
of the face makes the letters 
1 A. Craven, 5 and was deci¬ 
phered in the post-office 
here and delivered without 
delay/*— Mr. Alfred Craven, 
ftplM l ianof)ga, Te n n, 

George OF MICHIGAN 


















CURIOSITIES. 


357 



top he carried his provisions. 
He travelled nine miles with his 
roiling waggon, when his barrels 
fell apart, and he was compelled 
to make the remainder of the 
trip in a cart/ 1 — Mr G. S* 
Dennett, n6, King Street West, 
Toronto, __ 

AUTISTIC TOMMY, 

“Here is a photo, of the 
regimental aests of different 
regiments which have Ijeen 
stationed at a small place cal let l 
Che rat, on the Indian frontier. 
The crests are all cut out of 
the face of a cliff by 1 Tommy,* 
and are a lasting memento of 
the regiments* stay in Cherat. 
The crests, reading from left to 
right, are : Royal Scots Fusiliers, 
Rifle Brigade, 51st Regiment, 
Wiltshire Regiment, Royal 


THE FORTUNE' 
SEEKERS FAILURE. 

“During the spring 
of 1898 hundreds of 
prospectors were hurry¬ 
ing toward the gold¬ 
fields of the Yukon by 
the Edmonton route, 
A large number fitted 
out at this city, and 
among the crowd of 
fortune-seekers was a 
returned miner named 
Smith, who built this 
conveyance* Knowing 
this route to lie a wet 
and sandy trail, he 
thought that he could 
roll on ahead of the 
waggons, as his load 
would not sink in the 
swamps. Inside the 
barrels were clothing 
and dry goods, and on 




Welsh Fusiliers, the Devons, and 
Royal Irish Fusiliers, all of whom 
have upheld their names in the 
late war in South Africa.”—Mr. A. 
Tait, Ilousehillmuir, Eeitshill, by 
Glasgow. 


TRIPLET NESTS 


“The extraordinary robin’s nest 
—or rather nests, for there are three 
of them—of which I send you a 
photograph taken by myself, was 
built in an old baking-tin in a hop 
oast at Bethcrsden, near here, being 
found with the eggs distributed as 
shown in the print. It is not at 
all likely that it is the work of mure 
than one pair of birds, owing to the 
e.Mre.ne.y pugnacious habits nf the 
f rfitfinVjfIfH-hfl. A Kpiarles Stokes, 22 , 
1 Ken i AVIA liej Ashford, Kent, 







35 » 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


would like to have some sliding, 
luit unfortunately had forgotten io 
bring a tolwggan along with us, 
and after attempting with boards, 
l jarrel-staves, and several other 
contrivances, someone suggested 
a canoe. In this, vising paddles 
to guide ourselves with, we had 
some very exciting slides. The 
sensation, I can assure you, was 
quite novel,” — Mr* W. Earle 
Walker, 35, Common Street, 
Montreal, 


A STRANGE DWELLING PLACE* 

li I send you the picture of what 
was, for about three months, the 
home of William Birkheimer, with 
whom fortune had for years dealt 


A CLEVER BALANCING FEAT. 

“ The tricks shown in ihe photo* were 
clone on an ordinary full-size billiard- 
table. The balls are those in use daily by 
the members of our club. They are very 
clever balancing feats, and done without 
any outside aid at all- Our steward will 
guarantee to do them any time within 
the half-hour.”—Mr. J. \V. Whitehead, 
lion. Secretary St- Anne’s District Club, 
St, AnneVon-the-Sea. 


CANOEING IN WINTER. 

** In the winter of 189B, which was 
noted for its quantities of snow, a small 
parly of us, four in number and all boys, 
planned a trip to a summer resort which 
is some sixty miles north of Montreal, 
and in the Laurentide Mountains. We 
thought, among other things, that we 


unfavourably. As can be 
seen, the ‘home 1 is nothing 
more or less than an old iron 
cylinder, 3ft, in diameter 
and Sft. long. Its ends are 
covered with pieces of cloth, 
etc,, to protect its occupant 
from the inclemency 0/ the 
weather. Inside it is padded 
with leaves, etc., to make it 
comfortable as a sleeping-room. 
The unfortunate man was struck 
by a train the day following 
that on which the picture was 
taken, and died as a result of 
his injuries. The enclosed is 
probably the only picture taken 
of the ‘home 1 and its occupant. 
The cylinder, robbed of its 
embellishments, may still Ik: 
seen in the Gulley, Mill Street, 
Belleville, N,J. The whole 
thing excited not a little in¬ 
terest in these parts until 
Ihe accident of which I have 

irifcjte or /":T <i -' 

l. Turner, 20, 

SfetteGN/JCJllG 


’—Mr. Joshua 
Ralph Street, 
















CURIOSITIES. 


359 


I 




“HE GIVES NO TICK." 

** X was cycling ihrough a hamlet culled Cross)jush, 
near Arundel* Sussex* and saw on the door of one of 
a row of cottages the notice, <1 photo* of which i 
Send you. Jt is certainly unique, and the owner of 


HOW UID THIS HAPPEN i 
“X send you a most extraordinary photograph, 
taken hy myself* of a brother officer holding his horse ; 
w hen I printed the photo, the result shown came out. 
Perhaps some of your readers can tell how this 
happened.”—Gapt. \V. G. Eden, British Remounts 
Commission, New Orleans. 


articles have lieen used for autographs, I have 
never known of a hat being used for that purpose 
lie fore. It has on it the names of all the students 
who have passed through this institution. It 
measures loin, in height by i6in. in diameter.” 
—Mr. Rex Tucker, South African School of Mines, 
Kimberley, S.A. _ 


HOWS THAT? 

11 My brother took a snap-shot of me at the wicket. 
I send you a print of it t and I think you will agree 
with ine that it is a good example of 1 snap-shot ting. * 
The hails and hall are in the air, and the stump can 

lie clearly seen in the act of tumbling over. The 
photo, was taken with a * Frena t camera at I Soth of 
a second.”—Mr. Walter H. Jansen, 10, Broughton 
Road, Stoke Newington, N. 


the cottage was much amused at my taking it.”— 
Miss K. Fox, Kericliffe, St. Catherine’s Road, 
LittLehampton. 

AN AUTOGRAPH HAT. 
fl The photo. I send you is of an autograph 
hat in my possession. Although many curious 


Notice. 

Mb H SfflMcRLivtaHuc. 


ftEfNBSBwr* .SHUE* IS NurOtAR 

.Htai£MicRaCaMBaKiBaqur.K. 

HuPnanrs auuBuTHeCMiiio 

■—= TtCK.^-— 


'£''Xh 


































3<5o 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



SNAKES OK STEEL 

“The two snaky*looking objects are merely sled 
cuttings brought off by automatic tools used in the 
manufacture of the * Napier 1 motor carriages* It 
shows the remarkable tenacity of the modem steel 
used for this purpose. The long steel cutting is no 
less than 21ft* in length*Mr. S- F. Edge, 14, 
Regent Street, W, 


NOT SUFFER- 
I NO FROM 
“ SWELLED 
HEAD/ 

“ The young 
m a n w hose 
photograph I 
send you does 
not suffer from 
a ‘swelled 
head/ He is 
not a martyr to 
toothache, and 
is not afflicted 
with any super. 
Unity of fat. 
He was only 
look! n g 
through a mag- 
nifying glass 
when I snap¬ 
ped him, and 
wc are friends 
no longer."-- 
Mr* A . M . 
Stephen, 132, 
Sabine Road, 
Lavender Hill. 


I failed to hit the ball, and brought my twit down 
sharply on the off stump* The portion of the bail 
resting on the slump was driven into it, splitting it as 
shown in the photograph, the portion of the bail 
remaining firmly wedged in the split.”—Mr. El. R. 
Dorlridge, 42, A unburst Park, Stamford Hill, N, 


NOT A FREAK. 

“ I took this photo* from the top of a ladder, 
looking down, which makes the large bead and 
shoulders and the small feet. It is out of focus oti 
account of my being so close.”—Mr. Carlton P. 
Schaub, 632, Lincoln Avenue, St* Paul, Minn, 


A CRICKET CURIOSITY. 

“The cricket-stump shown in my photo¬ 
graph was split in rather a curious manner. 
In trying to make a late cut over the wicket 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




—=1 



"THE FIST LANDED TO A HAIR ON THE CHIN POINT," 
(See page J66.) 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









The Strand Magazine. 


VoL xxiv. 


OCTOBER. 1902* 


No. 142. 


The Comprehension of Private Copper * 

By Rudyard Kipling. 


RIVATE COPPER’S father 
was a Southdown shepherd, 
and in early youth Copper 
had studied under him. Five 
years 5 Army service had some¬ 
what blunted Copper's pas¬ 
toral instincts ; but it occurred to him as a 
memory of the Chalk that sheep, or in this 
case buck, do not move towards one across 
turf, or in this case the Colesberg kopjes, 
unless a stranger, or in this case an enemy, 
is in the neighbourhood. Copper, helmet 
back-first, advanced with caution, leaving his 
mates of the picket half a mile behind. The 
picket, concerned for its evening meal, did 
not protest, A year ago it would have been 
an officer's command, moving in accord¬ 
ance with wise 
regulations. To¬ 
day it paid casual 
allegiance to a 
Canadian, nomi¬ 
nally a sergeant, 
actually a trooper 
of Irregular 
Horse, discovered 
convalescent in 
Naauwpoort Hos¬ 
pital and forth¬ 
with employed on 
odd jobs. Private 
Copper crawled 
up the side of a 
bluish rock-strewn 
hill, thinly fringed 
with brush atop, 
and, remembering 
how he had peered 
at Sussex conies 
through the edge 
of furze - clumps, 

VoL 


cautiously parted the dry stems before his 
face. At the foot of the long slope sat 
three farmers, smoking. To his natural lust 
for tobacco was added personal wrath 
because spiky plants were pricking his 
belly, and Private Copper slid the backsight 
up to fifteen hundred yards. 

** Good evening, khaki. Flease don't 
move,” said a voice on his left, and as he 
jerked his head round he saw entirely down 
the barrel oF a well kept Lee-MetFurd that 
protruded from a ridiculously insignificant 
tuft of thorn. Very few- graven images have 
moved less than did Private Copper through 
the next ten seconds. 

“ It's nearer seventeen hundred than 
fifteen,said a young man in an obviously 



"lit; SAW ENTIRELY DOWN THE ftAlfkKL Of A WKLl.-KBI'T LfeE-METt-'ORD." 

- Copyright* 1907, by Rudyard Kipling in the United Slates ol America 




Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










3 6 4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 


ready-made suit of grey tweed, possessing 
himself of Private Copper’s rifle. “ Thank 
you. We’ve got a post of thirty-seven men 
out yonder. You’ve eleven—eh ? We don’t 
want to kill ’em. We’ve no quarrel with poor, 
uneducated khakis, and we don’t want 
prisoners we don't keep. It’s demoralizing 
to both sides—eh?” 

Private Copper did not feel called upon to 
lay down the conduct of guerilla warfare. 
This dark-skinned, dark-haired, and dark¬ 
eyed stranger was his first intimate enemy. 
He spoke, allowing for a sing-song cadence 
that recalled to Copper vague memories of 
Umballa, in precisely the same offensive 
accent that the young squire of Wilmington 
had used fifteen years ago when he caught and 
kicked Alf Copper, a rabbit in each pocket, 
out of the ditches by Cuckmere. He looked 
Copper up and down, folded and repocketed 
a copy of an English weekly which he had 
been reading, and said, “ You seem an in¬ 
articulate sort of pig—like the rest of ’em 
—eh ? ” 

“ You,” said Copper, thinking, somehow, 
of the crushing answers he had never given 
to the young squire, “are a renegid. Why, 
you ain’t Dutch ! You’re English, same as 
me! ” 

“ No , khaki. If you can’t talk civilly to a 
gentleman, I’ll blow your head off.” 

Copper cringed, and the action over¬ 
balanced him so that he rolled some six or 
eight feet downhill, under the lee of a rough 
rock. His brain was working with a swift¬ 
ness and clarity strange in all his experience 
of Alf Copper. While he rolled he spoke, 
and the voice from his own jaws amazed 
him: “ If you did, ’twouldn’t make you 
any less of a renegid.” As a useful after¬ 
thought he added : “ I’ve sprained my 
ankle.” 

The young man was at his side in a flash. 
Copper made no motion to rise, but, cross- 
legged under the rock, grunted: “ ’Ow 

much did old Krujer pay you for this ? 
What was you wanted for at ’ome ? Where 
did you desert from ? ” 

“Khaki,” said the young man, sitting 
down in his turn, “ you’re a shade better than 
your mates. You didn’t make much more 
noise than a yoke of oxen when you tried to 
come up this hill; but you’re an ignorant, 
diseased beast, like the rest of your people— 
eh ? When you were at the Ragged Schools 
did they teach you any history, Tommy— 
’istory, I mean ? ” 

“ Don't need no schoolin’ to know a 
renegid,” said Copper. He had made three 

Digitized by Google 

* o 


yards down the hill—out of sight, unless they 
could see through rocks, of the enemy’s 
smoking party. 

The young man laughed and tossed the 
soldier a black sweating stick of “True 
Affection.” [Private Copper had not smoked 
a pipe for three weeks.] 

“ You don’t get this—eh ? ” said the young 
man. “ We do. We take it from the trains 
as we want it. You can.keep the cake—you 
poor Tommy.” Copper rammed the good 
stuff into his long-cold pipe and puffed 
luxuriously. Two years ago the sister of 
Gunner-guard De Souza, East India Railway, 
had, at a dance given by the sergeants to the 
Allahabad Railway Volunteers, informed 
Copper that she could not think of waltzing 
with “a poo-ah Tommee.” Private Copper 
wondered why that memory should have 
returned at this hour. 

“ I’m going to yaste a little trouble on you 
before I kick you and send you back to your 
picket quite naked—eh ? Then you can 
say how you were overpowered by twenty of 
us and fired off your last round—like the 
men we picked up at the drift playing 
cards at Stryden’s harm—eh? What’s your 
name ? ” 

Private Copper thought for a moment of a 
far-away housemaid who might still, if the 
local postman had not gone too far, be 
interested in his fate. On the other hand, 
he was, by temperament, economical of the 
truth. “ Pennycuik,” he said ; “John Penny- 
cuik.” 

“Thank you. Well, Mr. John Pennycuik, 
I’m going to teach you a little ’istory, as 
you’d call it—eh ? ” 

“ Drat it! ” said Copper, stuffing his left 
hand in his mouth. 44 So long since I’ve 
smoked I’ve burned my ’and—an’ the pipe’s 
dropped too. No objection to my movin’ 
down to fetch it, is there, sir ? ” 

“ I’ve got you covered,” said the young 
man, graciously, and Private Copper, hopping 
on one leg, because of his sprain, recovered 
the pipe yet another three yards downhill 
and squatted under another rock slightly 
larger than the first. A roundish boulder 
made a pleasant rest for his captor, who sat 
cross-legged once more, facing Copper, his 
rifle across his knee, his hand on the trigger- 
guard. 

“ Well, Mr. Pennycuik, as 1 was going to 
tell you. A little after you were born in 
your-English workhouse, your kind, honour¬ 
able, brave country, England, sent an English 
gentleman, who could not tell a lie, to say. 
that so long as the sun rose and the rivers 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE COMPREHENSION OF PRIVATE COPPER. 


3 6 5 


ran in their courses the Transvaal would 
belong to England. Did you ever hear that, 
khaki—eh ? ” 

“Oh, no, sir/ 1 said Copper. The sentence 
about the sun and the rivers happened to be 
a very aged jest of McBride, the professional 
humorist of I) Company, when they dis 
cussed the probable length of the war. 
Copper had thrown beef-tins at McBride in 
the grey dawn of many weary camps for 
intoning it, 

** Of course you would not. Now, man, I 
te l you, listen.' 1 He spat aside and cleared 
his throat, “Because of that little promise 
my father he moved into the Transvaal and 


** But my father (he knows better now) 
kept on believing in the English. I suppose 
it was the pretty talk about the rivers and suns 
that cheated him—eh ? Anyhow, he believed 
m his own country. In his own country. So 
he was a little startled when he found him¬ 
self handed over to the Transvaal as a 
prisoner of war. That's what it came to, 
Tommy—a prisoner of war. You know 
what that is. England was too honourable 
and too gentlemanly to take trouble. There 
were no terms made for my father/* 

11 So ’e made ’em ’iniseif. Useful old 
bird.” Private Copper sliced up another 
pipeful and looked out across the wrinkled 



“THERE were NO TERMS MADE FOR MV FATHER/ - 


bought a farm—a little place of twenty or 
thirty thousand acres, don't—you—know.” 

The tone, in spite of the sing-song cadence 
fighting with the laboured parody of the Eng¬ 
lish drawl, was unbearably like the young Wil¬ 
mington squire’s, and Copper found himself 
saying : “ I ought to. Eve ’elped burn some.” 

“Yes; you’ll pay for that later. And he 
opened a store.” 

“ Hoi Shopkeeper, was he?" 

“The kind you call * sir ’ and sweep the 
floor for, Pennycuik. .. . You see 1 , in those days 
one used to believe in the British Govern¬ 
ment. My father did. Then the Transvaal 
wiped thee earth with the English. Beat ’em 
six times running. You know ihatt —eh ? ” 

“That’s what we’ve come ’ere for.” 



sea of kopjes through which came the ro.sr 
of the rushing Orange River, so unlike quiet 
Cuckmere. 

The young man’s face darkened. u I 
think I shall sjambok you myself when I’ve 
quite done with you. No, my father (he 
was a fool) made no terms for eight years — 
ninety-six months, and for every day of them 
the Transvaal made his life hell for my 
father and—his people,” 

“ I'm glad to hear that,” said the impeni¬ 
tent Copper. 

“Are you ? You can think of it when I’m 
cutting the skin off your back—eh? . . My 
father lost everything—everything — down 
to his self-respect. You don’t know what 
that means—eh ? ” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









366 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


“Why ?” said Copper. “Pm smokin' baccy 
stole by a renegid. Why wouldn't I know?” 

If it came to a flogging on that hillside 
there might be a chance of reprisals. Of 
course, he might be marched to the Boer 
camp in the next valley and there operated 
upon ; but Army life teaches no man to cross 
a bridge till he comes to it. 

“ Yes, after eight years my father, cheated 
by your dog of a country, he found out who 
was the upper dog in South Africa.” 

“ That's me,” said Copper, valiantly. “ If 
it takes another 'alf century, it’s me an' the 
likes of me.” 

“ You ? Heaven help you ! You'll be 
screaming at a waggon-wheel in an hour. . . . 
Then it struck my father that he'd like to 
shoot the people who'd betrayed him. You 
—you— you / He told his son all about it. 
He told him never to trust the English. He 
told him to do them all the harm he could. 
Man, I tell you, I don’t want much telling. 
I was born in the Transvaal—I'm a burgher. 
If my father didn’t love the English, by the 
Lord, mann, I tell you I hate them from the 
bottom of my soul! ” 

The voice quavered and ran high. Once 
more, for no conceivable reason, Private 
Copper found his inward eye turned upon 
Umballa cantonments of a dry, dusty after¬ 
noon when the saddle-coloured son of a local 
hotel-keeper came to the barracks to com¬ 
plain of a theft of fowls. He saw the dark 
face, the plover’s-egg-tinted eyeballs, and the 
thin, excited hands. Above all, he remem¬ 
bered the passionate, queerly-strung words. 
Slowly he returned to South Africa, using the 
very sentence his sergeant had used to the 
poultry-man. 

“ Go on with your complaint. I'm 
listenin'.” 

“ Complaint! Complain about you, you 
ox! We strip and kick your sort by thou¬ 
sands.” 

The young man rocked to and fro above 
the rifle, whose muzzle thus deflected itself 
from the pit of Private Copper's stomach. 
His face was working with passion. 

“Yess. I'm a Transvaal burgher. Ha! 
It took us about twenty years to find out how 
rotten you were— we knew and you know it 
now. Your Army it is the laughing-stock of 
the Continent.” He tapped the newspaper in 
his pocket. “ You think you’re going to win, 
you poor fools. Your people—your own 
people—your silly, rotten fools of people will 
crawl out of it as they did after Majuba. 
They are beginning now. Look what your 
own working classes, the diseased, lying, drink- 

Digitized by GoOQle 

f o 


ing white stuff that you come out of, are say¬ 
ing.” He thrust the English weekly doubled 
at the leading article on Copper's knee. 
“ See what dirty dogs your masters are. 
They do not even back you in your dirty 
work. We cleared the country down to 
Ladysmith—to Estcourt. We cleared the 
country down to Colesberg.” 

“Yes. We 'ad to clean up be’ind you. 
Mucky, I call it.” 

“You've had to stop farm-burning because 
your people daren’t do it. They were afraid. 
You daren’t kill a spy ! You daren't shoot 
a spy when you catch him in your own 
uniform! You daren't touch our loyal 
people in Cape Town ! Your masters won't 
let you. You will feed our women and 
children till we are quite ready to take them 
back. You can't put your cowardly noses out 
of the towns you say you’ve occupied. You 
daren't move a convoy twenty miles. You 
think you’ve done something ? You've done 
nothing, and you've taken a quarter of a 
million men to do it! There isn’t a nigger 
in South Africa that doesn’t obey us if we 
lift our finger. You pay the stuff four pound 
a month and they lie to you. We flog ’em, 
as I shall flog you.” 

He clasped his hands together and leaned 
forward his out-thrust chin within two feet of 
Copper's left or pipe hand. 

“Yuss,” said Copper, “it’s a fair knock¬ 
out.” The fist landed to a hair on the chin- 
point, the neck snicked like a gun-lock, and 
the back of the head crashed on the boulder 
behind. * 

, Copper grabbed up both rifles, unshipped 
the crossed bandoleers, drew forth the English 
weekly, and picking up a lax Ifand looked 
long and intently at the finger-nails. 

“ No! Not a sign of it there,” he said. 
“ 'Is nails are as clean as mine, but he talks 
just like 'em, though. And he's a landlord, 
too! A landed proprietor! Shockin’, I 
call it.” 

The arms began to flap with returning 
consciousness. Private Copper rose up and 
whispered : “ If you open your head I’ll 
bash it.” There was no suggestion of sprain 
in the flung-back left boot. “ Now walk in 
front of me, both arms perpendicularly 
elevated. I'm only a third-class shot, so if 
you don't object I’ll rest the muzzle of my 
rifle lightly but firmly on your collar-button, 
thus coverin' what I 'ave 'eard called the 
serviceable vertebree. If your friends see 
us thus engaged, you pray—'ard.” 

Private and prisoner stumbled downhill. 
No shots broke the peace of that adorable 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE COMPREHENSION OF PRIVATE COPPER. 


3 6 7 


afternoon, but once the young man checked 
and was violently sick. 

“ There’s a lot of things I could say to 
you,” Copper observed, at the close of the 
paroxysm, “ but it doesn't matter. Look 'ere,, 
you call me 1 pore Tommy ’ again*” 

The prisoner hesitated. 

“Oh, I ain't goin’to do anythin’ to you. I’m 
reconnoiterin’ on my own. Say ‘pore Tommy/ 
like a bloomin’ parrot, ’alba-dozen times.” 

The prisoner obeyed* 

u That's what’s been puzzlin' me since I 
'ad the pleasure o’ meetin* you,” said Copper, 
“ You ain’t ’alf caste, but you talk cket^hec — 
pukka bazar ekee-chee . /Va-ceed, Antonio.” 

41 Halloa ! ” said the sergeant of the picket, 
twenty minutes later, “where did you round 
him up?” 

On the top o* yonder craggy mounting. 
There’s a mob of ’em sitting round their 
Bibles seventeen ’undred yards (you said it 
was seventeen 'undred?) t’other side—an’ I 


only a loyal farmer with dynamite in his 
boots ? Tell us all about it, burjer 1 ” 

“ You leave my prisoner alone,” said Private 
Copper. “ 'E’s ’ad losses an’ trouble ; an’ it's 
ill the family, too. 'E thought I never read 
the papers, so ’e kindly lent me one, an’ ’e 
explained it to me as patronizin' as a Militia 
subaltern doin’ Railway Staff Officer. ’E’s a 
left-over from Majuba — one of the worst 
kind, an’ ’earin’ the evidence as I did I don’t 
exactly repre’end ’im. It was this way." 

To the picket Private Copper held forth 
for ten minutes on the life-history of the 
captive. Allowing for some purple patches, 
it was an absolutely fair rendering. 

“ But what I iaVr-liked w + as this baccy- 
priggin' beggar, oo’s people, on 'is own 
show in’, couldn’t 'ave been more than thirty 
or forty years on this Gawd-forsaken dust- 
’cap, cornin’ the squire over me. They’re all 
parsons—we know that; but parson an' squire 
is a bit too thick for Alf Copper. Why, I 



“‘rHEVKK ONLV IO AII TOMMIES, 1 SAID COM-EK." 


w'ant some coffee.” He sat down on the 
smoke-blackened stones by the fire. 

“’Gw did you get 'im?” said McBride, 
professional humorist, quietly filching the 
English weekly from under his armpit. 

“On the chin—while J e was waggin’ it at 

_ r> 

me. 

“What is ’e ? ’Mother Colonial rebel to be 
'orribly disenfranchised, or a Cape M.P*, or 

Digitized by C iOOQ Ic 


caught ’im in the shameful act of try in’ to 
start a aristocracy on a gun an’ a waggon 
an’ a shambuk. Yes; that’s what it was : a 
bloomin’ aristocracy.” 

“No, it weren’t,” said McBride, at length, 
on the dirt, above the purloined weekly. 
“ You’re the aristocrat, Alf. Old Jerrold's 
givin’ it you ’ot. You’re the uneducated 
’irding of a cal—callous aristocracy which 'as 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



3 6S 


THE S TEA HD MAGAZINE . 


sold itself to the 'Ebrew financier* Mean¬ 
time, Ducky"— he ran his finger down a 
column of assorted paragraphs — “you're 
slakirr your brutal insdncks in furious 
excesses. Shriekin' women an 1 desolated 
'omesleads is what you enjoy, Alf. , . . 
Halloa, what's a smokin' Yktacomb ? ” 

11 'Ere ! Let's look. ’Aven't seen a spicy 
paper for a year. 'Good old Jtrrold's!" 
Pinewood and Moppett, Reservists, flung 
themselves on McBride's shoulders, pinning 
him to the ground. 

44 Lie over your own bloomin' side of the 
bed, an* we can all look/’ he protested. 

“They’re only po-ah Tommies," said 
Copper, apologetically, to the prisoner. 
41 Po-ah uneducated khakis. They don’t 
know what they're fightin 1 for. They’re 
lookin’ for what the diseased, lying, driekin' 
white stuff that they come from is say in' 
about 'em ! " 

The prisoner set down his tin of coffee 
and stared helplessly round the circle. 

“I—l don't understand them." 


well provide an escort for your prisoner. 
He’s waitin'.” 

“ Arf a mo, sergeant/' said McBride, 
still reading. “'Ere's Old Barbarity on the 
ramp again with some of ’is lady-friends, 
oo don’t like concentration camps. 'Wish 
they'd visit ours. Pine wood’s a married man. 
He’d know ’o\v to be’ave." 

41 Well, I ain’t goin' to amuse Antonio 
alone. 'E’s gettin* peevish," cried Copper. 
“One of you thieves read out what’s vexin’ 
Old Barbarity an' 'is ’arem these days. 
You'd better listen, Antonio, because, after- 
wards, I’m goin’ to fall out an’ perpetrate 
nameless barbarities on you, for to keep up 
the reputation of the British Army." 

From that English weekly, to bar out which 
a large and perspiring staff of Press censors 
toil seven days of the week at Cape Town, 
did Pinewood of the Reserve read unctuously 
excetpts of the speeches of the accredited 
leaders of His Majesty's Opposition. The 
night picket arrived in the middle of it, but 
stayed entranced without paying any compli- 



HANDS I’JclSUNEtl ! ” 


The Canadian sergeant, picking his teeth 
with a thorn, nodded sympathetically. 

“ If it comes to that, we don’t in my 
country! . . . Say, boys, when you're 
through with your English mail you might’s 


incuts, till Pinewood had entirely finished 
the leading article. 

“Gentlemen of the jury,” said Alf Copper, 
hitching up what remained to him of 
trousers; “you've 'eard what Vs been fed 


PnfMlIp Original from 

^ ,UU d lC UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






THE COMPREHENSION OF PRIVATE COPPER. 


3^9 


up with* Do you blame the beggar? 
'Cause I don't ! . * . Leave 'im alone, 

McBride. He's my first an* only prisoner, 
aid Fm goin' to walk 'ome with him, ain't 
I, Ducky? . . * Fall in, Antonio. It's Ber¬ 
muda, or Umballa, or Ceylon for you, and— 
Vd give a month's pay to be in your little 
shoes.” 

As not infrequently happens, the actual 
moving off the ground broke the prisoner's 
nerve. He stared at the tinted hills round 
him, gasped, and began to struggle—kicking, 
swearing, weeping, and fluttering all together. 

“ Pore beggar—oh ! pore, port beggar! " 
said Alf, leaning in on one side of him, while 
Pine wood blocked him on the other. 

“Let me go ! Let me go ! Mann, I tell 
you, let me go-” 

“'E screams like a woman!” said McBride. 
“They'll ‘ear ’im five miles off." 

“There's one or two ought to ear ’im—in 
England, 3 ’ said Copper, putting aside a wildly 
waving arm. 

“ Married, ain’t e?” said Pinewood. “ I've 
seen ’em go like this before—just at the last. 
y OId on, old man. No one's goin' to kill 
you/' 

The last of the sun threw the enormous 
shadow of a kopje over the little, anxious, 
wriggling group. 

“ Quit that," said the sergeant of a sudden. 
“You're only making him worse. Hands 
prisoner 1 Now you get a holt of your¬ 
self, or this’ll go off ! ” 

And indeed the revolver barrel square at 
the man's panting chest seemed to act like a 
tonic : he choked, recovered himself, and 
fell in between Copper and Pinewood. 

As the picket neared the camp it broke 
into song that was heard among the officers’ 
tents:— 


’E sent us ’is blessin’ from London town 
(The beggar that kep* Ihe cordite down). 

But what do we care if *e smile or frown ?— 
The hwgar (hat kep’ the curdile down. 

The mildly nefarious, 

Wildly Varbarious 
Beggar that kep* the cordite down. 

Said a captain a mtle away : “ Why are 
they singing that? We haven't had a mail 
for a month, have we ? ” 

An hour later said the same captain 
to his servant: “Jenkins, I understand 
the picket have got a—got a newspaper 
off a prisoner to-day. I wish you could lay 
hands on it, Jenkins. Copy of the Times, 
I think," 

“ Yes, sir. Copy of the Times , sir," said 
Jenkins, without a quiver, and went forth to 
make his own arrangements. 

“Copy of the Times? * said the blameless 
Alf, from under a blanket, “/ain’t a mem¬ 
ber of the Soldiers’ Insiiioot. Co an 5 look 
in the regimental readin’-room—Veldt Row, 
Kopje Street, second turnin’ to the left 
between 'vre an’ Naauwpoort” 

Jenkins summarized briefly in a tense 
whisper the few things that Alf Copper need 
not be. 

“ But my particular copy of the Times is 
specially pro’ibued by the censor from cor- 
nip-tin* the morals of the Army. Get a written 
order from K. t properly countersigned, an’ 
HI think about it." 

“ I’ve got all you want,” said Jenkins. 
“ Hurry up, I want to ’ave a squint 
myself.” 

Something gurgled in the darkness, and 
Private Copper fell back smacking his 
lips. 

“Gawd bless my prisoner and make me 
a good boy. Amen. 'Ere you are, Jenkins. 
It’s dirt cheap at a tot” 



Vol. xxiv. — 47 

Digitized 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



Football Teams Recalled. 


By C. B. Fry. 


LL the long streets in busy 
Sunderland, from ship-yard, 
coal-pit, wharf, and forge, seem 
on match-days to lead to the 
famous ground at Roker Park 
where the u Wearsiders,” the 
present champions of the League, are glad 
to meet and beat their rivals- The game 
flourishes amazingly amid the coal and the 
iron and the shipping. And it is a 
mistake to suppose that in this or any other 
great stronghold of I^eaguedom eleven men 
play and all the rest look on. The big dub 
is the centre of interest because it sums up 
and concentrates the keen love of football 
that permeates the busy populace. But 
there are other clubs besides. In Sunder* 
land, for example, there are three very good 
second-class teams, second-class compared 
with such a team as the big one, but not much 
inferior to many which in other and lesser 
towns are regarded as first-class ; and there are 
no fewer than seventeen so-called junior clubs, 
no mean exponents of the game ; and there 
is a school league which plays tremendously 
keen fco ball. Nor is the big club selfish; 
its authorities encourage and assist the 
smaller teams, and rejoice to see them 
efficient aid prosperous. 

Perhaps the most curious jjomt about the 


career of the Sunderland club has been its 
want of success in Cup-ties, In the League 
competition it has done very well, better 
than any other club except Aston Villa ; and 
it has several times possessed a team which 
experts have declared on general form to be 
the best in the country. Yet, strange to say, 
it has never won the Cup. It looks almost 
as though Sunderland preferred to husband 
its strength for success in the League matches, 
hut no doubt the club has had bad luck in 
the Cup-ties, where the best team of all may 
easily be knocked out in an early round if it 
happens to hit an off-day. But Sunderland's 
League record is excellent: out of fourteen 
seasons, three times first, three times second, 
and once third, A high place in the League 
table can be won only by consistently good 
play right through a season, and the main¬ 
tenance of a high place through a number of 
seasons is proof, not only of a high standard 
of play, but of an excellent morale and first- 
rate management. 

Southern footballers have never seen much 
of Sunderland, and we are not familiar with 
the personality of the team. The fame of 
the club has been made by a fine type of 
player, broad-shouldered, sturdy, and hard : 
the club likes science and cleverness, but 
will have weight and dash besides. The 

Sunderland player 
is heavy to meet, 
and in a fair 
charge usually 
hurts you more 
than you hurt 
him ; however 
neat and tricky of 
foot he may be, 
you cannot easily 
shift him out of 
his straight line ; 
he may be able 
to dodge von like 
a rabbit, but he 
looks as though 
he could heave a 
big sack of coal 
There is no better 
example of what 
the southerner 
calls the real 
northern player, 
fit Tor rough or 
muddy grounds 
and inclement 
weather, powerful 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



rftmt a t'hati/, bfl SL r K IsEKI .AM), f IC £T- (TliirrA. 















FOOTBALL TEaMS RECALLED. 


37 * 


and sure-footed and lively with good con¬ 
dition, and warm with energy in the 
bleakest north wind when the field is edged 
with grimy banks of snow and wisped with 
straw. There have been many Scotchmen 
in the team: so many that some people re¬ 
gard it as almost a Scottish club. But it is a 
mistake to regard its players as mere impor¬ 
tations, ready-made from across the Tweed. 

Sunderland has always possessed a number 
of Scottish inhabitants : many families settled 
there as far back as 1640, and gave, it is said, 
a great impulse to trade. So a man may 
have a very Scottish name, yet be a genuine 
native of the town. And those players who 
have actually come from Scotland have for 
the most part been young, and have been 
trained and made in Sunderland. Indeed, 
one of the causes of the popularity of the 
club, both in its own district and in the 
north generally, is that it has always been 
eager to make the most of its home-grown 
talent. It is worth mentioning these points 
because sarcastic comments are sometimes 
made upon “a team of Scotchmen playing 
for an English town,” or “a Scottish team 
champion of the English League.” Last 
year the team was a great one, strong in 
every position, but especially strong in 
defence. Doig, the veteran goal-keeper, had 
not superior for safety and skill, and \V. Hogg 
was selected as the best outside right forward 
to play for England. 

Not far from Manchester is Bury, a cindery- 
looking spot in its football parts, with tall 
chimneys and a hard, grimy aspect. But 
withal kind football hearts grow there, and 
they cheer the winners of any hard-fought 
game—only it must be hard. The football 
there is of the bull-terrier type, something 
racy with cropped ears and strong muscles. 
The crowd will see football, will pay to see 
it, and each man chooses his own pet spot to 
view from. They know the game to the 
core. Gig Lane the ground is called, with 
high stands on one side and a cemetery on 
the other; a good stretch of turf in fine 
weather, but thereabouts it rains sq often, or 
else snows or freezes ; and the mud can be 
deep and sticky after a thaw. 

The Bury team last year was one of the 
youngest, nippiest, and springiest in the 
League. A home-bred team chiefly, for 
Bury turns out enough players for home 
consumption and for export. A good type 
of player comes from here: fast, full of go, 
trained to the hour, not hurried, and with 
plenty of reserve for the second half of a 
game. The Bury team that won the Cup 

Digitized by Google 

* o 


three seasons back was a proper team, 
against which no despiser could cast the 
aspersion of “hired gladiators,” for every 
man in it was a worker at some craft or trade 
in the town he played for—worked all the 
week and turned out on a Saturday to win 
the English Cup. It was a similar team 
again last year with most of the same men 
still playing, a mettlesome and aggressive 
team, preferring attack to defence,-and at its 
best in its adversary’s half of the field. 

The Bury forwards are famous for speed 
and dash, led by Sagar, a most original and 
unconventional centre : a noted goal-getter 
from his own masterful runs. He is a beauti¬ 
ful player to watch, manoeuvring in such a 
small space, and so quick to slip through 
with long, elastic strides : he runs without 
effort and you do not notice his pace till you 
try to catch him. He makes his own openings, 
taps the ball, and is away through ; a natural 
player, with rare judgment, easily misunder¬ 
stood by the bullet-headed worshipper of 
fixed style. 

All the Bury forwards are fast and they go 
straight ahead, not passing the ball this way 
and that or dribbling round a sixpence. 
Plant at outside left is a sprinter with a 
knowing, heavy-hitting foot and an angular 
shoulder to run into. Richards, on the other 
wing, is a swooper, with a knack of forging 
ahead and getting there first. Wood, inside 
right, is a most uncompromising and clever 
forward, who fights every yard of ground. 
The star of the defence is Thorpe, the 
centre half, a young player, long limbed and 
splendidly active. He is tall, and has a 
forehead most apt for heading the ball. He 
is an embodiment of the Bury football spirit, 
unflagging, and moving with a certain 
sanguine elan . Played as it is at Bury, 
football is, in the best sense of the term, 
good sport. The game is made to mean 
something, and success is highly esteemed. 

Sheffield is an ancient nurse of footballers. 
The name was to the fore in the earliest 
history of the game, and has been there ever 
since. Sheffield football is not intermittent: 
it is a natural product of the place; year in. 
year out, either the blue and white shirts of 
Sheffield Wednesday or the red and white of 
Sheffield United are carried high up the 
League ladder or into the later rounds of the 
Cup-ties. The local rivalry runs deadly keen, 
and when the two neighbours meet the fight 
is to the death, and no one can pick the 
survivor beforehand. At present the United 
team, in proud possession of the Cup, claims 
right of place in public esteem. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



37 2 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


A bad team to heat, this. There is a 
dogged ness about them that has to be 
reckoned with over and above their face 
value as exponents of the game. You read 
of them as having been beaten by this or 
that other team, and on comparative form 
you think your own chance is good. And 


thing wholly advantageous to himself. 
Small he is, but with such a will! Then 
those other two half-backs, his mates, leave 
little undone, Wilkinson, a sort of up-and- 
down-the-field demon, nippy and elastic, and 
with a foot magnetic for the ball, making 
it come to him out of any jumble. A 



From a Phalko. by} 


SHEFUtLU UNITED. 


i-Jastxf VSeiii/int. 


when the day comes and the play, you 
cannot see where it is they are better than 
you. But somehow you find that to beat 
them you have to play, not as well as they do 
nor a little better, but a great deal better 
You cannot give a name to what it is in them 
that baulks you of your stride to victory ; but 
it is there, some stumbling-block inherent in 
their play. Is it unitedness? Or is it 
Sheffieldness? Or a bit of both? Anyhow, 
it is there. There is a continual try about 
them from beginning to end, an unflagging 
resistance that becomes aggressive the instant 
you falter a step. 

Perhaps that ambidextrous Need ham is 
the keynote of the tune. Billed to appear 
at half-back, you find him, to your cost, 
occupying, in due season and at crucial 
moments, the whole field of play, lie has 
a wonderful knack of distributing his 
influence, himself, and the ball You seem 
to knock up against him where he is not, 
and when he is really near it is quite unne¬ 
cessary to trifle, or miskick. or hesitate, for 
any half error of yours he will turn to some 


brand-new link this, small, but solid and 
finely tempered, in the strong chain of 
Sheffield half-backs. And Johnson on the 
left -plug, plug, plug, the ninety minutes 
through, never tired and always in the way. 
Then the backs behind them are splendid 
heavy cavalry. There is thick-set Thickctt 
charging this way and that, and breaking up 
your nicest manoeuvres with the rude shock 
of his rush. In a hard game he weighs a 
deal more than his weight on paper, and 
sobers your most enthusiastic forward. With 
him is Boyle, a straight-running Irishman, 
who goes for the ball in get-out-of-the-way- 
style ; a genuine tackier. And behind all. in 
goal, is that mountainous barrier Foulke, 
whom no charge can move, yet who moves 
so quickly, gathering a hard shot on two 
fingers. Goals are not easy to score against 
this defence. And the forwards in line, 
standing to be fed with the ball or 
running with it at their feet, are a never- 
ceasing menace 10 you. In the centre is 
Hedley, amiable ami respectable to the eye, 
but, give him half an opening, a mischievous 
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





FOOTBALL TEAMS RECALLED. 


373 


man : a sober player rather than a brilliant 
but none the less dangerous, and his com¬ 
rades trust him and give him the ball, believ¬ 
ing he will put it through. On his left hand 
the wing is Priest and Lipsham : Priest very 
strong on his feet and hard to shift* who 
moves accurately and with venom through 
narrow spaces; Lipsham, the outside, a 
swinging runner, with a clever left foot for 
hooking the bait in and a precise touch. On 
the right a sturdy, determined pair* Bennett 
and Common : the former an uncommon 
sort of outside forward, notable for clever¬ 
ness of foot rather than for speed, but 
difficult to stop in an independent run and 
a terrific shooter from all angles; the latter 
a classy athletic player, smart in combined 
play and a prompt rusher near goal How 


victories were over its neighbour, West 
Bromwich ; and West Bromwich won the 
final in which the Villa was beaten. Its 
League record speaks for itself, and League 
honours are not easily won. 

The Villa has, of course, a great advantage 
in its comparative wealth ; for want of funds 
is the chief difficulty with which the big clubs 
with their ambitious programmes have to 
contend. Still, to suppose that money alone 
will make a club successful is an error : 
there must besides be available knowledge 
of the game and of players, and skill and 
tact in management. For the last two seasons 
the Villa team has not been so much to the 
front as in previous years ; but the reason 
seems to be that it has not yet recovered 
from the process of transition from the old 



f'muin q Photo, frtfj 


[/we* it- mu fif¬ 


th ey worry and worry you, these forwards, 
till the ball is through ; and then they go 
away to begin worrying all over again. Such 
is the team that won the English Cup last 
year, and might easily win it again. 

Birmingham is almost a little football 
world in itself, for among many smaller clubs 
it can boast two with great histories—Aston 
Villa and West Bromwich ; and another of 
considerable fame—Small Heath. But Aston 
Villa is on general grounds the greatest club 
of the three; indeed, it has fair claims to 
be reckoned the greatest in the land. It 
possesses a splendid ground with huge ac- 
commodation, draws big gates, is rich and 
prosperous, and has an unrivalled record. 
Three times it has won the English Cup and 
five times the championship of the League. 
To the honour of Birmingham two of its Cup 


players to the new. The main characteristics 
of the Villa style are still evident enough : 
the forwards still play a finished, scientific, 
short passing game, though John Devey no 
longer leads and inspires the line, and there 
is no centre forward like Archie Hunter, and 
no junior replica of Daniel Hodgetts has yet 
appeared. 

Templeton and Bache make a strong left 
wing. Templeton is a beautiful sprinter, yet 
no mere sprinter ; he has the true Scottish 
grip of the ball, and can control and use it. 
He is a difficult handful for any back to 
tackle, for he goes with a swoop and a flash, 
can feint without stopping or turning from 
his line, and can middle the ball when rum 
ning at full speed. He played for Scotland 
against England last year. His partner, 

Bache, is a strong, determined player, and 

Urigiiial from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








374 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE .. 


feeds his wing man unselfishly. And Clarke, 
the outside right, runs through with a will: a 
sprightly, adroit player. Then there is Grab- 
tree, the versatile and unchanging* But the 
tale of Villa players is long, as befits a long 
purse. 

At Nottingham football is supposed to 
have killed cricket ; but the latter game does 
not appear quite dead, not dead enough for 
a post-mortem. With two strong clubs play¬ 
ing almost within bowshot of one another 
football certainly is very much alive* Of the 
two Notts Forest is just now ahead ol Notts 


County; but it was not always so* Good 
Cup-fighters are the Forest men, a formid¬ 
able, heavy-looking lot in their scarlet shirts 
and white knickers. Even a light man looks 
big inside that staring red, and when the 
team takes the field it seems to occupy more 
than its fair share of space ; the colour multi¬ 
plies the men* Frank Forman, who plays 
centre half for England as well as for 
his club, has been for some years the star 
man of the team : a remarkable player, long 
[egged and scientific, and a genius for finding 
the ball* An interesting figure is I remonger, 
the tall back, who is so valuable a batsman 
for the Notts eleven ; if he hit at cricket as 
hard as he lucks at football, he would become 
a rival of C* I. Thornton and G, L Jessop. 

The Forest forwards arc sometimes very 
oppressive to the opposing defence ; they go 
off from the whistle with a heavy burst, and 


mean to rush you all they know in-the first 
ten minutes* Their pivot-man, Calvcy, a 
clever heavy-weight, requires close attend¬ 
ance, or you find him through you with his 
accurate foot hugging the ball close, ready to 
shoot, and his broad shoulders fending you 
aside as you try to tackle him. Both his 
wings are energetic and thrusting ; they do 
not wait upon your wishes, but play bang 
away for the main chance* The Nottingham 
man is canny enough; he prefers effective¬ 
ness to mere polish* His football is robust, 
most business-like, and well meant. 

Except when 
Nottingham is 
engaged in civil 
war the neighbour 
rival of both its 
clubs is Derby 
County, the team 
of Stephen 
Bloomer and the 
Goodalls* Derby 
is often called a 
one - man team, 
which means that 
Bloomer is its 
man. He is a 
terrible fellow to 
stop, and wins 
matches for his 
side by sheer indi¬ 
vidual brilliancy, 
does this great 
player; greater 
some days than 
others, but always 
to be feared* An 
inspired forward if 
ever there was one, in his football clothes 
he is a bundle of flexible wire with double- 
jointed knees for screw - shooting, and bis 
force seems to come from some electric 
dynamo which, when properly charged, can 
put out an inhuman spurt of speed. He is 
young outwardly, and has the football joy in 
his blood* But nowadays no one man makes 
a team, nor is Derby football poor even 
deprived of its one gem* Lately and before 
the “County 11 teams have been strong all 
through. 

Renowned John Goodall used to captain 
fine, stalwart combinations on the old ground 
away by the racecourse, and taught them 
the lore he had learnt in his old Preston 
North End days. And now his brother 
Archie leads another as good on the base¬ 
ball ground close by the Midland Railway. 
A tough, hard-bitten Irishman is Archie 

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FOOTBALL TEAMS RECALLED. 


375 



h'Tubt u 1‘hvtti. bjf } 


P£R»V COUNTY. 


[iMrtiit. 


Goodall: a sort of Scottish Irishman who 
seems all angles when you run into him. 
What a sturdy pair of legs he wears \ and he 
never stops to grasp the idea of being beaten. 
He plays with the inveterate keenness, the 
cool keenness of the old warrior who is still 
young in deeds. Good comrades he has 
behind him in Methwen and Morris, a 
splendid pair of backs, and in Fryer, the 
goal-keeper, whose height and reach make his 
goal mouth so very small* You do not ever 
come from Derby with a light-work victory ; 
if you win you have deserved it 

The Southampton club has an uncommon 
sort of ground. Once a narrow, marshy 
gorge, it has been transformed into a semi- 
natural amphitheatre, with covered stands 
and tiers of seats upon the steep enclosing 
banks i it is called The Dell The arena is 
deep below the people; as you play you 
seem to be in the middle of four high con¬ 
verging waves of heads* The team is 
popularly known as “the Saints,” because 
the club used to be Southampton St. Mary's* 
The local war-cry is a high-pitched “ Yi-yi- 
yi-ee! M a kind of half-fledged American 
college shout, only less complicated. It was 
a fine team that struggled through to the 
final last season, to be beaten by an odd 


goal ; a varminty, come - at - the - finish 
team. It was supposed to contain too many 
veterans for success in the up-to-date turmoil 
of Cup-ties. But veterans are as old as they 
play, and no older* Harry Wood, for in¬ 
stance, once upon a time the leading forward 
of the Wolverhampton Wanderers, could still 
lead a strenuous attack; no longer a fast 
runner, yet able by skilful manoeuvring and 
an eye for country to achieve the results of 
pace, always in the right spot, always finding 
clear passages for the ball, with a persuasive, 
far-reaching foot. And Edgar Chadwick, he 
who once with Mil ward made the Everton 
left wing so famous, was as quick-witted, as 
busy, and as timely as ever, always on the 
ball in his own sphere of action, and difficult 
to baulk in his movements. 

And if the two veteran forwards were 
short of pace, the other three made up for it, 
enough and to spare* The line did not, as a 
rule, go down the field in a crescent shaped 
formation, with the outside men on the horns, 
but in a sort of zigzag, with the centre 
forward as much in front of the two inside 
wing men as were the two outsides. The line, 
in fact, was, so to speak, divided into two 
sections of three, the centre man counting 
in both ; and the inside man on each wing 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






37 ^ 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


acted as a centre between the outside man 
and the nominal centre forward. It was not 
a common game, and it paid well enough. 
A. Rrown, the centre forward, a finely-striding 
sprinter who runs in deep mud with the 
free, light swing and long, even action of 
the cinder-track, used to hover about on 
the fringe of the attack ready to rush right 
through single-footed. The goals he gets 
happen quickly. The game is as good as 


half, Bowman, a Scot and a prize player. 
In the rear - guard, two unmovable 
bulwarks were Molyneux at back and 
Robinson in goal—goal-savers unto death. 
Molyneux a hardy, unshrinking tackier and 
safe, undeniable kicker, always in form; 
and Robinson a strong-man athlete, active 
and powerful, with a cricketer's eye for timing 
and the ball No mediocre team, in sum, 
against the best in the land were the Saints, 



FVlpiw a ttfj SOUTHAMPTON. L Ac intake Trifle, it Co. 


over ; suddenly he is off dead straight and in 
a flash you are left in for another round. 

The two outside men, the two Turners, J. 
and A + , unrelated except in speed, had last 
year few, if any, superiors. J, Turner, a 
shrewd, determined dasher; away along the 
touch-line, or suddenly found in front of goal, 
an opportune and dangerous opponent. A. 
Turner, a slight-built sprinter with a delicately 
clever foot and an uncanny power over the 
ball, an elusive feinter on the run, and hard to 
dispossess save with a heavy charge. No 
mean set of forwards these, and they pulled 
many a game out of the fire. The half¬ 
backs, effective rather than polished, workers 
rather than artists, except the centre 


The Portsmouth club, which last year won 
the championship of the Southern League* 
and travelled well up into the Cup-tie rounds 
(and would have gone farther perhaps, bar 
accidents and illness}, is young and strong 
and of a good heart. The team is curiously 
known by the collective nickname of Pompey, 
Pompey does this and Fompey does that. 
His ground is of fine, sound turf, real turf, not 
pounded mud, on the flat lands at F ration. 
He is heavily supported by soldiers from the 
forts and barracks, by sailors from the battle¬ 
ships and other craft, and by dockyard hands 
of various grades. 

His war-cry ts the Portsmouth chimes as 
played by the town hall clock, a deep, Lune- 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









FOOTBALL TEAMS RECALLED. 


377 


ful ditty that sounds well on the comet 
Pompey as a team is more of a sailor than 
anything else, a rollicking, good-natured, 
dare-devil fellow, moving with free limbs and 
a hearty roll We met him in fine fettle last 
year fore and aft, a team with a swing. His 
goal-keeper was Reilly, an Irish International, 
once a soldier, but not now out of keeping 
with the nautical trim of the team, a daring 
scrimmager in a melee in goaUmoulh, and a 
free, loose-jointed fister of the ball, not a 
flincher. 

The two backs were Wilkie and Burgess, 
of the old-fashioned sort, standing well 


fellow, a clever worker, minding his own part 
of the field very ably, and Blythe, a jabbing, 
untiring blocker of passes* 

But Pompey’s pride was his forward line 
when complete and in good order* The 
centre forward was Bedingfield, perhaps the 
best man in the country in this position with 
G. Q- Smith not playing \ heavy enough to 
rush you, yet a delicate passer and dribbler 
and a pounding, straight low shooter at goal. 
It was ill work stopping him* Steven Smith, 
once of Aston Villa, a famous outside left, 
had a brother as partner, and the tw o made 
a grand vving : Steven, thick, quick, and 



*Yyin Q eAioto. ] 1*0 RT^MOUTH, \Hfiahutd w TA*ei# h tt Co. 


away and kicking clear down the field 
with all the might of long, heavy legs, 
and not a bad sort either. Sometimes over 
strong in their kicking, a little fault; never 
too weak, a big one* Stout guardians of the 
fatal thirty yards round goal. 

The half-back trio was tough and workman¬ 
like, with a centrepiece of the top class in 
Chadwick, conspicuous for his red head and 
broad, ubiquitous forehead and aggressive 
pinkness of condition. A breaker-up of com¬ 
bination, this one ; he tikes your three inside 
forwards this way and that one after the 
other, and rarely misses his spread-eagle, 
masterful tackle, and be seems to get there 
without running* The other two were String- 

Voi* 


elusive, and his brother, thrusting, unselfish, 
and fond of a charge, With this pair 
Marshall and Cunliffe on the right balanced 
well An accomplished player Cunliffe, 
with a knack of being in the right place, 
easy of access from his comrades, ever 
ready to take or give a pass to an inch, 
deliberate and careful sometimes, but apt to 
quicken into sudden fire near your goal with 
a ten yards rush and a cross shot. He made 
good openings, too, for Marshall, a more 
than useful wing man who could put on full 
steam in the nick of time, and rarely overran 
or lost the ball Taken all round, a proper, 
high-class team, and at its best fit for any¬ 
thing. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












-f, 





/A^if 



\AT^ 


October 



HE First of October brings a rude 
awakening for the young pheasant 
brought up by hand ; for though 
shooting-parties are events of the 
future, birds are wanted for the 
market, and he who heretofore held the 
gamekeeper his own familiar friend, bound 
to him by patent foods, raisins, and a 
hundred tender ties, is sorely puzzled by the 
change in his affairs :— 

“ What have we done? We came 
as you have taught us 
Blessings and buckwheat seek¬ 
ing at your hand. 

Now, crowding round to see what 

you have brought us, m 

We’re driven from you like $^*^5 

some outcast banned. \ 


By E. D. Cuming and J. A. Shepherd. 

“ That was a gun ! Some cat or stoat who sought us 
Has paid the debt that all such vermin owe. 

Think what you’d feel supposing he had caught us 
And cease to shake your stick and bid us go ! 

“ Another gun ! You really don’t expect us 
To face the perils of this wood alone; 

You know it is your duty to protect us, 

You’re only joking when you say 4 Begone*! ** 

Time was when the pheasant was reared 
to have his neck wrung like any tame 
villatic fowl: his lot on the whole is 
pleasanter nowadays. The 2nd of October 
ushers in the season of peace to English and 
Welsh trout in the majority of rivers : the 
soul of the Scottish trout must be consumed 
with bitterness when he considers the 
favouritism which accords a season of rest to 
the southern trout and denies the same to 
him. The hard case of the Scottish trout 
justifies appeal to Parliament, the more so 
because the breeding season is now begun : 



PJTSERTED — 


WHAT HAVE W B DON B r- igina | f „ m 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


























THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR . 


379 



in some few streams the trout are already 
married, but the matrimonial movement 
reaches full swing in October and goes on 
all through winter till February. 

Migration continues and reaches its height 
this month : return to us the woodcock, who, 
for the sake of journeying in company, lay 
aside their solitary habit and come in flocks 
under cover of night; but no sooner do they 
reach land than they hastily bid one another 
good-bye and scatter in all directions. The 
snipe come, too, and take up their quarters 
in bogs, marshes, and similar damp, delect¬ 
able places ; they are so thin and hungry on 
arrival that fat, well-to-do resident snipe 
might object to them as pauper aliens. The 


Old golden plover, delayed after their 
children’s departure by the necessity for 
getting their winter suits, arrive in flocks and 
settle down. Golden plover are very talka¬ 
tive birds : light sleepers, you may hear them 
on the darkest night chattering in low tones 
in the ploughed fields where they love to 
roost; on bright moonlight nights they do 
not go to bed at all, but stay up feasting on 
the seashore. They are bosom friends of the 
starlings, who chum with them in winter, and 
no doubt show them where the largest and 
best stocks of grubs and edibles are to be 
found. The geese, pink-footed, bean, and 
grey lag, come back to us. They don’t 
time their departure from the north 
to arrive by night. Mr. Millais saw them 
one autumn day arriving on Loch Leven: 
they descended from the upper ether as 
down a spiral stairway, having made their 
journey at an immense height in the 
air. The same observer has watched wild 
geese feeding at close quarters : they posted 
sentries on the outskirts of the flock, and 
when a sentry thought he had done his turn 
of duty he went and stirred up another goose, 
the next on the roster, and, having told him 
the pass-word and given over his orders, 
began feeding himself. The lapwings gather 
together in flocks : birds who thus congregate 
in winter have exceptional opportunities of 
cultivating acquaintances and arranging well- 
considered matches for next spring. The 
chaffinches don’t do this: the hen birds 
declare they have had enough of the men for 
one year and assemble in large parties by them¬ 
selves. The few cocks who join these feminine 
mass meetings no doubt sympathize with their 



poor immigrants do not take long to recover 
themselves : in a week they are as plump as 
the best, and grow so capricious and restless 
you are never sure of finding them for two 
days together in the same place. 


views. Isolation does not appear to weigh 
heavily on the deserted males; they are as 
sprightly and cheerful in winter as in summer. 

The weather grow r s wet and chilly, and the 
rats, disguised with the discomforts of country 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





















380 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



1 AN OTEN VERDICT IS ALWAVs RETURNED. 


life, shut u[> their summer residences and 
“ come up to town”—to the outhouses and 
drains—to spend the winter. 

It is about this time that the coroner’s 
work among the shrews becomes so heavy ; 
numbers of this quarrelsome community are 
found lying dead all over the country in 
autumn. An open verdict is always re¬ 
turned : the body of deceased bears no 
marks of violence; there is nothing to show 
that he owes his death to the wide antipathies 
of his kin ; and human science so far has 
done nothing to elucidate the mystery which 
baffles the shrew coroner’s jury. In the 
good*old days people explained it easily 
enough ; dead shrews, they pointed out with 
truth, were always found on a road (they 
were, and arts to be found elsewhere, of course, 
if you look), demonstrating to finality that 
they were constitutionally unable to go across 
a road in the autumn, and that the attempt 
to do so proved fatal. Mr. Topsell no doubt 
had the autumnal plenty of dead shrews in 


it was the 
haddock 
who fur* 
nished that 
coin. 

The hum* 
ble, succu¬ 
lent whelk 
is devoting 
her attention 
to family 
affairs. The 
whelk de¬ 
posits her 
eggs in a 
mass (which 
sailors are 
said to use 
as soap on 
occasion) 
and thinks 
no more 
about them. 

UN IYER 


C 


mind when he impressed 
upon his readers that the 
remedy prepared from its tail 
for H the sores of any man 
which came by the biting of 
a greedy and ravenous dog ” 
depended for its infallibility 
on the shrew being alive when 
its tail was cut off. 

The haddock’s wistful gaze 
and that of the whiting en- 
counters your eye roving over 
the fishmonger’s slab, for 
this month finds these fish, 
among others, at their best 
It was the haddock, so legend 
runneth, from whose mouth 
St Peter obtained the money 
necessary to pay the tax- 
gatherer; the fish must have 
wriggled a good deal, for the 
apostle pinched him so hard 
that the haddock bears the 
marks of his finger and 
thumb on his shoulders to 
this day. But for these 
tokens we should not know 




THE A ACADIAN CALENDAR. 



She has indeed enough to think about when 
the hermit crab is around. Nature dealt 
cruelly with the soldier or hermit crab, arm¬ 
ing him with mail in front and leaving him 
soft and vulnerable behind. Hence this crab 
rectifies Nature’s omission with his own right 
claw and shelters the unprotected end of his 
persoirin a shell; his tail being thoughtfully 
supplied with hooks so that he can 
keep hold of it. If he can find an 
empty shell that fits he takes that; 
if he can’t he turns out the rightful 
owner by force of arms; whence one 
of his popular names : and sits lonely 
in the purloined dwelling wrapped 
in claws and contemplation; whence 
his other popular name : — 

He had “got his discharge,” was a “beggar 
at large,” 

And he wanted a suitable dwelling. 

So he knocked at a shell which he saw 
would do well 

If the tenant would leave at his telling. 

But the whelk, who was stout, said he 
wouldn’t come out 

Whatever the soldier might do ; 

“Is it not,” he said, “fudge to suppose 
I shall budge 

For a stalk-eyed crustacean like you?” 

Diqitized by CjOOQ Ic 

O 


3«i 

Then the soldier arose, and lie seized by the nose 
His sturdy, but feeble, old victim. 

Holding Queensberry rules binding only on fools, 

He thumped him, and pinched him, and kicked 
him. 

But it boots not to tell of the fight for the shell, 

And how might gave the palm to the sinner. 

When the battle was done, and the soldier had won, 
He sat down to dead whelk for his dinner. 

So you see it’s a flaw in a natural law 
(Or whatever it please you to term it) 

Lets that soldier get in and grow fat in his sin. 

And, far worse, be revered as a “ hermit.” 

The authorities are not agreed whether the 
soldier ea'ts the evicted whelk. Let him have 
the benefit of the doubt, as he must be 
hungry after the fight. Mr. P. Rufford 
once saw a small soldier hauled out of a 
shell which was too big for him by jealous 
neighbours. A big one seized him by the 
claw and another held on to the shell, and 
when they two failed to drag him out a 
third came along and helped to haul on 
the shell. Which points to high intelli¬ 
gence as well as low principles in the hermit 
crab. 

The unlovely skate is in season: the 
female skate is an unrecognised friend of 
childhood on the beach, as it is she who 
provides the “ pixy purses,” those little 
leathery black cases with a handle at each 
corner which strew the seashore in summer. 
The skate puts her eggs in these purses with 
an eye to their greater safety. The dog-fish 
makes a purse like the skate’s, but furnished 
with longer handles. The cod is now in his 
prime : a fish with such a magnificent diges¬ 
tion as the cod ought always to be in the 
most flourishing health : he disposes of a 
crab, shell and all, almost as easily as he does 
of his own and other fishes’ tender children. 
The salmon in many rivers, the Scottish Dee, 



WRAPPKO IN CLAWS Ah D CONTEMPLATION. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




382 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




mate, 


the Spey, Findhorn, 

Helmsdale, Tweed, and 
Severn, for example, 
arrive on the spawning- 
beds m October. Refer¬ 
ence has been made to 
the heartless conduct of 
the hen salmon when 
bereaved of her 
but, truth to tell, 
the cock's be¬ 
haviour has little 
to recommend 
it. When his 
wife has finished 
putting her eggs 
in the trench, 
which she dug 
without a tail's 
turn of assist¬ 
ance from him, 
he lets her go 
without a sigh, 
and loafs about 
quite ready to 
marry the next 
hen salmon that 
comes along; if 
she bring a 
husband with 
her he picks a 
quarrel with 
him. 

The gudgeon, 
though con¬ 
sidered always 

fit for the table, is at his best now. The 
gudgeon is a fish of restful and pensive dis¬ 
position and will lie still for hours together 
A century and a half ago, or 
less, the gudgeon suffered 
from the reputation he had 
as a cure for consumption : 
the patient had to swallow 
him alive. 

The quail, who for many 
years past has been develop¬ 
ing anti-British views, attri¬ 
butable to the spread of 
cultivation and consequent 
disappearance of the rough 
gra-rS lands wherein she de¬ 
lights, leaves us for the south 
in October. A few apparently 
mean to be faithful to us 
throughout the winter, but 
their fidelity is regulated by 
the temperature : if the baro¬ 
meter is falling and the 


thermometer is low at 
this season, the quails 
make no apology for 
leaving. " By-bye; 
look you up next 
May,” they say, 
casually, and go. 

The bumble - bees 
retire : the males and 
others to their graves ; 
the queen bees, who 
have to produce 
families next spring, 
to their beds under¬ 
ground or elsewhere. 
The ants, having 
collected the 
usual supply of 
aphis eggs which 
wall hatch out 
next spring to 
be the spoiled 
pets of the 
colony, shut 
their doors and 
pull down the 
blinds. The 
outside of the 
ant - heap sug¬ 
gests that it is 
deserted : that 
there ought to 
be a notice up, 
“ Keys with," 
etc .; but the 
place is not to 
let: the ants have merely gone to bed for the 
winter. The field cricket puts up his shutters 
and goes to bed too; if, indeed, he has not 
gone sooner, for he made an 
end of singing in August, 
and if he went to bed then 
few people would be much 
the wiser. The flies on the 
window are beginning to 
grow stiff and tottery, but 
warm rooms discourage 
thoughts of bed just yet, and 
they remain out to enjoy the 
climate produced by fire and 
gas; while the wasps, all but 
the queens, whose duty to 
the species keeps them alive, 
creep away into hiding to 
die off unmourned. The 
dragon - fly’s eggs now pro¬ 
duce the spidery nymphs 
which dwell on the mud of 
thi quBKK bks retire.” the stream - bed throughout 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


J-AV 


' THE COD IS NOW IN ms PRIME. * 







THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


3 S 3 




the winter: which situation the nymph must 
find dull. 

The robin breaks up his establishment, 
divorces his wife, and drives away his 
children, who are now quite able to look 
after themselves. Some of our robins winter 
abroad, but the wiser remain with us. Many 
robins born in Northern Europe go to Italy 
for the cold months ; but not all of them 
come back. The Italians have 
no sentiment about 
and eat him in 
scores —as in¬ 
deed they do any 
other small bird 
w h o is inju¬ 
dicious enough 
to give them the 
chance. 

The days grow 
shorter and 
colder, and the 
elderly dormouse, 
measuring with 
critics eye his 
autumnal ro¬ 
tundity, lights his 
bedroom candle, 
so to speak, and 
trots off 


d by Google 


gNMQUIlNEP. 


When I was young and hale and rather feslive 
I never was in hasie to go to bed \ 

I never thought to seek the sleep digestive 
Until November days were done and dead 
When I was young. 

Now I am old and stiff and very sober 
I count me gay to venture out to lea \ 

And rheumatism comes in mid-October 
To hint that bed's the proper place for me 
Now I am old. 

Poor old dor¬ 
mouse ! it is hard 
to feel the weight 
of advancing 
months and have 
to go to bed six 
weeks before your 
own sons, whose 
higher vitality 
enables them to 
stay up and enjoy 
themselves so 
much longer. 

The Bird Emi¬ 
gration Office is 
open all day and 
all night now; an 
elaborate series of 
obser va t ion s, 
made by the 
keepers of light- 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
























































3»4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



houses and lightships all round the coast of 
Britain, has shown us in which directions the 
birds move at all seasons of the year, but 
their movements in October are perplexing. 
At this season, for example, skylarks in 
enormous flocks, vast flights of rooks, 
sparrows, robins, chaffinches, greenfinches, 
and starlings, among other species, are arriving 
on our eastern shores from a south-easterly 
direction—Holland, Belgium, and France— 
and going northward up 
the coast, sometimes 
actually crossing the lines 
of travellers who are com¬ 
ing south ! Many of these 
northward - bound tourists 
leave their party on the 
way and turn inland : 
perhaps they winter with 
us; perhaps, if the weather 
turns colder than they like, 
they book their 


passages for 
south and 


the 
move 
on again. But 
how are we to ex¬ 
plain such items 
as this? On 
October 9th the 
keepers of the 
Rhinns of Islay 
Light, on the 
west coast of 
Scotland, re¬ 
corded “ thou¬ 
sands of puffins 


THE ROBIN BREAKS UP HIS ESTABLISHMENT. 

going north,” and a week later (October 
15th) the keepers of the Longships Light, 
off the toe of Cornwall, noted “scores of 
puffins going south all day.” And while 
the keepers of the lights on the east and 
south-east coasts of England are recording 
the arrival of great flocks of skylarks from 
the Continent daily, they of Holyhead are 
noting the arrival of great flocks of skylarks 
from Ireland. It would really seem as 
though England were a sort of central tourist 
depot whither birds from all parts come to 
decide where they shall pass the winter. 

The bird-catcher 
is abroad at this 
season all over 
Europe, and his 
nets save huge 
numbers of birds 
the trouble of mak¬ 
ing winter arrange¬ 
ments. Last Octo¬ 
ber, between the 
10th and 14th of 
the month, the 
three keepers of 
the Cape Gris-Nez 
Light, a few miles 
south of Calais, 
caught over 5,900 
birds, chiefly larks, 
thrushes, and 
corncrakes. The 
light attracts the 
birds, nets do the 
rest; and on this 
occasion the law 
stepped in and 
obtained details 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















































THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 



and a fine of fifty francs or thereabouts. In 
France, Belgium, and Germany the blackbirds 
and thrushes arrive in such numbers that the 
bird-catchers make their capture a regular 
industry during the migration movement; 
but before we criticise we must remark the 
strings and festoons of larks in our own 
poulterers’ and game-dealers’ shops. 

Thousands of birds of all species kill them¬ 
selves against the glass of the lights in the 
passage across the Channel and North Sea, 
but when making a really long journey they 
travel at an immense height. An astronomer 
once saw birds and identified the species 
against the moon, on which his telescope was 
turned. They were, he estimated, two miles 
above the earth. On fine nights the birds 
travel in silence ; on dark or misty nights 
they call continually to one another, no doubt 
with the object of maintaining touch. 

The black-headed gulls take off the brown 
hoods, which they do not wear in winter, and 
assemble in estuaries and tidal waters. If it 
be stormy they come inland, and of late 
years it has become increasingly fashionable 
in a certain section of black-headed gull 
society to spend the winter months on the 


385 

ornamental waters in 
the London parks. 
The kittiwakes find 
attractions high up 
the estuaries also. 
The wood - pigeon, 
disgusted, perhaps, 
by the treatment 
accorded him in the 
country districts, 
where the 
s por ts- 
manadds 
insult to 
injury by 
putt 1 ng 
h 1 m 
down 
under 
“Vari¬ 
ous” in 
the game 
book 
after 
shooting 

him, sometimes takes up his residence in town. 
The Londoners make much of him, and his 
reception in the parks compares more than 
favourably with that he gets in the cornfields 
—which is not surprising when you remember 
that 1,020 grains of corn have been taken out 
of one wood-pigeon’s crop :— 

At first the sparrows marvelled that a bird so highly 
bred 

Should condescend to mix with them “ as pleasant as 
could be ” ; 

“ *E oughter ’ave ’is country ’ouse and privit park,” 
they said ; 

“ An’ ’ere ’e is a-pickin’ crumbs the same as you an’ 
me ! 

“ ’E seems a decent feller, too, for all ’is swagger 
clo’s ; 

I wonder might us take ’im roun’ and show *im all 
the sights ; 

There’s a sparrer on the keb-ra k as tells me as ’e 
knows— 

Leastways, a keb-’or e told ’im—where the swells is 
drove o’ nights.” 

Th * pigeon said “With pleasure 1” so they showed 
him round the town 

One morning very early when the world was in its 
tub, 

And begged him very earnestly to get his name put 
down 

For “’lection” to the Bachelors’, or White’s, or 
Boodle’s Club. 



* TO A SKYLARK 1 * 

zed by Goodie 

' o 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


VoL xxiv.—40. 














3»6 


THE STRdND MAGAZINE. 


And when he spoke of leaving 
town they summoned a com¬ 
mittee 

To ponder measures to induce 
their ** noble friend " to stay, 

A happy thought it was to give 
the Freedom of the City ; 

** If we should 
they said, * 
away." 

The sparrows were 
right; the wood - pigeons 
are quite established in 
London, and every year 
bring up children who are 
as tame as their country 
cousins are wild. 

The nuthatch is enjoy¬ 
ing himself 
now the hazel 
nuts are ripe; 
he might try 
for a month 
to break a 
nut with his 
unaided 
beak, but he 
knows his 
limitations 
and is far too 
wise to waste 
time and 
trouble that 
way. He 
selects a nut with the skill of an expert, 
wedges it carefully into some crack in 
branch or gate-post, and converts his whole 
person into a pick - axe, bringing all bis 
strength to bear on the blows he gives with 
the tip of his beak. The squirrel is very 
busy collecting nuts, acorns, and heechmast 
and storing the same : he is a glaring example 


of industry without method, 
for he establishes a dozen 
larders in holes in the 
trees and in the ground, 
and forgets where most of 
them are : were he to con ¬ 
tent himself with two or 
three, and make a careful 
note of the latitude, longi¬ 
tude, and elevation of 
each, he would save him¬ 
self much trouble hereafter 
and go hungry less often 
in cold weather. The field- 
mouse opens his under¬ 
ground cellar and collects 
large stocks of grain and 
sundries : 
beans, peas, 
acorns, 
beech mast —- 
anything that 
will keep. 
His winter 
quarters are 
generally 
made under 
a corn-stack 
or in a bur- 
r o w • but 
occasionally 
a field-mouse 
of unusual 
originality takes an old bird's nest and fits 
it up to suit his needs. The field-vole 
loafs about with his hands in his pockets 
and a straw in his mouth and jeers at hts 
hard - working cousin at this season; the 
vole does not lay up a winter store : he 
finds it pleasanter to sleep through the cold 
weather. 




" tub wmfinGi vqi k and tub industrious mouse. n 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











The Sorceress of the Strand. 

By b, T. Meade and Robert Eustace, 
STORY I.—MADAME SARA. 


VERYONE in trade and a 
good many who are not have 
heard of Werner's Agency, 
the Solvency Inquiry Agency 
of all British trade. Its busi¬ 
ness is to know the financial 
condition of all wholesale and retail firms, 
from Rothschild's to the smallest sweetstuff 
shop in Whitechapel I do not say that 
every firm figures on its books, but by 
methods of secret inquiry it can discover the 
status of any firm or individual It is the 
great safeguard to British trade and prevents 
much fraudulent dealing. 

Of this agency I, Dixon Druce, was ap¬ 
pointed manager in 1890. Since then I have 
met queer people and seen strange sights, for 
men do curious things for money in this 
world* 

It so happened that in June, 1S99, my 
business took 
me to Madeira 
on an inquiry of 
some import¬ 
ance. I left the 
island on the 
14th of the 
month by the 
Nor ham Castle 
for Southamp¬ 
ton, I got on 
board after 
dinner. It was 
a lovely night, 
and the strains 
of the band in 
the public gar- 
dens of Funchal 
came floating 
across the star- 
powdered bay 
through the 
warm, balmy air* 

Then the engine 
bells rang to 41 Full speed ahead," and, 
flinging a farewell to the fairest island on 
earth, I turned to the smoking-room in order 
to light my cheroot. 

“ Do you want a match, sir ? ” 

The voice came from a slender, young- 
looking man who stood near the taffraiL 
Before I could reply he had struck one and 
held it out to me* 

“Excuse me," he said, as he tossed it 
overboard, 41 but surely I am addressing Mr, 
Dixon Druce?” 


“You are, sir,' 1 I said, glancing keenly back 
at him, “ but you have the advantage of me.” 

“ Don't you know me ? ,J he responded. 
“Jack Selby, Hayward's House, Harrow, 

44 By Jove 3 so it is,” I cried. 

Our hands met in a warm clasp, and a 
moment later I found myself sitting dose to 
my old friend, who had fagged for me in the 
bygone days, and whom I had not seen from 
the moment when I said good-bye to the 
“ Hill ” in the grey mist of a December 
morning twenty years ago. He was a 
boy of fourteen then, but nevertheless I 
recognised him. His face was bronzed and 
good-looking, his features refined As a boy 
Selby had been noted for his grace, his well- 
shaped head, his clean-cut features ; these 
characteristics still were his, and although he 
was now slightly past his first youth he was 

decidedly hand¬ 
some, He gave 
me a quick 
sketch of his 
history. 

4 * My father 
left me plenty of 
money," he said, 
“ and The Mea¬ 
dows, our old 
family place, is 
now mine. I 
have a taste for 
natural history ; 
that taste took 
me two years 
ago to South 
America. I have 
had my share of 
strange adven¬ 
tures, and have 
collected valua¬ 
ble specimens 
and trophies. I 
am now on my way home from Para, on the 
Amazon, having come by a Booth boat to 
Madeira and changed there to the Castle 
Line. But why all this talk about myself?" 
he added, bringing his deck-chair a little 
nearer to mine. “ What about your history, 
old chap ? Are you settled down with a 
wife and kiddies of your own, or is that dream 
of your school days fulfilled, and are you the 
owner of the best private laboratory in 
London ? ” 

“As to the laboratory,” I said, with a 

Original from 

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"do you want a match, sir? ‘ 







388 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


smile, “you must come and see it. For the 
rest I am unmarried. Are you ? ” 

44 I was married the day before I left Para, 
and my wife is on board with me.” 

44 Capital,” I answered. 44 Let me hear all 
about it.” 

44 You shall. Her maiden name was 
Dallas ; Beatrice Dallas. She is just twenty 
now. Her father was an Englishman and 
her mother a Spaniard; neither parent is 
living. She has an elder sister, Edith, nearly 
thirty years of age, unmarried, who is on 
board with us. There is also a step-brother, 
considerably older than either Edith or 
Beatrice. I met my wife last year in Para, 
and at once fell in love. I am the happiest 
man on earth. It goes without saying that I 
think her beautiful, and she is also very well 
off. The story of her wealth is a curious one. 
Her uncle on the mother’s side was an 
extremely wealthy Spaniard, who made an 
enormous fortune in Brazil out of diamonds 
and minerals; he owned several mines. But 
it is supposed that his wealth turned his 
brain. At any rate, it seems to have done so 
as far as the disposal of his money went. 
He divided the yearly profits and interest 
between his nephew and his two nieces, but 
declared that the property itself should never 
be split up. He has left the whole of it to 
that one of the three who should survive the 
others. A perfectly insane arrangement, but 
not, I believe, unprecedented in Brazil.” 

44 Very insane,” I echoed. 44 What was he 
worth ? ” 

44 Over two million sterling.” 

44 By Jove ! ” I cried, 44 what a sum ! But 
what about the half brother ? ” 

44 He must be over forty years of age, and 
is evidently a bad lot. I have never seen 
him. His sisters won’t speak to him or have 
anything to do with him. I understand that 
he is a great gambler; I am further told 
that he is at present in England, and, as there 
are certain technicalities to be gone through 
before the girls can fully enjoy their incomes, 
one of the first things I must do when I get 
home is to find him out. He has to sign 
certain papers, for we sha’n’t be able to put 
things straight until we get his whereabouts. 
Some time ago my wife and Edith heard 
that he was ill, but dead or alive we must 
know all about him, and as quickly as 
possible.” 

I made no answer, and he continued :— 

41 Ml introduce you to my wife and sister- 
in-law to-morrow. Beatrice is quite a child 
compared to Edith, who acts towards her 
almost like a mother. Bee is a little beauty, 

Digitized by Google 

? ? o 


so fresh and round and young-looking. But 
Edith is handsome, too, although I some¬ 
times think she is as vain as a peacock. 
By the way, Druce, this brings me to another 
part of my story. The sisters liave an 
acquaintance on board, one of the most 
remarkable women I have ever met She 
goes by the name of Madame Sara, and 
knows London well. In fact, she confesses 
to having a shop in the Strand. What she 
has been doing in Brazil I do not know, for 
she keeps all her affairs strictly private. But 
you will be amazed when I tell you what her 
calling is.” 

44 What?” I asked. 

44 A professional beautifier. She claims 
the privilege of restoring youth to those who 
consult her. She also declares that she 
can make quite ugly people handsome. 
There is no doubt that she is very clever. 
She knows a little bit of everything, and has 
wonderful recipes with regard to medicines, 
surgery, and dentistry. She is a most lovely 
woman herself, very fair, with blue eyes, 
an innocent, childlike manner, and quantities 
of rippling gold hair. She openly confesses 
that she is very much older than she 
appears. She looks about five-and-twenty. 
She seems to have travelled all over the 
world, and says that by birth she is a 
mixture of Indian and Italian, her father 
having been Italian and her mother Indian. 
Accompanying her is an Arab, a handsome, 
picturesque sort of fellow, who gives her the 
most absolute devotion, and she is also 
bringing back to England two Brazilians 
from Para. This woman deals in all sorts of 
curious secrets, but principally in cosmetics. 
Her shop in the Strand could, I fancy, tell 
many a strange history. Her clients go to 
her there, and she does what is necessary for 
them. It is a fact that she occasionally 
performs small surgical operations, and there 
is not a dentist in London who can vie with 
her. She confesses quite naively that she 
holds some secrets for making false teeth 
cling to the palate that no one knows of. 
Edith Dallas is devoted to her—in fact, her 
adoration amounts to idolatry.” 

44 You give a very brilliant account of this 
woman,” I said. 44 You must introduce me 
to morrow.” 

44 1 will,” answered Jack, with a smile. 44 I 
should like your opinion of her. I am right 
glad I have met you, Druce, it is like old 
times. When we get to London I mean to 
put up at my town house in Eaton Square 
for the remainder of the season. The 

Meadows shall be re-lurnished, and Bee and 

Original tram 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


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389 


I will take up our quarters some time in 
August; then you must come and see us. 
But I am afraid before I give myself up to 
mere pleasure I must find that precious 
brother-in-law, Henry Joachim Silva. 1 ’ 

“ If you have any difficulty apply to me/ 1 
I said, 11 1 can put at your disposal, in an 
unofficial way, of course, agents who would 
find almost any man in England, dead or 
alive." 

I then proceeded to give Selby a short 
account of my own business. 

“Thanks/ 1 he said, presently, “that is 
capital, You are the very man we want,** 

The next morning after breakfast Jack 
introduced me to his wife and sister-in-law. 
They were both foreign - looking, but very 
handsome, and the wife in particular had a 
graceful and uncommon appearance. 

We had been chatting about five minutes 
when I saw coming down the deck a slight, 
rather small woman, wearing a big sun bat. 

“Ah, Madame,” cried Selby, “here you 
are. I had the luck to meet an old friend 
on board—Mr. Dixon Druce—and 1 have 
been telling him all about you, I should 
like you to know each other. Druce, this 
lady is Madame Sara, of whom I have spoken 
to you. Mr. Dixon Druce—Madame Sara.” 

She bowed gracefully and then looked at 
me earnestly. 1 had seldom seen a more 
lovely woman. By her 
side both Mrs. Selby and 
her sister seemed to fade 
into insignificance. Her 
complexion was almost 
dazziingly fair, her face 
refined in expression, her 
eyes penetrating, clever, 
and yet with the innocent, 
frank gaze of a child. Her 
dress was very simple ; she 
looked altogether like a 
young, fresh, and natural 
girl. 

As we sat chatting 
lightly and about common¬ 
place topics, I instinctively 
felt that she took an in¬ 
terest in me even greater 
than might be evinced from 
an ordinary introduction. 

By slow degrees she so 
turned the conversation as 
to leave Selby and his wife 
and sister out, and then as 
they moved away she came 
a little nearer, and said in 
a low voice 

Digitized by (jOOglC 


“ I am very glad we have met, and yet how 
odd this meeting is 1 Was it really acci¬ 
dental?" 

“ I do not understand you,” I answered. 

“ I know who you are," she said, lightly. 
“ You are the manager of Werner's Agency ; 
its business is to know the private affairs of 
those people who would rather keep their 
own secrets. Now, Mr. Druce, I am going to 
be absolutely frank with you. 1 own a smalt 
shop in the Strand—it is a perfumery shop — 
and behind those innocent-looking doors I 
conduct that business which brings me in 
gold of the realm. Have you, Mr. Druce, 
any objection to my continuing to make a 
livelihood in perfectly innocent ways?" 

“None whatever," I answered. “You 
puzzle me by alluding to the subject." 

“ I want you to pay my shop a visit when 
you come to London. I have been away 
for three or four months, I do wonders for 
my clients, and they pay me largely for my 
services. 1 hold some perfectly innocent 
secrets which I cannot confide to anybody. 
I have obtained them partly from the Indians 
and partly from the natives of Brazil. I have 
lately been in Para to inquire into certain 
methods by which my trade can be irm 
proved." 

“And your trade is-■?" I said, looking 

at her with amusement and some surprise. 


“*I AM A BPAUTIK1EK,' SMB SAID," 

Original from 
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390 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“ I am a beautifier,” she said, lightly. 
She looked at me with a smile. “ You don’t 
want me yet, Mr. Druce, but the time may 
come when even you will wish to keep back 
the infirmities of years. In the meantime 
can you guess my age ? ” 

“ I will not hazard a guess,” I answered. 

“ And I will not tell you. Let it remain a 
secret. Meanwhile, understand that my 
calling is quite an open one, and I do hold 
secrets. I should advise you, Mr. Druce, 
even in your professional capacity, not to 
interfere with them.” 

The childlike expression faded from her 
face as she uttered the last words. There 
seemed to ring a sort of challenge in her 
tone. She turned away after a few moments 
and I rejoined my friends. 

“You have been making acquaintance with 
Madame Sara, Mr. Druce,” said Mrs. Selby. 
“ Don’t you think she is lovely ? ” 

“ She is one of the most beautiful women 
I have ever seen,” I answered, “ but there 
seems to be a mystery about her.” 

“ Oh, indeed there is,” said Edith Dallas, 
gravely. 

“ She asked me if I could guess her age,” 
I continued. “ I did not try, but surely she 
cannot be more than five-and-twenty.” 

“ No one knows her age,” said Mrs. Selby, 
“ but I will tell you a curious fact, which, 
perhaps, you will not believe. She was 
bridesmaid at my mother’s wedding thirty 
years ago. She declares that she never 
changes, and has no fear of old age.” 

“ You mean that seriously ? ” I cried. 
“ But surely it is impossible ? ” 

“ Her name is on the register, and my 
mother knew her well. She was mysterious 
then, and I think my mother got into her 
power, but of that I am not certain. Any¬ 
how, Edith and I adore her, don’t we, 
Edie ? ” 

She laid her hand affectionately on her 
sister’s arm. Edith Dallas did not speak, 
but her face was careworn. After a time 
she said, slowly :— 

“ Madame Sara is uncanny and terrible.” 

There is, perhaps, no business imaginable 
— not even a lawyer’s — that engenders 
suspicions more than mine. I hate all 
mysteries — both in persons and things. 
Mysteries are my natural enemies; I felt 
now that this woman was a distinct mystery. 
That she was interested in me I did not 
doubt, perhaps because she was afraid of me. 

The rest of our voyage passed pleasantly 
enough. The more I saw of Mrs. Selby and 
her sister the more I liked them. They 

Diqitized by GoOslc 
* o 


were quiet, simple, and straightforward. I 
felt sure that they were both as good as gold. 

We parted at Waterloo, Jack and his wife 
and her sister going to Jack’s house in Eaton 
Square, and I returning to my quarters in 
St. John’s Wood. I had a house there, 
with a long garden, at the bottom of which 
was my laboratory, the laboratory that was 
the pride of my life, it being, I fondly con¬ 
sidered, the best private laboratory in 
London. There I spent alt my spare time 
making experiments and trying this chemical 
combination and the other, living in hopes of 
doing great things some day, for Werner’s 
Agency was not to be the end of my career. 
Nevertheless, it interested me thoroughly, 
and I was not sorry to get back to my com¬ 
mercial conundrums. 

The next day, just before I started to go 
to my place of business, Jack Selby was 
announced. 

“ I want you to help me,” he said. “ I 
have been already trying in a sort of general 
way to get information about my brother-in- 
law, but all in vain. There is no such 
person in any of the directories. Can you 
put me on the road to discovery ? ” 

I said I could and would if he would leave 
the matter in my hands. 

“ With pleasure,” he replied. “ You see 
how we are fixed up. Neither Edith nor 
Bee can get money with any regularity until 
the man is found. I cannot imagine why he 
hides himself.” 

“ I will insert advertisements in the personal 
columns of the newspapers,” I said, “and 
request anyone who can give information to 
communicate with me at my office. I will 
also give instructions to all the branches of 
my firm, as well as to my head assistants in 
London, to keep their eyes open for any news. 
You may be quite certain that in a week or 
two we shall know all about him.” 

Selby appeared cheered at this proposal, 
and, having begged of me to call upon his 
wife and her sister as soon as possible, took 
his leave. 

On that very day advertisements were 
drawn up and sent to several newspapers 
and inquiry agents; but week after week 
passed without the slightest result. Selby 
got very fidgety at the delay. He was 
never happy except in my presence, and 
insisted on my coming, whenever I had time, 
to his house. I was glad to do so, for I took 
an interest both in him and his belongings, 
and as to Madame Sara I could not get her 
out of my head. One day Mrs. Selby said 
to me:— 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


39 l 



“ Have you ever been to see Madame ? I 
know she would like to show you her shop 
and general surroundings,” 

“ I did promise to call upon her," X 
answered* “but have not had lime to do so 
yet,” 

“ Will you come with me to-morrow morn¬ 
ing?” asked Edith Dallas, suddenly. 

She turned red as she spoke, and the 
worried, uneasy expression became more 
marked on her face, I had noticed for 
some time that she had been looking both 
nervous and depressed, I had first observed 
this peculiarity about her on board the 
Norkam Cmtk, but, as time went on, instead 
of lessening it grew worse. Her face for so 
young a woman was haggard ; she started at 
each sound, and Madame Sarahs name was 
never spoken in her presence without her 
evincing almost undue emotion. 

14 Will you come with me?” she said, with 
great eagerness. 

I immediately promised, and the next day, 
about eleven o'clock, Edith Dallas and I 
found ourselves in a hansom driving to 
Madame Sara's shop. We reached it in a 
few minutes, and found an unpretentious 
little place wedged in between a hosier's on 
one side and a cheap print-seller’s on the 
other, In the windows of the shop were 
pyramids of perfume bottles, with scintillating 
facet stoppers tied with coloured ribbons. We 
stepped out of the hansom and went indoors. 
Inside the shop 
were a couple of 
steps, which led to 
a door of solid 
mahogany, 

“This is the 
entrance to her 
private house,” 
said Edith, and 
she pointed to a 
small brass plate, 
on which was en¬ 
graved the name 
—“ Madame Sara, 

Parfumeuse.” 

Edith touched 
an electric bell 
and the door was 
immediately 
opened by a 
smartly - dressed 
page-boy. He 
looked at Miss 
Dallas as if he 
knew her very 


11 Madame is within, and is expecting you, 
miss.” 

He ushered us both into a quiet-looking 
room, soberly but handsomely furnished. 
He left us, closing the door. Edith turned 
to me. 

“ Do you know' where we are ?” she 
asked. 

“ We are standing at present in a small 
room just behind Madame Sara’s shop,” I 
answered, “ Why are you so excited. Miss 
Dallas ? What is the matter with fan ? " 

“ We are on the threshold of a magician's 
cave,” she replied. “ We shall soon be face 
to face with the most marvellous woman in 
the whole of London. There is no one like 
her.” 

“And you—Tear her?” I said, dropping 
my voice to a whisper. 

She started, stepped back, and with great 
difficulty recovered her composure. At that 
moment the page-boy returned to conduct 
us through a series of small waiting-rooms, 
and we soon found ourselves in the presence 
of Madame herself. 

“Ah l” she said, with a smile. “This is 
delightful. You have kept your word, Edith, 
and I am greatly obliged to you. I will now 
show Mr. Druce some of the mysteries of my 
trade. But understand, sir,” she added/ 
“that I shall not tell you any of my real 
secrets, only as you would like to know some¬ 
thing about me you shall.” 


11 THIS IS KY SANCTUM SAHCTO&U U.* 

Original from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















39 2 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


44 How can you tell I should like to know 
about you ? ” I asked. 

She gave me an earnest glance which some¬ 
what astonished me, and then she said :— 

“ Knowledge is power; don’t refuse what 
I am willing to give. Edith, you will not 
object to waiting here while I show Mr. Druce 
through my rooms. First observe this room, 
Mr. Druce. It is lighted only from* the roof. 
When the door shuts it automatically locks 
itself, so that any intrusion from without is 
impossible. This is my sanctum sanctorum 
—a faint odour of perfumes pervades the 
room. This is a hot day, but the room itself 
is cool. What do you think of it all ? ” 

I made no answer. She walked to the 
other end and motioned to me to accompany 
her. There stood a polished oak square 
table, on which lay an array of extraordinary- 
looking articles and implements—stoppered 
bottles full of strange medicaments, mirrors, 
plane and concave, brushes, sprays, sponges, 
delicate needle-pointed instruments of bright 
steel, tiny lancets, and forceps. Facing this 
table was a chair, like those used by dentists. 
Above the chair hung electric lights in 
powerful reflectors, and lenses like bull’s-eye 
lanterns. Another chair, supported on a 
glass pedestal, was kept there, Madame Sara 
informed me, for administering static electri¬ 
city. There were dry-cell batteries for the 
continuous currents and induction coils for 
Faradic currents. There were also platinum 
needles for burning out the roots of hairs. 

Madame took me from this room into 
another, where a still more formidable 
array of instruments were to be found. 
Here were a wooden operating table and 
chloroform and ether apparatus. When I 
had looked at everything, she turned to me. 

44 Now you know,” she said. 44 I am a 
doctor—perhaps a quack. These are my 
secrets. By means of these I live and 
flourish.” 

She turned her back on me and walked 
into the other room with the light, springy 
step of youth. Edith Dallas, white as a 
ghost, was waiting for us. 

“ You have done your duty, my child,” 
said Madame. 44 Mr. Druce has seen just 
what I want him to see. I am very much 
obliged to you both. We shall meet to-night 
at Dady Farringdon’s 4 At-home.’ Until then, 
farewell.” 

W hen we got into the street and were 
driving back again to Eaton Square, I turned 
to Edith. 

“ Many things puzzle me about your 
friend,” I said, 44 but perhaps none more 

Digitized byC.OOQle 

* O 


than this. By what possible means can a 
woman who owns to being the possessor of a 
shop obtain the entree to some of the best 
houses in London ? Why does Society open 
her doors to this woman, Miss Dallas?” 

44 I cannot quite tell you,” was her reply. 
“ I only know the fact that wherever she 
goes she is welcomed and treated with con¬ 
sideration, and wherever she fails to appear 
there is a universally expressed feeling of 
regret.” 

I had also been invited to Lady Farring¬ 
don’s reception that evening, and I went 
there in a state of great curiosity. There 
was no doubt that Madame interested me. 
I was not sure of her. Beyond doubt there 
was a mystery attached to her, and also, for 
some unaccountable reason, she wished both 
to propitiate and defy me. Why was this ? 

I arrived early, and was standing in the 
crush near the head of the staircase when 
Madame was announced. She wore the 
richest white satin and quantities of 
diamonds. I saw her hostess bend towards 
her and talk eagerly. I noticed Madame 
reply and the pleased expression that crossed 
Lady Farringdon’s face. A few minutes later 
a man with a foreign-looking face and long 
beard sat down before the grand piano. He 
played a light prelude and Madame Sara 
began to sing. Her voice was sweet and low, 
with an extraordinary pathos in it. It was 
the sort of voice that penetrates to the heart. 
There was an instant pause in the gay chatter. 
SWe.sang amidst perfect silence, and when 
the song had come to an end there followed 
a furore of applause. I was just turning to say 
something to my nearest neighbour when I 
observed Edith Dallas, who was standing 
close by. Her eyes met mine ; she laid her 
hand on my sleeve. 

44 The room is hot,” she said, half panting 
as she spoke. 44 l ake me out on the balcony.” 

I did so. The atmosphere of the reception- 
rooms was almost intolerable, but it was com¬ 
paratively cool in the open air. 

44 1 must not lose sight of her,” she said, 
suddenly. 

44 Of whom ? ” I asked, somewhat aston¬ 
ished at her words. 

44 Of Sara.” 

44 She is there,” I said. 44 You can see her 
from where you stand.” 

We happened to be alone. I came a little 
closer. 

44 Why are you afraid of her ? ” I asked. 

44 Are you sure that we shall not be 
heard ? ” was her answer. 

44 Certain.” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


393 



“ She terrifies me,” were her next words, 

“ I will not betray your confidence, Miss 
Dallas, Will you not trust me ? You ought 
to give me a reason for your fears, 1 ' 

U I cannot—I dare not; I have said far 
too much already. Don't keep me, Mr. 
Druce. She must not find us together,” 

As she spoke she pushed her way through 
the crowd, and before I 
could stop her was stanch 
mg by Madame Sara's 
side. 

The reception in Port¬ 
land Place was, 1 remem¬ 
ber, on the 26th of July, 

Two days later the Selbys 
were to give their final 
“ At-home ” before leaving 
for the country. I was, of 
course, inyited to be pre¬ 
sent, and Madame was 

also there. She had never 

been dressed more splen¬ 
didly, nor . bad .she ever 
before looked younger or 
more beautiful. Wherever 
she went all 

eyes followed 
her. As a rule 
her dress was 

simple, almost 
like what a 
girl would wear, 
but to - night 
she chose rich 
Oriental stuffs 
made of many 
colours, and 
absolutely glit¬ 
ter i n g with 
gems. Her 
golden hair was 
studded with 

diamonds. Round her neck she wore tur¬ 
quoise and diamonds mixed. There were 
many younger women in the room, but not 
the youngest nor the fairest had a chance 
beside Madame. It was not mere beauty of 
appearance, it was charm — charm which 
carries all before it. 

I saw Miss Dallas, looking slim and tall 
and pale, standing at a little distance. I 
made my way to her side. Before I had 
time to speak she bent towards me, 

“ Is she not divine ? ” she whispered. “She 
bewilders and delights everyone. She is 
taking London by storm.” 

“ Then you are not afraid of her to-night ? ” 
I said, 

VjK jtjfiv.— SO. 


WHY ARE VOU AFRAID OF HER? 


“ I fear her more than ever. She has cast 
a spell over me. But listen, she is going to 
sing again,” 

I had not forgotten the song that Madame 
had given us at the Farringdons', and stood 
still to listen. There was a complete hush in 
the room. Her voice floated over the heads 
of the assembled guests in a dreamy Spanish 

song, Edith 
told me that it 
was a slumber 
song, and that 
Madame 
boasted of her 
power of put¬ 
ting almost 
anyone to sleep 
who listened to 
her rendering 
of it, 

“She has 
many patients 
who suffer 
from insomnia,” 
whispered the 
girl, “and she 
generally cures 
them with that 
song, and that 
alone. Ah ! we 
must not talk ; 
she will hear 
us,” 

Before I 
could reply 
Selby came 
hurrying up 
He had not 
noticed Edith, 
He caught me 
by the arm. 

“Come just 
for a minute 
into this window, Dixon,” he said. “ I must 
speak to you, I suppose you have no news 
with regard to my brother-in law ? ” 

II Not a word,” I answered. 

“ To tell you the truth, I am getting 
terribly put out over the matter. We cannot 
settle any of our money affairs just because 
this man chooses to lose himself. My wife's 
lawyers wired to Brazil yesterday, but even his 
bankers do not know anything about him.” 

“ The whole thing is a question of time,” 
was my answer. “ When are you off to 
Hampshire ? ” 

“On Saturday.” 

As Selby said the last words he looked 
around him f then he dropped his voice. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











394 


’ THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“ I want to say something else. The more 
I see "—he nodded towards Madame Sara— 
“the less I like her* Edith is getting into 
a very strange state. Have you not noticed 
it ? And the worst of it is my wife is also 
infected. I suppose it is that dodge of the 
woman's for patching people up and making 
them beautiful Doubtless the temptation is 
overpowering in the case of a plain woman, 
but Beatrice is beautiful herself and young* 
What can she have to do with cosmetics and 
complexion pills ? " 

“ You don't mean to tell me that your wife 
has consulted Madame Sara as a doctor? ” 

41 Not exactly, but she has gone to her 
about her teeth. She complained of tooth¬ 
ache lately, and Madame's dentistry is 
renowned* Edith is constantly going to her 
for one thing or another, but then Edith is 
infatuated*” 

As Jack said the last words he went over 
to speak to someone else, and before I could 
leave the seclusion of the window I perceived 
Edith Dallas and Madame Sara in earnest 
conversation together. I could not help 
overhearing the following words 

w Don't come to me to-morrow. Get into 
the country as soon as you can* It is far 
and away the best thing to do*” 

As Madame spoke she turned swiftly and 


I remembered what Selby had Said with 
regard to his wife and her money affairs* 
Beyond doubt he had married into a mystery 
—a mystery that Madame Sara knew all 
about. There was a very big money interest, 
and strange things happen when millions are 
concerned* 

The next morning I had just risen and was 
sitting at breakfast when a note was handed 
to me. It came by special messenger, and 
was marked “Urgent” I tore it open. 
These were its contents:— 

“ My dear Druck,—A terrible blow has 
fallen on us. My sisterJn-law, Edith, was 
taken suddenly ill this morning at breakfast. 
The nearest doctor was sent for, but he could 
do nothing, as she died half an hour ago. 
Do come and see me, and if you know any 
very clever specialist bring hint with you. 
My wife is utterly stunned by the shock* — 
Yours, Jack Selby*” 

I read the note twice before I could 
realize what it meant* Then I rushed out 
and, hailing the first hansom I met, said to 
the man - 

II Drive to No. 192, Victoria Street, as 
quickly as you can.” 

Here lived a certain Mr* Eric Vandeleur* 
an old friend of mine and the police surgeon 
for the Westminster district, which included 



“she bowed, and the peculiar look she had before given me flashed over her facpl“ 


caught my eye* She bowed, and the peculiar 
look, the sort of challenge, she had before 
given me flashed over her face* It made me 
uncomfortable, and during the night that 
followed I could not get it out of my head* 

Digitized by G»OOQ 1C 


Eaton Square. No shrewder or sharper 
fellow existed than Vandeleur, and the 
present case was essentially in his province, 
both legally and professionally. He was nut 
at his flat when I arrived, having already 

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395 


gone down to the court. Here I accordingly 
hurried, and was informed that he was in the 
mortuary. 

For a man who, as it seemed to me, lived in 
a perpetual atmosphere of crime and violence, 
of death and coroners’ courts, his habitual 
cheerfulness and brightness of manner were 
remarkable. Perhaps it was only the reaction 
from his work, for he had the reputation of 
being one of the most astute experts of the 
day in medical jurisprudence, and the most 
skilled analyst in toxicological cases on the 
Metropolitan Police staff. Before I could 
send him word that I wanted to see him I 
heard a door bang, and Vandeleur came 
hurrying down the passage, putting on his 
coat as he rushed along. 

“ Halloa ! ” he cried. “ I haven’t seen 
you for ages. Do you want me? ” 

“ Yes, very urgently,” I answered. “ Are 
you busy ? ” 

“ Head over ears, my dear chap. I cannot 
give you a moment now, but perhaps later 
on.” 

“ What is it ? You look excited.” 

“I have got to go to Eaton Square like 
the wind, but come along, if you like, and 
tell me on the way.” 

“Capital,” I cried. “The thing has been 
reported, then ? You are going to Mr. Selby’s, 
No. 34A; then I am going with you.” 

He looked at me in amazement. 

“ But the case has only just been reported. 
What can you possibly know about it ? ” 

“ Everything. Let us take this hansom, 
and I will tell you as we go along.” 

As we drove to Eaton Square I quickly 
explained the situation, glancing now and 
then at Vandeleur’s bright, clean-shaven face. 
He was no longer Eric Vandeleur, the man 
with the latest club story and the merry 
twinkle in his blue eyes : he was Vandeleur 
the medical jurist, with a face like a mask, 
his lower jaw slightly protruding and features 
very fixed. 

“ This thing promises to be serious,” he 
replied, as I finished, “ but I can do nothing 
until after the autopsy. Here we are, and 
there is my man waiting for me; he has been 
smart.” 

On the steps stood an official-looking man 
in uniform, who saluted. 

“Coroner’s officer,” explained Vandeleur. 

We entered the silent, darkened house. 
Selby was standing in the hall. He came to 
meet us. I introduced him to Vandeleur, 
and he at once led us into the dining-room, 
where we found Dr. Osborne, whom Selby 
had called in when the alarm of Edith’s ill- 

Diqitized by V»OOQ Ic 
* o 


ness had been first given. Dr. Osborne was 
a pale, under-sized, very young man. His 
face expressed considerable alarm. Van¬ 
deleur, however, managed to put him com¬ 
pletely at his ease. 

“ I will have a chat with you in a few 
minutes, Dr. Osborne,” he said; “but first 
I must get Mr. Selby’s report. Will you 
please tell us, sir, exactly what occurred ? ” 

“ Certainly,” he answered. “ We had a 
reception here last night, and my sister-in- 
law did not go to bed until early morning; 
she was in bad spirits, but otherwise in her 
usual health. My wife went into her room 
after she was in bed, and told me later on 
that she had found Edith in hysterics, and 
could not get her to explain anything. We 
both talked about taking her to the country 
without delay. Indeed, our intention was to 
get off this afternoon.” 

“ Well ? ” said Vandeleur. 

“ We had breakfast about half-past nine, 
and Miss Dallas came down, looking quite 
in her usual health, and in apparently good 
spirits. She ate with appetite, and, as it 
happened, she and my wife were both 
helped from the same dish. The meal had 
nearly come to an end when she jumped up 
from the table, uttered a sharp cry, turned 
very pale, pressed her hand to her side, and 
ran out of the room. My wife immediately 
followed her. She came back again in a 
minute or two, and said that Edith was in 
violent pain, and begged of me to send for a 
doctor. Dr. Osborne lives just round the 
corner. lie came at once, but she died 
almost immediately after his arrival.” 

“ You were in the room ? ” asked Vandeleur, 
turning to Osborne. 

“ Yes,” he replied. “ She was conscious 
to the last moment, and died suddenly.” 

“ Did she tell you anything?” 

“ No, except to assure me that she had not 
eaten any food that day until she had come 
down to breakfast After the death occurred 
I sent immediately to report the case, locked 
the door of the room where the poor girl’s 
body is, and saw also that nobody touched 
anything on this table.” 

Vandeleur rang the bell and a servant 
appeared. He gave quick orders. The 
entire remains of the meal were collected and 
taken charge of, and then he and the coroner’s 
officer went upstairs. 

When we were alone Selby sank into a 
chair. His face was quite drawn and 
haggard. 

“ It is the horrible suddenness of the thing 
which is so appalling^” he cried. “As to 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


396 

Beatrice, I don't believe she will ever be the 
same again. She was deeply attached to 
Edith. Edith was nearly ten years her senior, 
and always acted the part of mother to her. 
This is a sad beginning to our life* I can 
scarcely think collectedly.” 


the aspects of the case, her undoubted sanity 
and her affection for her sister, we may 
almost exclude the idea of suicide* We must, 
therefore, call it murder. This harmless, 
innocent lady is struck down by the hand 
of an assassin, and with such devilish 



“SHE JlTMPEP LT FROM THE TABLE AND UTTER EH A SHARP CKV. * 


I remained with him a little longer, and 
tlnn, as Vandeleur did not return, went back 
to my own house. There I could settle to 
nothing, and when Vandeleur rang me up 
on the telephone about six o'clock I hurried 
off to his rooms. As soon as I arrived I 
saw that Selby was with him, and the 
expression on both their faces told me the 
truth. 

41 This is a bad business/ 1 said Vandeleur. 
44 Miss Dallas has died from swallowing 
poison. An exhaustive analysis and exam¬ 
ination have been made, and a powerful 
poison, unknown to European toxicologists, 
has been found. This is strange enough, 
but how it has been administered is a 
puzzle, I confess, at the present moment, 
we are all nonplussed. It certainly was 
not in the remains of the breakfast, and we 
have her dying evidence that she took 
nothing else. Now, a poison with such 
appalling potency would take effect quickly. 
It is evident that she was quite well when 
she came to breakfast, and that the poison 
began to work towards the close of the meal 
But how did she get it? This question, 
however, I shall deal with later on* The 
more immediate point is this. The situation 
is a serious one in view' of the monetary 
issues and the value of the lady's life* From 

Digitized by OoOQle 


cunning that no trace or clue is left behind 
For such an act there must have been some 
very powerful motive, and the person who 
designed and executed it must be a criminal 
of the highest order of scientific ability. 
Mr. Selby has been telling me the exact 
financial position of the poor lady, and also 
of his own young wife. The absolute dis 
appearance ol the step-brother, in view of 
his previous character, is in the highest 
degree strange* Knowing, as we do, that 
between him and two million sterling there 
stood tw'Q lives —one is taken f * 1 

A deadly sensation of cold seized me as 
Vandeleur uttered these last words* I 
glanced at Selby* Mis face was colourless 
and the pupils of his eyes were contracted, 
as though he saw something which terrified 
him. * 

41 What has happened once may happen 
again/* continued Vandeleur* “ We are in 
the presence of a great mystery, and I 
counsel you, Mr. Selby, to guard your wife 
with the utmost care*” 

These words, falling from a man of 
Vandeleuris position and authority on such 
matters, were sufficiently shocking for me to 
hear, but for Selby to be given such a solemn 
w arning about his young and beautiful and 
newly-married wife, who was all the world to 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






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397 



“ l COUNSEL YOVt HH+ 5&LBV, TO WARD VOUR WIFE. 


him, was terrible indeed. He leant his head 
on his hands. 

“ Mercy on us! ” he muttered. “ Is 
this a civilized country when death can 
walk abroad like this, invisible, not to be 
avoided ? Tell me, Mr. Vanddeur, what I 
must do.” 

“ You must be guided by me,” said Van- 
deleur, “and, believe me, there is no witch¬ 
craft in the world. I shall place a detective 
in your household immediately. Don't be 
alarmed ; he will come to you in plain clothes 
and will simply act as a servant. Neverthe¬ 
less, nothing can be done to your wife with¬ 
out his knowledge. As to you, Druce,” he 
continued, turning to me, “ the police are 
doing all they can to find this man Silva, 
and I ask you to help them with your big 
agency, and to begin at once. Leave your 
friend to me. Wire instantly if you hear 
news. 1 ' 

“You may rely on me,” I said, and a 
moment later I had left the room. 

As I walked rapidly down the street the 
thought of Madame Sara, her shop and its 
mysterious background, its surgical instru¬ 
ments, its operating-table, its induction coils, 
came back to me. And yet what could 
Madame Sara have to do with the present 
strange, inexplicable mystery ? 

The thought had scarcely crossed my mind 


before I heard a clatter 
alongside the kerb, and 
turning round I saw a 
smart open carriage, drawn 
by a pair of horses, stand¬ 
ing there. I also heard 
my own name. I turned. 
Bending out of the carriage 
was Madame Sara. 

“1 saw you going by, 
Mr. Druce. I have only 
just heard the news about 
poor Edith Dallas. I am 
terribly shocked and upset. 
I have been to the house, 
but they would not admit 
me. Have you heard 
what was the cause of her 
death ? * 

Madame’s blue eyes 
filled with tears as she 
spoke. 

“I am not at liberty to 
disclose what I have 
heard, Madame,” I an¬ 
swered, “since I am 
officially connected with 
the affair,” 

Her eyes narrowed. The brimming tears 
dried as though by magic. Her glance 
became scornful 

“ Thank you,” she answered ; “ your reply 
tells me that she did not die naturally. How 
very appalling ! But I must not keep you. 
Can I drive you anywhere?” 

“ No, thank you.” 

“ Good-bye, then.” 

She made a sign to the coachman, and as 
the carriage rolled away turned to look back 
at me. Her face wore the defiant expression 
I had seen there more than once. Could 
she be connected with the affair? The 
thought came upon me with a violence that 
seemed almost conviction. Yet I had no 
reason for it—none. 

To find Henry Joachim Silva was now 
my principal thought. Advertisements were 
widely circulated. My staff had instructions 
to make every possible inquiry, with large 
money rewards as incitements. The col¬ 
lateral branches of other agencies throughout 
Brazil were communicated with by cable, 
and all the Scotland Yard channels were 
used. Still there was no result. The news¬ 
paper: took up the case; there were para¬ 
graphs in most of them with regard to the 
missing step-brother and the mysterious 
death of Edith Dallas. Then someone got 
hold of the story the will, and this was 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








398 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


retailed with many additions for the benefit 
of the public. At the inquest the jury 
returned the following verdict: — 

“ We find that Miss Edith Dallas died 
from taking poison of unknown name , but by 
whom or how administered there is no evidence 
to say. v 

This unsatisfactory state of things was 
destined to change quite suddenly. On the 
6th of August, as I was seated in my office, a 
note was brought me by a private messenger. 
It ran as follows :— 

“Norfolk Hotel, Strand. 

“Dear Sir, —I have just arrived in London 
from Brazil, and have seen your advertise¬ 
ments. I was about to insert one myself in 
order to find the whereabouts of my sisters. 
I am a great invalid and unable to leave my 
room. Can you come to see me at the 
earliest possible moment?—Yours, 

“Henry Joachim Silva.” 

In uncontrollable excitement I hastily 
dispatched two telegrams, one to Selby and 
the other to Vandeleur, begging of them to 
be with me, without fail, as soon as pos¬ 
sible. So the man had never been in 
England at all. The situation was more 
bewildering than ever. One thing, at least, 
was probable—Edith Dallas’s death was not 
due to her step-brother. Soon after half-past 
six Selby arrived, and Vandeleur walked in 
ten minutes later. I told them what had 
occurred and showed them the letter. In 
half an hour’s time we reached the hotel, 
and on stating who I was we were shown 
into a room on the first floor by 
Silva’s private servant. Resting in an 
arm-chair, as we entered, sat a man; his 
face was terribly thin. The eyes and 
cheeks were so sunken that the face had 
almost the appearance of a skull. He made 
no effort to rise when we entered, and 
glanced from one of us to the other with the 
utmost astonishment. I at once introduced 
myself and explained who we were. He 
then waved his hand for his man to retire. 

“ You have heard the news, of course, Mr. 
Silva ? ” I said. 

“ News ! What ? He glanced up to me 
and seemed to read something in my face. 
He started back in his chair. 

“ Good heavens ! ” he replied. “Do you 
allude to my sisters ? Tell me, quickly, are 
they alive ? ” 

“ Your elder sister died on the 29th of 
July, and there is every reason to believe 
that her death was caused by foul play.” 

As I uttered these words the change that 
passed over his face was fearful to witness. 

Digitized by C lOOQle 
* o 


He did not speak, but remained motionless. 
His claw-like hands clutched the arms of the 
chair, his eyes were fixed and staring, as 
though they would start from their hollow 
sockets, the colour of his skin was like clay. 
I heard Selby breathe quickly behind me, 
and Vandeleur stepped towards the man 
and laid his hand on his shoulder. 

“Tell us what you know of this matter,” 
he said, sharply. 

Recovering himself with an effort, the 
invalid began in a tremulous voice :— 

“ Listen closely, for you must act quickly. 
I am indirectly responsible for this fearful 
thing. My life has been a wild and wasted 
one, and now I am dying. The doctors tell 
me I cannot live a month, for I have a large 
aneurism of the heart. Eighteen months ago 
I was in Rio. I was living fast and gambled 
heavily. Among my fellow-gamblers was a 
man much older than myself. His name was 
Jos6 Aranjo. He was, if anything, a greater 
gambler than I. One night we played alone. 
The stakes ran high until they reached a big 
figure. By daylight I had lost to him nearly 
^200,000. Though I am a rich man in 
point of income under my uncle’s will, I 
could not pay a twentieth part of that 
sum. This man knew my financial posi¬ 
tion, and, in addition to a sum of ^5,000 
paid down, I gave him a document. I must 
have been mad to do so. The document 
was this—it was duly witnessed and attested 
by a lawyer—that, in the event of my 
surviving my two sisters and thus inheriting 
the whole of my uncle’s vast wealth, half a 
million shouid go to Jos<£ Aranjo. I felt I 
was breaking up at the time, and the chances 
of my inheriting the money were small. 
Immediately after the completion of the 
document this man left Rio, and I then 
heard a great deal about him that I had not 
previously known. He was a man of the 
queerest antecedents, partly Indian, partly 
Italian. He had spent many years of his 
life amongst the Indians. I heard also 
that he was as cruel as he was clever, 
and possessed some wonderful secrets of 
poisoning unknown to the West. I thought 
a great deal about this, for I knew 
that by signing that document I had placed 
the lives of my two sisters between him 
and a fortune. I came to Para six weeks 
ago, only to learn that one of my sisters was 
married and that both had gone to England, 
ill as I was, I determined to follow them 
in order to warn them. I also wanted to 
arrange matters with you, Mr. Selby.” 

“One moment, sir,” I broke in, suddenly. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


399 


“Do you happen to be aware if this man, 
Jose Aranjo, knew a woman calling herself 
Madame Sara ? ” 

“Knew her?” cried Silva. “Very well 
indeed, and so, for that matter, did L 


the present. It is absolutely necessary that 
Mrs. Selby should leave London at once. 
Goodnight, sir* I shall give myself the 
pleasure of calling on you to - morrow 
morning,” 



Aranjo and Madame Sara were the best 
friends, and constantly met She called her¬ 
self a professional beautifier—was very hand¬ 
some, and had secrets for the pursuing of her 
trade unknown even to Aranjo.” 

“ Good heavens] 11 i cried, “and the woman 
is now in London. She returned here with 
Mrs. Selby and Miss Dallas. Edith was very 
much influenced by her, and was constantly 
with her. There is no doubt in my mind 
that she is guilty, I have suspected her for 
some time, but I could not find a motive. 
Now the motive appears. You surely can 
have her arrested ? ” 

Vandeleur made no reply. He gave me a 
strange look, then he turned to Selby. 

“ Has your wife also consulted Madame 
Sara ? ” he asked, sharply. 

“Yes, she went to her once about her 
teeth, but has not been to the shop since 
Edith's death. I begged of her not to see 
the woman, and she promised me faithfully 
she would not do so.” 

11 Has she any medicines or lotions given 
to her by Madame Sara—does she follow 
any line of treatment advised by her?” 

“ No, 1 am certain on that point.” 

“Very well, I will see your wife to-night in 
order to ask her some questions. You must 
both leave town at once. Go to your 
country house and settle there. I am quite 
serious when I say that Mrs, Selby is in the 
utmost possible danger until after the death 
of her brother. We must leave you now, 
Mr. Silva, All business affairs must wait for 


We took leave of the sick man. As soon 
as we got into the street Vandeleur stopped. 

“ I must leave it to you, Selby,” he said, 
“ to judge how much of this matter you will 
tell to your wife. Were I you 1 would 
explain everything. The time for immediate 
action has arrived, and she is a brave and 
sensible woman. From this moment you 
must watch all the foods and liquids that she 
takes. She must never be out of your sight 
or out of the sight of some other trustworthy 
companion.” 

“ I shall, of course, watch my wife myself,” 
said Selby. “ But the thing is enough to 
drive one mad," 

“ I will go with you to the country, Selby,” 
I said, suddenly, 

“ Ah ! " cried Vandeleur, “ that is the best 
thing possible, and what I wanted to propose. 
Go, all of you, by an early train to-morrow.” 

“ Then I will be off home at once, to make 
arrangements,” I said, “I will meet you, 
Selby, at Waterloo for the first train to 
Crons moor to-morrow.” 

As 1 was turning away Vandeleur caught 
my arm. 

“ I am glad you are going with them,” he 
said. “ I shall write to you to-night rt 
instructions. Never be without a loaded 
revolver. Good-nigh t,” 

By 6,15 the next morning Selby, his wife, 
and I were in a reserved, locked, first-class 
compartment, speeding rapidly west, The 
servants and Mrs. Selby’s own special maid 

were in a separate carriage. Selby's face 

uncnnal from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











400 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE .. 


showed signs of a sleepless night, and pre¬ 
sented a striking contrast to the fair, fresh 
face of the girl round whom this strange 
battle raged. Her husband had told her 
everything, and, though still suffering terribly 
from the shock and grief of her sister's 
death, her face was calm and full of repose, 

A carriage was waiting for us at Crons- 
m >or, and by half-past nine we arrived at 
the old home of the Selbys, nestling amid its 
oaks and elms* Everything was done to 
make the home-coming of the bride as 
cheerful as circumstances would permit, but 
a gloom, impossible to lift, overshadowed 


I went into the hall and looked up the 
trains. The next arrived at Cronsmoor at 
10.45* I ^en strolled round to the stables 
and ordered a carriage, after which I 
walked up and down on the drive. There 
was no doubt that something strange had 
happened Vandeleur coming down so sud¬ 
denly must mean a final clearing up of the 
mystery, I had just turned round at the 
lodge gates to wait for the carriage when 
the sound of wheels and of horses galloping 
struck on my ears. The gates were swung 
open, and Vandeleur in an open fly dashed 
through them. Before I could recover from 



my surprise he was out of the vehicle and at 
my side. He carried a small black bag in 
his hand, 

“ I came down by special train," he said, 
speaking quickly, “ There is not a moment 
to lose. Come at once. Is Mrs. Selby all 
right ? ” 

“What do you mean?” I replied 41 Of 
course she is. Do you suppose that she is 
in danger ? Jl 

14 Deadly,” was his answer, “Come.” 

We dashed up to the house together. 
Selby, who had heard our steps, came to 
meet us. 

“Mr, Vandeleur!” he cried 41 What is 
it ? How did you come ? ” 

“ By special train, Mr, Selby, And I want 
to see your wife at once* It will be necessary 
to perform a very trifling operation.” 

44 Operation ! ” he exclaimed, 

11 Yes ; at once.” 

We made our way through the hall and 
into the m^nmg-^pm T where Mrs. Selby 


VANDELEUR IN AN (ij*EN FLV DASH£D THROUGH/ 


Selby himself. He could scarcely rouse him¬ 
self to take the slightest interest in anything. 

The following morning I received a letter 
from Vandeleur, It was very short, and 
once more impressed on me the necessity 
of caution. He said that two eminent 
physicians had examined Silva, and the 
verdict was that he could not live a month. 
Until his death precautions must be strictly 
observed. 

The day was cloudless, and after breakfast 
I was just starting out for a stroll when the 
butler brought me a telegram. I tore it open ; 
it was from Vandeleur. 

44 Prohibit all food until I arrive. Am 
coming down,” were the words, I hurried 
into the study and gave it to Selby. He 
read it and looked up at me. 

41 Find out the first train and go and meet 
him, old chap,” he said* “ Let us hope that 
this means an end of the hideous affair,” 




UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


401 


was busily engaged reading and answering 
letters. She started up when she saw Vande- 
leur and uttered an exclamation of surprise. 

“ What has happened ? ” she asked. 

Vandeleur went up to her and took her 
hand. 

44 Do not be alarmed,” he said, 44 for I 
have come to put all your fears to rest. 
Now, please, listen to me. When you visited 
Madame Sara with your sister, did you go for 
medical advice ? ” 

The colour rushed into her face. 

“One of my teeth ached,” she answered. 
44 I went to her about that. She is, as I 
suppose you know, a most wonderful dentist. 
She examined the tooth, found that it 
required stopping, and got an assistant, a 
Brazilian, I think, to do it.” 

“ And your tooth has been comfortable 
ever since ? ” 

“ Yes, quite. She had one of Edith's 
stopped at the same time.” 

“ Will you kindly sit down and show me 
which was the tooth into which the stopping 
was put? ” 

She did so. 

“This was ihe one,” she said, pointing with 
her finger to one in the lower jaw. “ What 
do you* mean ? Is there anything wrong ? ” 

Vandeleur examined the tooth long and 
carefully. There was a sudden rapid move¬ 
ment of his hand, and a sharp cry from Mrs. 
Selby. With the deftness of long practice, 
and a powerful wrist, he had extracted the 
tooth with one wrench. The suddenness of 
the whole thing, startling as it was, was not 
so strange as his next movement. 

44 Send Mrs. Selby’s maid to her,” he said, 
turning to her husband ; 44 then come, both 
of you, into the next room.” 

The maid was summoned. Poor Mrs. 
Selby had sunk back in her chair, terrified 
and half fainting. A moment later Selby 
joined us in the dining-room. 

“Thats right,” said Vandeleur; “close 
the door, will you ? ” 

He opened his black bag and brought out 
several instruments. With one he removed 
the stopping from the tooth. It was quite 
soft and came away easily. Then from the 
bag he produced a small guinea-pig, which 
he requested me to hold. He pressed the 


VoL 

a ' o 


sharp instrument into the tooth, and opening 
the mouth of the little animal placed the 
point on the tongue. The effect was 
instantaneous. The little head fell on to 
one of my hands—the guinea-pig was dead. 
Vandeleur was white as a sheet. He hurried 
up to Selby and wrung his hand. 

44 Thank Heaven ! ” he said, 44 I’ve been in 
time, but only just. Your wife is safe. This 
stopping would hardly have held another 
hour. I have been thinking all night over 
the mystery of your sister-in-law’s death, and 
over every minute detail of evidence as to 
how the poison could have been adminis¬ 
tered. Suddenly the coincidence of both 
sisters having had their teeth stopped struck 
me as remarkable. Like a flash the solution 
came to me. The more I considered it the 
more I felt that I was right; but by what 
fiendish cunning such a scheme could have 
been conceived and executed is still beyond 
my power to explain. The poison is very 
like hyoscine, one of the worst toxic-alkaloids 
known, so violent in its deadly proportions 
that the amount that would go into a tooth 
would cause almost instant death. It has 
been kept in by a gutta-percha stopping, 
certain to come out within a month, probably 
earlier, and most probably during mastication 
of food. The person would die either imme¬ 
diately or after a very few minutes, and no 
one would connect a visit to the dentist with 
a death a month afterwards.” 

What followed can be told in a very few 
words. Madame Sara was arrested on sus¬ 
picion. She appeared before the magistrate, 
looking innocent and beautiful, and managed 
during her evidence completely to baffle that 
acute individual. She denied nothing, but 
declared that the poison must have been put 
into the tooth by one of the two Brazilians 
whom she had lately engaged to help her with 
her dentistry. She had her suspicions with 
regard to these men soon afterwards, and had 
dismissed them. She believed that they 
were in the pay of Jos£ Aran jo, but she could 
not tell anything for certain. Thus Madame 
escaped conviction. I was certain that she 
was guilty, but there was not a shadow of 
real proof. A month later Silva died, and 
Selby is now a double millionaire. 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



7 he Humour of Sport. 

II.—GOLF. 

By James Walter Smith. 



UCH of the humour of 
golf comes from the out¬ 
side. The insider — he 
who plays—never makes 
fun of the Ancient and 
Royal Game. This is as 
it should be. There is no game which 
is, or deserves to be, taken more seriously. 
According to one cynic, it requires two 
years to learn the terms of the game, 
another two years to differentiate the 
clubs and to learn the use of each, and 
still another year to find out that no 
golfer is a hero to his caddie. By the 
time this five years' apprenticeship is 
served, continues our cynic, you are fit 
to begin to learn the game, have perhaps 
become a careless though hardened dis¬ 
penser of strong language, and have 
learned to handle a cleek with some 
aplomb before the lady with whom you 
may be engaging in a hole - to - hole 
tournament. 

To the tyro at golf we fancy that the 
subject of dress presents many perplexi¬ 
ties. He who would play golf, even 
though he be a hippopotamus, is subject 
to rigid rule ; but the choice of cloth or 
style of knickerbockers is merely a ques¬ 
tion of checks and length. The blazing 
red golf jacket, which a few years ago 
made the links a seeming paradise for 
any neighbouring bull, has apparently 
gone out of fashion, and the golfer now clothes 
himself in quiet cloth of quiet pattern that 




Vfctm 


Natural Advantages.— 1 1 he Adjutant: "I am almost sorry that knickerbockers are so 
fashionable/’ 

The Hippo : ,s To tell the truth, so am I/' 

ptCAA'N HY Z, DAKER FOR '* FUOfr 1 

Digitized by K^OOglt 


" In my humble opinion a man looks at his very best in golfing kit/' 
DRAWN ay IL, MITCHELL. REPRODUCED BY FEFSTISStON OF THE 
PROPRIETORS OP h+ GOLF ILLL'STrated/' 


does not wake his brother-players up at night, 
A golf suit covers a multitude of deficiencies 
in many a player, 
but we agree with 
the gentleman in 
our illustration 
when be says that 
a man looks his 
very best in it. 

Once the question 
of dress is settled 
and the caddie hag 
picked out, the 
actual difficulties of 
the game begin. 
Golf is like any 
other game that de¬ 
mands close study, 
Its nomenclature is 
puzzling, hut he who 
takes earnestly to the 
game need worry 

Original froiM ut 9Vcr ^ 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














THE HUMOUR OF SPORT. 


4°3 



It Takes Time.- Miss We ston : 'And have yr.u played 
much golf, Mr. Tones? " 

Mr. jone*: “ Well—er—no, I can’i say Ivi- played nnich, hut 
I've walked round the links several times, and I'm beginning to 
understand the langunge.” 

DRAWN BY BERNARD WESTMACOTT FUR "THE KING." 

sin of confusing 
a hrassie with a 
mashie, either in 
the abstract or 
when they are in 
actual use. The 
young man who 
hadn’t played 
much, but had 
walked over the 
links several times 
trying to under¬ 
stand the lan¬ 
guage, doubtless 
had much to learn. 

To him the lingo 
constituted a real 
puzzle, but the 
perplexities of the 
preliminary stage 
in golf are nothing 
compared with 
the puzzles that 

b^ve tp bp solved 


at a later one. A veteran of many years’ 
standing, for instance, might well stand aghast 
in front of an ostrich which had swallowed 
the ball. “ I wonder what I do now ? ” says 
the player. The ostrich, knowing that he has 
hold of a good thing, says nothing to interfere 
with digestion, or to help the poor player out 
of his quandary. 

The attractiveness of the game and its 
accessories puts many perils in the path of 
the animal kingdom. Just as an ostrich 
might swallow a golf ball with gusto, or a 
goat eat up a pair of fancy-coloured golf 
breeches, so might a rabbit swallow a little 
round white object on the links, thinking it 
to be a mushroom. The humorist’s treat¬ 
ment of a gastric catastrophe such as this 
may appear slightly far-fetched, but there is 
much wisdom in the remark of Mrs. Rabbit 
to her husband : 14 Well, you jack, if you’re 
so near - sighted you can’t tell a mush¬ 
room from a golf ball, you’ve got to suffer, 
that’s all! ” Mayhap the disappearance of 
golf balls is due to such causes as these, 
but we prefer to think that they disappear 
through human agency. 

In the reports of the game we look in 
vain for some reference to that very im¬ 
portant and ubiquitous personage whom the 
Frenchman on the next page has very naturally 
mixed up with the tee. Who else but the 
caddie could be meant ? Were it not for 
that saucy, tar-fingered little gentleman, who, 





Golf in the Desert.—G olfer (observing his ball in o trich’s nrck) : " 1 woider what I do npw?* 
PRAWN BY R. C. CAftTEf* FpR;“ THE ^1^/’ 

ed by ^OOgl€ UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














404 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




Acute Mistaken Identity.— 14 Say, wi(V r 1 .swallowed a link rotmd white mushroom ihi 51 

;h." 

□u can't tell a mushroom from a golf-ball, you ve got 
DHAWN BY A. Z. BAKER FOR 41 PUCK, ’ 


morning, and it feels like lead in my stomach, 
" Well, you Jack, if you're so near-sighted yoi 
to suffer, that s all ! drawn by A. Z. I 


in addition to a genuine knowledge of the 
game, knows that old golf balls fetch 3s. $d. 
the dozen, half the fun in the game would be 
gone. From the seventy-year-old caddies at 
St, Andrews down to the little “ coons ” 
who officiate on the American links, 
these picturesque figures form a great 
and ever-growing class. They give 
advice when it is asked—sometimes 
when it is not — and that advice is 
based upon the best of experience. 
Sometimes they are very much in the 
way, but, as in the case of the young 
lady with an uncongenial partner, one 
prefers to have the caddie in the way. 

They say exactly what they think, and 
think a deal more than they utter. 
u Tm tired of you laughing at my 
game,” once remarked a wrathful golfer, 

“If 1 hear any more impudence from 
you 111 hit you over the head/' “ All 
right,” replied the caddie; u but 111 bet 
you don't know what would be the 
right club to do it with.” Another 
story conies from St. Andrews, Says 
an eighteen man on his first round to 
his caddie, “There’s an infernal lot of 
bunkers and hazards here! ,J “Oh, 
aye,” was the reply, but ye’ve been in 
them a 5 but twa.” Is it any wonder 
that, at such a moment, the resisting 


would fill a book. 
Golfers still delight 
to tell of the beginner 
who remarked to his 
faithful attendant 
that a drive and a 
putt would carry him 
to the next hole. The 
drive was made and 
the ball rolled a few 
yards into the dis¬ 
tance, when the 
caddie drily re¬ 
marked : “ Noo for a 

-o’ a putt!” If 

the non-golfer finds 
no fun in this story 
he should buy a 
glossary of golf terms. 
Golfers also tell of 
the stranger who, 
struck by the appear* 
a nee of a player in 
front whom his 
caddie seemed to know, asked the name of 
this apparently distinguished person. “That’s 

Lord X-replied the caddie. Then, 

drawing attention to an mi perfect pair of 


power of man breaks its limit, and 
results in the torrent of blue abuse 
that lias made the golfer's vocabulary 
famous? The stories told of caddies 

Diqilized by CiOOQ l 


Quite Excusable,—M onsieur : "Vat is U — ree l«tle — zet lectle 

mot'll for halt ? " 

Puyms? Amazon : " The (t-e," 

Monsieur! "Zee thi? Mon Uieu! Zen you tarry zee in zee 
cuddle, nesi-oe pas/" 


c 


DRAWN DV HOVVA 0 F p Ha|l#dm TUT “ 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


SKETCH-” 











THE HUMOUR OF SPORT 


4<>5 



example of this. Another good one 
runs as follows : u Here’s a shilling, 
caddie," says the young man to the 
boy, as he starts off with his arm 
around a fair golfer's waist; 11 you 
want to forget this.” Don't worry, 
sir," replies the caddie, <4 I’ve forgot 
more about that kind of business 
than you ever knew." With such 
opportunities at band it is not sur¬ 
prising that caddies turn many a 
good penny on the links, for the 
feminine influence on the game has 
become very potent in the last 
decade. A foursome between the 
two sexes is therefore a sure source 
of income to the lucky young 
gentlemen who carry the clubs. 
They, at least, are satisfied with 
their calling. Here's sixpence, 
my poor lad," once said a kind 
golfer. iX Instead of living this way, 
why don't you learn a trade?" “I 
wad, sir, if 1 kenc of a better yin 
than this/ 1 was the quick reply. 

Another trying thing about golf 
is the realization of opportunities 


IWAWS |1 V H. i. t AKTE’.k. ! 1.1, nv rF KM |SMON OF 

FROKHIETORS OF “GOLF ILLUSTRATED." 


nether garments he himself wore, added: 
“ Him an 1 me's great frcens—they’s his 
breeks." 

The friendships thus struck up between 
golfer and caddie are not unusual. In fact, 
there are caddies and caddies, and with some 
of them one can advantageously make friends. 
A good caddie is like a good gillie, watch - 
fut of his employer's interest and a partner 
in his success. If his advice be sought, he 
can often tell the player not only the proper 
direction to play, but also the proper club to 
use and the line of the putt. Moreover, 
unless very wicked, he is usually in evidence 
and attentive to his duties. An abnormally 
stout party, as our picture proves, sometimes 
has a little difficulty in finding his boy, but 
these disappearances are happily of rare 
occurrence. He was much in evidence 
when the Major played after a heavy lunch, 
but showed a lack of breeding by his 
laughter. The first requirement .of a caddie 
is that he keep a straight face, no matter 
what he sees. 

We can conceive, however, that there are 
moments in the game when the presence of 
a caddie complicates affairs, especially /es 
offairts da wur , We have already had one 


AH£ENT*Mtrfi>Ki>.—Haw i[ ie Major played golf a r tcr n, heavy 

„ ijn&LJSffm FOR fi THE *|NQ f " 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







n ole Your Rall ano Get Onp, 

fudges patent qiikk thirst-quencher will save walking Wk to the dub-house and encourage good playing. Sen^ f^r CatpJogucv 

pRAWJf ESV It C, GREENING FuK “ JUOG^'f j g ||^0 | f fQ |-f| 

Digitized by ^lOOglC UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


lost, these lost 
opportunities being 
the result of ignor- 
ance, with the 
realization coming 
after defeat. The 
youth shown in one 
of our illustrations, 
sitting despondent 
beside a fair lady, 
does not owe his 
condition to a femi¬ 
nine negative, but 
to a realization that 
he might have won 
his match had he 
used a lofting-iron 
instead of a cleek. 

Such moments as 
these come into 
the life of every 
man. 

Let us not, how¬ 
ever, forget that the 
game has its beau¬ 
ties. A thirty-six- 
hole match was 
recently played in 
Scotland, and was 
reported as follows: 

“ At the first hole 
A. had the honour, 
and from a had lie 
his second over-ran 
the green. B., on 
the green with his 
second, took 2 more to get down, hut A. 
missed his putt, and this cost him a hole : 


4—5. A* over¬ 
drove the green, 
and, his approach 
falling short, B., 
who lay dead with 
his second, holed 
out in 3 to the 
champion’s 4.” 
Another report tells 
how one of the 
players “ took the 
game in hand and 
was 4 up at the 
turn. Both were 
in difficulties at the 
tenth, which went 
to A. in 5 to 6* 
Halving the clev* 
enth in 5, a lovely 
3 gave A. the 
twelfth, his oppo¬ 
nent taking 5. B, 
was now only 2 up, 
but the 1 Specta¬ 
cles * bunker trap¬ 
ped the younger 
player, who lifted, 
and B. secured the 
thirteenth in 4. 
With a stroke at the 
fourteenth the same 
player got dormy, 
and winning the 
fifteenth secured 
the trophy/ 1 We 
quote these reports 
outsider who under¬ 
stands not, yet looketh on, that the method 


Skkious.—N o, this h not a refitsiL Ho realises now that he 
should have used the I ofli rig-iron instead of lhe circle. 

DRAW IS BY BAY A R11 Jt>NE_S KOR 11 LIFE. H 

merely to show to the 











THE HUMOUR OF SPORT. 


407 



OoLt? in the Wild Wert.—N atural hazard 

UKAWX BV W, H* WALKER FOR lf I.IhE, ” 


of scoring is one or the beautiful things about 
golf. It is sad to think that the quick thirst- 
quencher, patented by an American paper, 
has not yet been adopted on English links 
for the benefit of players who get “donny^ 


West, has outlined his 
conception of golf as it 
may be played in days 
to come, with the ma¬ 
jestic mountains as the 
natural hazards of 
pigmy man* Let us not 
indulge too long, how¬ 
ever, in such fancies, 
Ijtt us be content with 
the quiet enjoyment of 
the game, the ruddy 
complexion that be* 
speaks the presence of 
health, and the love of 
Nature aroused by the 
nearness of wood or 
sea* To follow a little 
ball across a field may 
seem ridiculous to 
other people. To the 
earnest golfer it is 
more than a mere 
chase for that which 
is sometimes lost. It 
means exercise, a clear 
brain, and a longer 
life, and even in its 
most perilous moments 
it is a good game for 
two* 

We are indebted to 
the proprietors of 
Golf Illustrated 
and the Skcteh for 
the use of drawings 
from their respective 
journals, and to Messrs, James Henderson, 
of Red Lion Court, E*C, for permission to 
reproduce the Puck f fudge, and Life draw¬ 
ings which we have selected from their 
publication, “Pictorial Comedy. w 


or upset so un¬ 
mercifully the 
theory of fractions* 
Were the inven¬ 
tion better known 
there would be no 
short matches* 
Everyone would 
be playing in 
thirty-six-hole con¬ 
tests. 

What the future 
may bring forth is 
open to conjecture, 
arid one artist, in 
picturing golf as 
played in the Wild 



A Coop Game for Two* 

.iOOvIC 


□pawn By c. ipj rjfppat ftf? “ MPR.'' 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















By Florence Warden. 


Author of “A Patched-up Affair” “ The House on the Marsh” “ The Inn by the Shore” 

“ The Master Key” etc., etc. 



F either of the three partners 
in the celebrated firm of gold¬ 
smiths, silversmiths, and jewel¬ 
lers, Messrs. Johnstone, Blake, 
and Barlow, had heard himself 
spoken of as a tradesman, he 
would no doubt have been highly offended 
by the appellation. Their house at Man- 
ningpool was probably the most important 
of its kind in the provinces; and there was 
certainly no firm in London itself which 
held its head higher or looked down upon 
the rest of the trade from more lofty an 
eminence. 

Only two of the original partners were 
now left, and both were very old men. In¬ 
deed, Mr. Johnstone’s age was not exactly 
known, and was popularly computed to be 
anything between ninety and a hundred. 
The old gentleman lived in a princely man¬ 
sion a few miles out of Manningpool, and as 
he was very infirm he seldom left his own 
grounds. But his intellect was as keen as 
ever, and he still took an active interest in 
the business and received weekly reports in 
person from the manager of the establish¬ 
ment. 

Mr. Earlow, the second of the original 
members of the firm, was, perhaps, not quite 
so old as Mr. Johnstone, but as he was a 
martyr to gout he never appeared at Man¬ 
ningpool, and took less part in the conduct 
of affairs than the senior partner. 

The third member of the firm was Mr. 
Blake, who was a son of the original Blake. 
He was a comparative baby of thirty-five 
or so, and since he was a shrewd and 
enterprising man, who threw himself as 
heartily into business as he did in his leisure 
hours into sport, he was really, though the 
two old gentlemen would not have admitted 
it, of much more account than they in the 
management of the concern. He was, more¬ 
over, a man of personal dignity and charm, 
and the latter quality, being conspicuously 
absent from both his colleagues, was an asset 
not without its value. 

If only he could have had his own way, 
Mr. Blake would have instituted sweeping 

Diqilized by ’v.iOOQlt 

? ^ o 


reforms in the slightly musty old place of 
business, which must on no account be called 
a shop. 

It was an establishment (that was the 
proper word) with an appearance of decorous 
gloom which would have frightened away any 
frivolous person who contemplated such a 
trifling purchase as a five-pound watch or a 
brooch set in anything less than diamonds. 
Brown wire blinds, on which the name of the 
firm could just be distinguished in gilt letters 
respectably rusty with age, shrouded the 
firm’s treasures from the vulgar gaze; while 
the heavy marble pillars which supported the 
roof of the hall, and the solemn dignity of 
the hoary-headed gentleman who received 
customers — no, no, “ clients ” — in the 
entrance, at once assured visitors at the first 
glance that they would be served only with 
goods of the highest possible quality—at the 
highest possible price. 

In vain Mr. Blake pleaded for the aboli¬ 
tion of the wire blinds, for the display in the 
windows of a couple of magnificent challenge 
cups, or of a glorious tiara and a handful of 
pearls worth a prince’s ransom. Both Mr. 
Johnstone and Mr. Barlow repelled the 
notion as they would have done an attack 
on their religion. 

So Mr. Blake was forced to content him¬ 
self with the superannuation of the antiquated 
gentleman who held the responsible position 
of manager, and persuaded his partners to 
replace him by his son, a young man of 
excellent character and considerable attain¬ 
ments, who had been at Oxford, where he 
had taken his degree of M.A., so that even 
Mr. Johnstone could scarcely look upon his 
introduction as a disgrace to the firm. 

Young Merryon Dales, indeed, was a little 
sore at having to settle down in life in his 
father’s old situation. Though the work was 
not hard, it was dull; and though the post 
was likely to be a permanent one, the salary 
was not large. Both the elder partners had 
insisted that he should begin at a lower 
salary than his father had enjoyed, and not 
all Mr. Blake’s remonstrances had succeeded 
in making them jjivq fypy on this point. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








A THIEF IN THE NIGHT 


409 


"Never mind,” said Mr, Blake to young 
Dales, on making known this decision to 
him. "It's most unfair, but it sha'n't go on 
long. You know these old fossils treat me 
as if I were just out of the nursery ; but when 
weVe worked up the business a bit^-as you 
and I shall do—I’ll have my way and you 
shall get your rise at once,” 

Dales was grateful, and he at once set 
about proving that he was worthy of his 
employer's good opinion. In spite of the 
wire blinds the energy and ability of the 
young partner and the still younger manager 
began to have their effect; and business, 
which bad begun to ebb from the old- 
fashioned house, flowed back to it in ever- 
increasing volume. 

Mr. Blake used to laugh with young Dales 
at the surprise of the " fossils " at this state 
of affairs. 

"You shall get your increase of salary on 
my wedding-day," said he. 

" What! Are you going 
to be married, Mr. 

Blake?" 

The junior partner 
laughed. 

" Well, it might come 
to that," said he, “ if old 
Barlow's pretty grand¬ 
daughter would be kind 
to me," 

“Then we may look 
upon the wedding as a 
foregone conclusion, for I 
can’t imagine any woman 
being anything else where 
you are concerned," said 
Dales. 

For he looked upon the 
broad - shouldered, fresh - 
coloured Bernard Blake, 
with his bright black eyes 
and easy, virile move 
ments, as the ideal of a 
ladies' man. And most of 
the ladies thought so too. 

"She's a sort of little princess, though," 
said Mr. Blake, " who would expect to keep 
up great state. Now, without wishing to 
stint myself, I think it safer to be content 
with small beginnings." 

It was Dale's turn to laugh. 

"If I may say so, your way of life is not 
exactly mean or miserable. There isn't a 
handsomer pair in Manningpool than the 
chestnuts you drive in your phaeton." 

"Ah, there's my weakness. But if I 
have to support a wife's weaknesses as well, 

Yol, jrjciv — 52. 


you know, I might have the 'fossils down 
upon me like a hundred of bricks before I'd 
been six months a husband." 

The manager laughed as Mr. Blake drew 
on his driving-gloves and went off. Without 
being ostentatiously smart, the turn-out he 
drove was reckoned one of the most perfect 
in the neighbourhood, and he was as happy 
behind his chestnuts as he was laborious 
behind his desk. 

Things were going on pleasantly and 
prosperously with the firm when it fell one 
morning to the manager's lot to make a very 
startling and unpleasant discovery. 

There was extensive and well-secured 
cellarage under the business premises of the 
firm, and in the very heart of it was a strong¬ 
room, some 12ft. square and roft. high, 
where the most valuable property in jewels 
and money was stored safely every evening, 
only to be taken out, under the manager's 
own eye, on the following 
morning. 

The offices of the firm 
were on the ground floor 
and the showrooms above, 
Merryon Dales's place 
was at his desk in his 
own office downstairs; 
but Mr. Blake, who bad 
an office there also, used 
to superintend the whole 
business of the place, and, 
when an important cus¬ 
tomer came, he never 
left matters to the sales¬ 
men, but devoted himself 
personally to the satis¬ 
faction of the visitor's 
wants. In this way he 
was popularly said to have 
brought in many thou¬ 
sands of pounds to the 
firm by his energy and 
powers of persuasion and 
diplomacy. 

On the morning in 
question one of the young salesmen came to 
Merryon Dales with a note from Mr. Blake. 
It was only two lines, scribbled hastily on 
the inside of an envelope and then fastened 
down to avoid inspection by the messenger,- 
It contained these words :— 

" Where is the necklace with the trefoil 
pendant ? Can't find it." 

Dales looked at the words with a shock. 
The necklace in question was one of the 
most valuable jewels in the stock, consisting 
as it did of a magnificent triple row of 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



4 io 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE,. 


diamonds, with a pendant containing three 
very large emeralds set in smaller diamonds. 

He went upstairs himself and saw Mr. 
Blake busy with a customer—a rich man, 
who had recently attained to a peerage—who 
was frequently at the place. Dales waited 
his opportunity and spoke to Mr. Blake :— 

“ The necklace was in the third case 
on-” 

“Yes—yes, I know where it was; what I 
want to know is where it />,” answered Mr. 
Blake. “It hasn't been here this morning. 
Was it taken out of the strong-room ? ” 

Dales reflected a moment. It was his 
habit to check off the principal objects as 
they were put in and out of the strong-room 
from a rough list of his own making. But 
this morning he admitted to himself that he 
did this work somewhat perfunctorily, and as 
he tried to recall the incident he had to 
own frankly that he did not remember either 
checking the case containing the necklace 
that morning or seeing it taken out. 

Feeling very uncomfortable, he confessed 
this to Mr. Blake, who frowned slightly, and 
asked him to bring up the young man who 
had taken the jewellery out, as soon as the 
customer had gone. 

In a few minutes, therefore, these three, 
Dales, Mr. Blake, and the young assistant, 
were all shut up together in the partner's 
office, and then it was discovered that neither 
Walker, the assistant, nor Dales could 
remember to have seen the necklace that 
morning. 

Both confessed that, although they always 
took note of the things they put into the 
safe at night, it had become a matter of 
habit to take them out mechanically in the 
morning. And the more they talked the 
matter over, the more sure did they both 
become that they had put the necklace in 
the strong-room the night before, but had 
not taken it out again in the morning. 

A visit to the strong-room was the next 
proceeding, but without result. There was 
no appearance of anything having been 
touched, nor of any injury having been done 
to the lock. 

All three men began to look grave and 
anxious, as every inquiry they made 
strengthened the impression upon their 
minds that the necklace was put safely into 
the strong-room and that nobody had seen it 
since. 

Walker, the assistant, a very young man 
with a fair skin and hesitating, girlish 
manner, was overwhelmed with a sense of 
danger and disgrace. Dales, though he con- 

Diqtlized by OOOQ lc 
* o 


cealed it better, was in almost as great a state 
of misery as he. Mr. Blake, although he 
tried to take the matter lightly and to assure 
them that it was all right, that some explana¬ 
tion of the mystery would presently be forth¬ 
coming, was evidently not less disturbed than 
his subordinates; and Dales had a most 
uncomfortable feeling that he himself was 
considered by the junior partner to be in 
some way concerned with the jewel's dis¬ 
appearance. 

“ We must inform the police,” said Mr. 
Blake, “ without any delay; although we 
hope the matter may be cleared up this very 
day, we can’t afford the risk that may be 
incurred by the loss of an hour. And you 
and I, Dales, had better go to Mr. John¬ 
stone's place at once. We'll call at the 
police-station on our way out.” 

Without a moment's loss of time, there¬ 
fore, these two got into a cab and drove, first 
to the police-station, where full particulars 
were given, together with the fact that there 
appeared to be no clue to the mystery, and 
then out to Mr. Johnstone's place beyond 
the suburbs. 

Mr. Johnstone heard the tale in silence. 
Then he shrugged his shoulders. 

“A first result of your new, up-to-date 
methods,” said he. “Such a thing has never 
happened before in the whole course of the 
firm's existence. And I cannot believe it 
would have happened now if you had been 
content to keep on my old servants and 
assistants, instead of bringing into the busi¬ 
ness a lot of young folk, who care nothing 
for the honour and well-being of the old 
firm.” 

“You are unjust, Mr. Johnstone,” cried 
Mr. Blake, with spirit. “ And since you are 
speaking in the presence of one of the 
young folk, as you call them, one who has 
worked hard and intelligently in our service, 
I think you ought to be more careful of your 
words.” 

“Mr. Dales knows that I make no im¬ 
putation upon him, I'm sure,” said Mr. 
Johnstone, gruffly indeed, but not without 
dignity and courtesy. “The fact remains 
that this is the first time such a thing has 
happened. There are only two keys known 
to exist which will open the safe, I believe ?” 

“Yes. I have one here, on my watch- 
chain,” said Mr. Blake, showing a tiny gilded 
key which he wore inside his pocket. “ And 
Mr. Dales has the counterpart, which, I 
believe, he wears on his.” 

Merryon produced his key, which h® 
assured them never left hjs chain, 

, Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



A THIEF IN THE NIGHT 



u One or other of these keys must have 
been borrowed at some time and a 
copy made," said Mr. Johnstone, with 
decision, “if what you say about the lock 
being intact is correct* However, that 
matter 111 judge for myself. You’ve kept 
your cab ? Fll go back with you." 

Wi t h i n an 
hour they were 
helping the 
infirm old gen¬ 
tleman down the 
steps into the 
cellar under the 
firm's place of 
business, and 
there, by the light 
of some lamps 
which were 
brought, he satis¬ 
fied himself that 
no attempt had 
been made to 
tamper with the 
lock of the 
strong-room. 

Then the 
energetic old 
gentleman inter¬ 
viewed the 
police - inspector 
who called at 
Mr. Blake's in¬ 
stance, and a 
co n s u 1 ta tion 
ensued, in which, 
contrary to the 
opinion of Mr. 

Johnstone, who 
said that the 
suggestion was 
useless, it was 
decided that a 
watcher should 
be placed out¬ 
side the strong¬ 
room door, in 
order to catch the thief if he should project 
further depredations. 

This proposal was duly carried out, and a 
detective was stationed in the basement every 
night for some months. But neither that nor 
any of the other means tried by the firm and 
by the police resulted in the discovery of the 
slightest clue to the mystery. 

Meanwhile Merryon Dales remained un¬ 
easy under the feeling that it was upon him¬ 
self that Mr. Blake's suspicions were fixed, 
while the poor young assistant. Walker, would 


THEV WEEK MELTING THE IKFtRM 
1NTU THE 


have withdrawn from the service of the firm 
if he had been allowed to do so, so strongly 
did he feel that he was the person whom Mr, 
Johnstone suspected of the theft 

It was quite six months after the loss of 
the necklace, and some weeks after the final 
withdrawal of the detective from the useless 

task of watching 
the door of the 
strong - room, 
when Mr. John¬ 
stone gave to 
Merry on Dales, 
on one of his 
weekly visits to 
report affairs, a 
note for the re¬ 
maining partner, 
with directions 
to him to deliver 
it with his own 
hands into Mr. 
Barlow's* 

Merryon was 
rather surprised, 
and Mr. John¬ 
stone, fixing his 
keen eyes upon 
his face, con¬ 
descended to 
explain. 

“It's an idea 
I've got about 
the loss of the 
necklace," said 
he. “ I can’t tell 
Mr. Blake; he's 
in London. Be¬ 
sides, he would 
think me an old 
fool if I did tell 
him. So it must 
be Mr. Barlow; 
but mind, you 
are not to let 
the letter get 
into the hands 
of anybody but himself— anybody! Give me 
your word as to that." 

Much puzzled by the emphasis with which 
Mr. Johnstone spoke, Merryon, however, 

promised readily enough to obey his wishes ; 

and that very evening he went to Mr. Barlow’s 
house, not unwillingly, for he was anxious to 
catch a glimpse of that pretty grand daughter 
of wdiom Mr. Blake had spoken, and who was 
indeed the beauty of the neighbourhood* 

Not that Manningpool saw much of her, 
for she spent a great deal of her time in 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


OLE) GbJVt'L-LM AN DOWN THE STEPS 
C ELLA If. H ' 



412 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


London, and the rest shut up in her grand¬ 
fathers house and grounds, which were 
farther in the country than Mr. Johnstone’s. 

All that Merryon had seen of her was an 
occasional glimpse of a very beautiful, fair 
face, as she drove rapidly through the streets 
of Manningpool on her way to or from the 
railway station. 

It was with some natural excitement, 
therefore, that he saw Miss Barlow herself 
coming towards the house when, having 
asked to see Mr. Barlow, he had been shown 
into the drawing room, while the man went 
at once out to the lawn where the beautiful 
girl was strolling among her rose-trees. The 
moment the servant spoke to her Miss 
Barlow came towards the drawing - room 
window with rapid steps, and Merryon Dales 
had a perfect opportunity of seeing her. 
She was so beautiful, so much more beau¬ 
tiful than he had supposed, that the young 
man’s heart leaped up within him at the sight 
Perfectly dressed in a gown of embroidered 
lawn of creamy tint, with a big, shady hat 
trimmed with poppies, Nella Barlow looked 
and moved like a queen. She was rather 
tall and very slight, and her hair was just 
too dark to be called golden, while her 
fine black eyebrows gave depth to her 
big blue eyes and character to her lovely 
face. On her fingers were half-a-dozen most 
beautiful rings, and a string of magnificent 
pearls encircled her neck. It occurred to 
Merryon that, if he had seen these splendid 
jewels by daylight on the young relative of 
any other jeweller, he would have considered 
the display ostentatious ; but he was already, 
at this first full sight of her, so much 
impressed that he could admit no wrong in 
what she did. 

Miss Barlow came straight in and graciously 
gave him her hand. There was something 
queenly about the gesture, however, some¬ 
thing which made him understand that she 
was accustomed to be worshipped. But, 
again, this fact seemed, in her, only graceful 
and natural and right. 

“ You come from the office ? ” said she; 
“ and from Mr. Johnstone ? ” 

“ Yes. I have a letter from him for Mr. 
Barlow.” 

She held out her hand. 

“ I’ll take it to him,” said she. 

In an instant Merryon was putting his 
hand into his pocket, so much dazzled that 
he had forgotten his employer’s injunction. 
Before he had drawn out the letter, however, 
he remembered, grew very red, stammered, 
and finally said : — 

Diqilized by GoOQ le 

* o 


“ I beg your pardon; I have to deliver it to 
Mr. Barlow himself with my own hand.” 

She raised her eyebrows. 

“ But to give it to me is the same thing,” 
said she. “My grandfather sees nobody, 
nobody at all, except Mr. Blake.” 

“ Mr. Blake couldn’t come; tie’s away in 
London on the firm’s business.” 

“Then I’m afraid you must give the letter 
to me, however low an opinion you may have 
of my trustworthiness as a messenger.” 

Merryon bit his lip. 

“ Miss Barlow,” he said, humbly, and with 
a voice as hoarse as a raven’s, “ you don’t 
understand. It was Mr. Johnstone’s injunc¬ 
tion to me to give the letter into your grand¬ 
father’s own hands-” 

“ And it’s my injunction to you to give it 
into mine,” said she, smiling, and once more 
holding out heT hand with such a graceful 
mingling of command and entreaty that 
again Merryon felt it almost impossible to 
resist her. 

He did resist, though, bending his head 
so that he might not be tempted to meet the 
beautiful blue eyes which, in their delicate 
feminine power, he would have found too 
irresistible. 

“ I must keep my word,” said he, in a low 
voice. 

“ Don’t you know that my grandfather is a 
martyr to gout and does not leave his 
room ? ” asked Miss Barlow, with less indigna¬ 
tion with his obstinacy than he had expected. 

“ I know nothing, but—that I must fulfil 
my commission as it was given.” 

“ So that if you cannot see my grandfather 
you will have to take the letter back ? ” said 
Miss Barlow, mockingly. 

“ Yes,” said he, simply. 

She turned away impatiently, and saying, 
“ Have your way then,” led the way out of 
the room and up the stairs to a door at which 
she knocked. 

“ It’s I, grandpapa, and a gentleman from 
Mr. Johnstone, who has a letter for you.” 

A gruff and petulant voice said :— 

“ Oh, come in.” 

And there, seated in an arm-chair before 
the window, with one gouty foot on a stool 
in front of him, sat a very old gentleman 
wrapped in a cotton dressing-gown, frowning 
over his spectacles. 

Merryon felt awkward, for Mr. Barlow 
looked annoyed at his entrance. He bowed 
and explained his mission. 

“Just like old Johnstone and his fads,” 
was Mr. Barlow’s grumbling comment, as he 
almost snatched the letter out of his hand. 
Origin at from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


A THIEF JN THE NIGHT 


413 



He read it through with many grunts, 
while Merryon, whom he had not asked to 
be seated, stood awkwardly by, Miss Barlow 
having withdrawn from the room. 

“Tomfoolery! All tomfoolery !” muttered 
the old gentleman as he finished the letter, 
tore it up into small pieces, and tossed the 
scraps into a waste-paper basket by his side. 
“ However, he can do as he likes.” 

To Merryon, who knew nothing of the 
contents of the letter, these remarks were 
enigmatic indeed. Mr. Barlow pointed to a 
desk a little way off. 

“If you’ll open the right-hand drawer, 
young man/' said he, “you will find a 
bunch of old keys. Take them to Mr. 
Johnstone, and tell him to find the right one 
if he can.” 

Following his instructions, Merryon soon 
took out the bunch of rusty keys, whereupon 
Mr. Barlow nodded and glanced towards the 
door. 

“ Good day,” said he, simply. 

And Merryon bowed again, wished him 
“good day,” and went out, highly disgusted 
with his reception. 

A charming voice, laughing softly, made 
him start. 

“You found grandpapa rather cross, I’m 
afraid?" 

“Not more cross than I’d been prepared 
to expect,” said Merryon, rather 
stiffly. 

Pretty Miss Barlow, who had 
come out of a room near at 
hand, looked rather crestfallen 
at this retort. 

“ I’m sorry if you thought 
me disagreeable, as you imply,” 
said she, “ but Pm in a difficult 
position. My grandfather in¬ 
dulges me in every possible 
way, but in return I have 10 
transact all the business I can 
for him, so as to keep him free 
from all irritation and worry.” 

Her tone was so sweet, so 
humble, that Merryon was dis¬ 
armed. 

“ I wouldn't have given you 
even the little trouble of taking 
me upstairs to him if I could 
have helped it,” he said, gently. 

“ Oh, it was no trouble. 1 
didn’t mean that.” 

By this time she had led 
the way downstairs. 

"You will have some tea," said she, 
leading the way back into the drawing-room, 


“Yes, sir." 

“ Well,it belongs to a little wine-cellar down 
under our place of business ; you’ve passed 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


where the tea-tray had been brought in with 
two cups. 

He could not resist; and when he started 
on his way back to Mr. Johnstone’s, where 
he had promised to call that very evening, 
he was in a sort of trance from the effects of 
Miss Barlow’s dazzling beauty. 

When he reported the result of his visit to 
Mr. Johnstone, and handed him the keys, not 
forgetting to mention Mr. Barlow's exclama¬ 
tion as he read the letter, the senior partner 
laughed softly. 

“Tomfoolery!” said he. “A nice man 
to talk about tomfoolery, an old idiot who 
wastes a fortune on the extravagant whims of 
a girl! ” 

“But she’s such a handsome, charming 
girl, sir! 5 expostulated Merryon. 

The old man shrugged his shoulders. 

41 Tell me,” said he, anxiously, “he didn’t 
read the letter before her, did he ? ” 

“ No; he and I were alone in the room. 
Then he tore it up.” 

“Good, good. Now-, you see this key?" 
Mr. Johnstone had picked out one, heavier, 
cl umsier 
than the 
rest, and 
detached 
it from 
the ring. 


“ Use it to threaten, hut don't hue. 1 ' 








414 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


it many a time and never noticed it, I dare 
say. It's been closed up these ten years, 
ever since Mr. Barlow left off visiting the old 
place. It contains some wine laid down 
thefe by Mr. 3 arlow, and the entrance has 
been boarded up. I want you to remove the 
boards yourself, without saying anything to 
anybody whatever, and to keep watch there 
yourself—yourself, mind—for the space of 
one month from now.” 

“ But, sir-” began Merryon, aghast. 

“ No * buts,’ please. If you won’t do it, 
say so, and I’ll do it myself. Yqu young 

men have no enterprise, no-” 

“ Sir, don’t be so hasty. If I could do any 
good I’d watch for a year. Do you suppose 
I’m not as anxious as anyone to find out the 
mystery about the robbery ? But how can I 
hope to be more successful than a trained 
detective ? And after all this time ? ” 

“ Do you suppose I don’t know what I’m 
doing ? Will you do as I wish you to do, or 
will you leave it to me ? ” 

“ I’ll do it,” said Merryon, quietly. 

“ Very well. Then I’ll give you this 
revolver,” and as he spoke Mr. -Johnstone 
took out a neat little weapon from under a 
newspaper in front of him and placed it in 
the young manager’s hand. “ But mind, 
don't fire . Use it to threaten, but don’t fire ; 
and don’t be surprised at what you see. 
That’s all. And now I won’t keep you any 
longer. Good evening.” 

“Good evening,” said Merryon, like a 
man in a dream, as he went out. 

Was the old gentleman getting a little con¬ 
fused in his brain at last? On the whole 
Merryon was inclined to think so. And 
certainly it was with no faintest idea that 
his watch would be more successful than 
that of the professional detective had 
been before him that he made his way 
down to the cellars of the firm’s place 
of business that night, found the nailed-up 
door of the disused wine-cellar, pulled away 
the rotten boards which were fastened across 
it without much difficulty, inserted the old 
key into the lock, and walked into the 
little, musty-smelling hole which Mr. John¬ 
stone had dignified by the name of cellar. 
He had strictly obeyed Mr. Johnstone’s 
instructions not to let the least inkling of his 
intention leak out to anyone. Even to Mr. 
Blake, who had been late at the office that 
day—and who had wished to take the manager 
part of the way home in his dog-cart—he 
had said not a word of the singular com¬ 
mission with which he had been entrusted. 
This, however, was the result rather of 

Digitized by CiOO^Ie 


accident than of design, for he knew well 
that he might have taken the junior partner 
into his confidence without impropriety. 
But Mr. Blake had been busy with the 
writing of a letter which, by the fact that he 
was enclosing a photograph of himself in it, 
Merryon gathered was not of a dull, business 
sort. And the manager had had no time 
to say much more than “good evening” to 
him; 

It was a very easy matter for the manager 
to get down into the basement without any¬ 
one seeing him, for he made it a rule to 
slip out very quietly, sometimes by the front 
way and sometimes by the back, that the 
employes might not know exactly where to 
expect his departure, or at what time. He 
had supposed that the avoidance of the night 
watchman, who was always on the premises 
from nine o’clock at night till nine in the 
morning, would be a more difficult matter. 
But he had an opportunity of discovering 
that the manner in which that old and trusted 
retainer performed his duties was more per¬ 
functory than the partners supposed. 

John Hyde simply curled himself up for 
a sleep on a big heather settee in one of 
the show-rooms, and not even a sound of 
Merryon’s efforts to tear down the boards 
from before the old cellar door disturbed his 
slumbers. 

With little fear of having any meeting to 
look forward to, Merryon sat down on his im¬ 
provised seat, crossed his legs, and leaned 
back against the w'all of the little cellar. 
The door was ajar; no slightest sound or 
movement of anyone in the basement could 
escape him. 

He had sat there in his uncomfortable 
post for a long time, and was getting as stiff 
as he was sleepy, when he was startled to 
hear footsteps coming quickly along the 
brick floor outside his hiding-place. Not 
the steps of old John Hyde, the watch¬ 
man, that was certain. He had already 
made his one nightly descent into the base¬ 
ment, proclaiming his approach by stertorous 
breathing and by the creaking of his boots. 
No, this was a light footstep, that could only 
be heard by the closest listening. Merryon 
sat up, wondering. 

The next minute he had stood up, trans¬ 
fixed with horror. For, in the long, dark 
passage outside, that lay between his hiding- 
place and the door of the strong-room, 
Merryon discerned, by the faint rays of 
early morning light that came through 
the ventilator in the wall, the figure of a 
woman. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




A THIEF IN THE NIGHT 


4i5 


What woman it was he well knew, little as 
he could see of her* Dressed in dark clothes 
and muffled up with a veil as she was, 
Merryon recognised the graceful, queenly 
movements of Miss Barlow* She crept 
forward in a hurried manner* and was 
close to the strong-room door, when a 
movement on 
the part of 
Merryon, who 
was scarcely 
master of him- 
sell under the 
influence of the 
surprise and 
horror he felt, 
startled her and 
caused her to 
draw back 
hastily, and to 
retreat into the 
blackness of the 
open space to 
the left, where 
she at once be¬ 
came lost to 
view. 

Merryon was 
sick and cold 
with amazement, 
with perplexity* 

It was not pos¬ 
sible to believe 
that Miss Barlow 
was a thief, and 
yet if she had 
been, like him¬ 
self, on the 
watch, she would 
surely not have 
fled away like a 
hare at the first 
sound she heard. 

Certain as he felt that she was as innocent 
of the theft as himself, Merryon felt shy and 
uncomfortable when, on the following day, 
he presented himself at Mr. Johnstone’s, as 
he had arranged to do if he should see or 
hear anything in the course of his midnight 
watches. 

14 Well,” said Mr* Johnstone to him, in 
triumph, the moment he caught sight of the 
young manager's face. “ You've seen some¬ 
thing. I can tell that by your looks.” 

Merryon began to stammer, 

41 No, indeed, sir, you’re mistaken* That 
is to say, I have seen—well, I fancy I've seen 
someone down there; but it was another 
spy, I'm sure, and not a thief/' 

Digitized by GOOO Ic 


gentle- 



THE NEXT MOMENT HE STOOR UP TKANsFlXEtJ 
WITH H0KKOH." 


Mr, Johnstone smiled grimly. 

14 Who was it?” he said* 
t4 I“Fd rather not say, sir*” 

44 You may as well,” said the old 
man, drily, i4 Since you are sure it was not 

the thief, where's 
the harm ? ” 
Merryon was 
silent. 

“ Didn’t I tell 
you,” said Mr* 
J o h nstone, 
solemnly, after a 
short silence, 
14 that it would 
surprise you to 
find out who the 
person was ? I 
tell you the 
person you saw 
was the thief, 
and one of the 
most artful, cun¬ 
ning, and unprin* 
cipled thieves in 
England, too*” 

4 ‘ I T 11 never 
believe it, sir,” 
said Merryon, 
boldly* 

The old man 
looked at him keenly* 

u You’ll have to believe it pre¬ 
sently,” said he* 

Merryon was aghast. 

14 But—but—if it should be so 
-—which FIl never believe,” said 
he, at last, 14 you wouldn't — 
couldn't prosecute ! Think of the 
scandal, of the pain you would 
bring to your partners—the slur 
upon the firm*” 

4 We must chance that —risk 
that,” said Mr* Johnstone, in his hardest, 
driest tone. lt I've never been a party to 
the concealment of a felony, and I never 
will be.” 

Merryon went towards the door, scarcely 
able to guide his steps. Suddenly he 
stopped short* 

11 Sir,” said he, 44 1 should like to go out to 
Mr. Barlow's place, and to^to say a word 
to—to—to warn him*” 

44 He won't see you* He was incensed at 
my sending you to him last time* But, well, 
you'll see his grand-daughter, and that will 
be more to the point still* Very well, I 
give you leave to go* But—I don't envy 

you your mission 1 ” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


416 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


The old man shrugged his shoulders and 
spoke in a tone of mockery. Merryon only 
bowed and went out 

What could he say? What could he 
believe ? His head swam, his whole being 
seemed to be in a tumult of strife. Could 
he believe ill of that beautiful, queenly 
woman—one, too, who seemed not to have 
a wish or a whim ungratified ? In the midst 
of his doubts and his torments one thing 
stood out clearly : his determination to say 
some word that might serve as a warning to 
the girl—might save the awful disgrace of 
exposure and ruin which seemed to be 
hanging over them all. 

On the following day he was at Mr. 
Barlow's. He was furnished with the excuse 
of bringing under his notice a new improve¬ 
ment which was being brought out in con¬ 
nection with the lighting of their factory. 
Although it was wholly unnecessary that the 
old gentleman should be informed of this, 
yet he liked to hear of the changes made, 
and Miss Barlow listened to all the details of 
the plan with an attentive ear, in order that 
she might carry the news to her grandfather. 

She was at least as nervous as Merryon 
himself when she met him, and the young 
manager wondered what were the thoughts 
which were passing through her mind. 

More and more impossible it seemed to 
him to believe that she was the guilty wretch 
Mr. Johnstone described, as he looked at the 
lovely face, the delicate hands, the perfect 
figure, upon which a gown of pale grey silk, 
trimmed about the shoulders with a cascade 
of fine lace relieved by pearls, hung so 
gracefully. And yet it was clear that she 
was embarrassed in his society, that she 
watched him furtively when she could, and 
that occasionally a look of something even 
stronger than fear would appear in her 
eyes if he turned towards her suddenly, or 
asked her a question with any abruptness. 
She was an enigma, this handsome, self- 
possessed, luxury-loving young woman, who 
lived shut up in the country with her 
grandfather, and received his guests herself 
graciously and charmingly, without relation 
or chaperon. 

It was after a slight pause in the conversa¬ 
tion between these two, over the tea cups, 
that Miss Barlow threw at him a strange, shy, 
furtive glance, and then said :— 

“You are much in Mr. Johnstone’s con¬ 
fidence, Mr. Dales, I understand ? ” 

“ I believe I may say I am, and I’m very 
proud of it,” said he, simply, wondering what 
was coming next. 

Digitized by Goode 

* o 


Miss Barlow was twisting the ends of her 
lace fichu nervously. 

“ I hope you deserve it,” said she, quickly. 
“ And yet I hope that if you were called 
upon to discharge a painful duty—a very 
painful duty—you would mingle mercy with 
your justice. If, for instance, you were to 
obtain evidence bringing home a serious 
crime to one whom—whom you had felt 
some slight interest in, perhaps, you—you 
would be considerate, wouldn’t you? You 
would consider the circumstances — the 
temptation ? You wouldn’t be too hard— 
too unrelenting ? ” 

As she spoke she drew nearer and nearer 
to him, and spoke with more and more 
fervour and charm of persuasive voice and 
earnest manner. Merryon was shocked, 
bewildered. Obviously and unmistakably 
she was trying to secure his neutrality—if 
not his active participation—in a crime. 

Refusing to meet her lovely eyes, he said, 
in a low voice, but tremulously :— 

“ I—should—do my duty.” 

Miss Barlow sprang up in unmistakable 
anger. 

“Oh, your virtue is quite too incorrup' 
tible! ” she cried, in fierce mockery. 
“ Robespierre was a reed compared to you ! 
I congratulate the firm on their treasure of a 
manager ! It makes up for much ! ” 

Merryon had risen also, and was trembling 
from head to foot. But he stood his ground. 

“ I cannot believe,” said he, in a low voice, 
“ that you really think the worse of me for 
serving my employers well. I will not 
believe it.” 

“You have suspicions, I suppose?” said 
she, abruptly. 

“ I—I don’t wish to have them ! ” 

“ And if your suspicions were correct, you 
would have no blind eye ? ” 

He found courage to raise his eyes to her 
face, and to say, firmly :— 

“ I should have no blind eye. I should 
be, as you say, incorruptible as Robespierre.” 

He had expected a fresh outburst of her 
anger, and was surprised to see something 
like a flash of admiration in her eyes, which 
were candid enough in her various moods. 
After looking him steadily in the face for the 
space of a second, she made a slight gesture, 
as if washing her hands of the matter, and 
turned away with a rather forced smile. 

, “ Then I have no more to say,” said she, 

coldly. “ And I must apologize for detaining 
you so long. Your time is valuable, I 
know.” 

She was curt, almost rude. But Merryon, 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


A THIEF IN THE NIGHT 


4i7 


in spite of his doubts, in spite of bis better 
judgment, found an added charm in the 
struggle which was evidently going on within 
her — the struggle between some strong 
agitation within and the attempt to be as 
calm outwardly as if she were a statue. 

He went away in a state of perplexity and 
torment impossible to describe* He had 
this one consolation : he should certainly 
have no further need to keep watch in the 
basement of the firm’s place of business. 

He told Mr. Johnstone so, without vouch¬ 
safing any explanation of bis reason for 
thinking thus* But the senior partner, with 
his usual obstinacy, took no note of his 
protest, but insisted on the watch being 
kept up. 

“ If I ! m wrong, I’ll apologize to you,” said 
the old gentleman. “If you’re wrong, you 
shall apologize to me,” 

So again for three nights Merry on watched 
from the old wine-cellar, stiff, cold, impatient, 
and irritable at the old man’s obstinacy. And 
on the third night Mr. Johnstone’s suspicions 
were proved correct* 

Merryon was dozing, as indeed he had 
begun to do pretty frequently, in the cer 
tainty that he was watching in vain, when he 
was suddenly aroused into full wakefulness 
by the unmistakable sound of the creaking 
of a door. Springing up, 
perhaps not quite master of 
bis prudence in the startling 
circumstances, he dashed oul 
of his hiding-place and dis¬ 
covered, even in the darkness, 
that the door of the strong¬ 
room was open. Without 
giving himself time for a 
moment’s reflection, he sprang 
forward and, hearing a move¬ 
ment inside the strong-room, 
shut the door. It closed with 
a snap. There was a sound 
as of some.weight hurling itself 
against it, and then there came 
to Merryon’s ears a sort of 
sigh, so low, so blood curdling, 
that he felt quickly for the key 
on his watch chain, with an 
intuition that he was on the 
eve of some awful tragedy. 

Before he could find the 
lock, in the darkness which 
was almost complete, he heard 
a double report, and knew 
that he was too late, 

A spasm of agony seized 
him and rendered him for a 

VoL xxi**-53* 


few seconds incapable of movement Then, 
to his unutterable relief, for the dead, solemn 
silence was terrible to bear, he heard foot 
steps approaching him from the staircase, and 
saw a light thrown, flickering and trembling, 
on the brick walls. The next moment John 
Hyde, the old watchman, appeared at his 
side, carrying his lantern in his hand, and 
full of concern. 

By the light, held high, Merryon managed 
to open the door of the strong-room, though 
the dead silence within prepared him for the 
worst. 

What terrible fear he had at his heart he 
would not acknowledge even to himself. 
But as he saw the black mass that a few 
moments before had been a breathing, living 
fellow-creature on the floor of the strong¬ 
room, it is certain he was all unprepared for 
the discovery he made when, kneeling on 
one knee, old John Hyde raised the lifeless 
form and revealed to the manager’s amazed 
eyes the dead face of the junior partner of 
the firm—Bernard Blake ! * 

The unhappy manager uttered an exclama¬ 
tion of despair* At the same moment he 
felt a light touch on his arm. 

“Hush!” said a woman’s voice, “it was 
not your fault. You couldn’t help yourself* 
I can bear witness to that.” 






418 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Merryon turned, too much stunned to be 
capable of more surprise. 

“ I—I didn't know you were there, Miss 
Barlow,” he stammered, stupidly. 

“ Of course not. I didn’t mean that you 
should. But I have watched as well as you, for 
the last three weeks. And I knew—I guessed 
—how it would end.” 

She was calm with the calmness of despair. 

“ What—does it—mean ? ” 

They were just outside the door of the 
strong-room. The watchman had put down 
his lantern, and was running up the stairs as 
fast as he could in search of the doctor, who 
could do nothing, as they all knew, but 
certify the death by suicide of the unhappy 
man on the strong-room floor. 

“ It means, unhappily,” said Miss Barlow, 
down whose cheeks the tears were running 
fast, “that the man who stole before has 
tried to steal again, and, being discovered, 
made away with himself.” 

“But I can’t believe—did you suspect?” 
stammered Merryon. 

“It was Mr. Johnstone who suspected 
first, as you know. He communicated his 
suspicions to my grandfather, and he to me. 
I wouldn’t-couldn't believe; but, with my 
grandfather’s sanction, I took upon myself 
to watch. I have let myself in, night after 
night, by a way you don't know of, from the 
cellar of the adjoining house.. My grand¬ 
father, I must tell you frankly, suspected you. 
I did not.” 

Merryon was silent, sick at heart, and 
horribly miserable. The utter unexpected¬ 
ness of the discovery he had made was 
appalling. 

It came out later that the life of extrava- 
ga ice which the junior partner led had made 
it impossible for him to be satisfied with his 
own handsome share of the profits of the 
firm. Miss Bailow having rejected the suit 
which would have brought him a fortune, he 
had, in an evil hour, yielded to the tempta¬ 
tion of entering the strong-room at night, 
taking out the celebrated neqklace, and dis¬ 
posing of the stones in Paris and elsewhere, 
as it was easy for him to do on his various 
business journeys on behalf of the firm. 

Mr. Johnstone received the news of the 
tragedy without surprise. The shrewd old man 
had had doubts of the integrity of the dash¬ 
ing young partner at a very early date. And 
his keenness of insight was established, not 


only by his doubts of Bernard Blake, but by 
the perfect trust he had always had in the 
integrity of the young manager, Merryon 
Dales, to whom he, with Mr. Barlow’s con¬ 
sent, at once offered that place in the firm 
which had been occupied by the dead man. 

Merryon was overwhelmed. 

He made two formal visits—the one to 
Mr. Johnstone to thank him, the second to 
Mr. Barlow. The latter he did not see. 

Not that that mattered much, for he saw 
Mr. Barlow's granddaughter, who looked 
him full in the face and said, quietly, after 
the first words were over :— 

“ You suspected tne y Mr. Dales ! ” 

Merryon, taken aback, told the truth. 

“ I did, Miss Barlow.” 

“ And pray what particular circumstance 
about me made you think I was a thief?” 
she asked, with a certain mutinous haughti¬ 
ness which was inviting instead of repellent. 

For it induced Merryon suddenly to take 
heart of grace and to say :— 

“ I didn't only suspect you to be a thief. 
I knew you were one !" 

At the first moment Miss Barlow looked 
amazed ; then she reddened and began to 
understand. 

“ Those compliments are rather old- 
fashioned,” she said, at last. 

“ As old-fashioned as love at first sight 
itself,” retorted Merryon. 

“ We won’t talk about those subjects; 
they're silly,” said Miss Barlow. 

But in spite of these airs of superiority 
she seemed rather to invite than to repel 
any fresh attempt to lead the conversation 
into those channels where the man in love 
would have it flow. 

And when she at last let Merryon Dales 
take his leave, she detained him so long on 
one trifling pretext or another that he was 
seized with another inspiration, and suddenly 
kissed her. 

“ I'd been expecting that,” said she. 

But her manner was not so calm as her 
words would have led one to imply. And it 
dawned upon Merryon, with a new and 
delightful surprise, as he went homewards 
with the sound of her voice ringing in his 
ears, and the touch of her hand tingling on 
his arm, that she had perhaps been in love 
with him just as long as he had been in love 
with her. 

And that was the real truth of the matter. 



Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



The King's Naval Engineers. 

By Alfred T. Story. 


HERE is not perhaps in this 
wide reaching Empire of ours 
a more useful and important 
section of our fighting strength 
than the Engineers of the 
Royal Navy. We are justly 
proud of our Navy, and we should be very 
ungracious if we were not, after what it has 
done for us at nearly every critical period of 
our history. We are proud of everything 
connected with it—of the tar, of the execu¬ 
tive officer, of the marine, even though we 
do occasionally gdy him. But there is one 
item in the personnel of the Navy which 


important or has a more arduous duty to 
perform than the engineer officer. 

The engineer, like the executive, officer is 
specially trained for the work of the Navy ; 
and perhaps a few words about his training 
will give as good an idea of what he is, and 
what his duty, as anything that one can write. 
In the early days of steam navigation naval 
engineers were trained in the dockyards, 
where they were apprenticed for a term of 
years. After examination Lhey were passed 
into the Service. In those days their posi¬ 
tion was not so good as it is to-day. The 
next step as regards their special training was 




THE *'MARLBOROUGH,’ 1 FOKMERLV USED AS A SCHOOL FOR NAVAL ENGINEER OFFICERS. 

JfVojn a efcalo, it if almond* Co,, ParteimuOi. 


the public generally are apt to overlook, 
partly no doubt because, being a modern 
addition, he does not appear in the naval 
histories, and has, as yet, no place in the 
songs and chanties of the Navy. But he 
is bound to figure very largely in future 
annals, and if he does not then shine in 
the ballads it will be the poet’s fault, not 
his—if, that is, British pluck is to remain 
British pluck still I refer, of course, to the 
engineer, to the m'an who has command of 
the driving power of the ship ; to him who, 
because his chief duties lie below decks, and 
he does not appear so much in the pictures, 
is apt to be lost sight of by the popular eye. 
This should not be; for no one in the 
personal equipment of a man-of-war is more 


the establishment of the Marlborough as a 
school for Naval Engineer officers. The old 
battleship did good service in this respect, 
and it is not very clear why it was done away 
with. Its place is now taken by the 
Royal Naval Engineers’College at Keyham, 
Devon port 

Keyham is governed by a naval staff, and 
has in addition its corps of instructors, A 
student enters at from fifteen to seventeen 
years of age, and his period of training is five 
years ; but if he be successful enough to gain 
60 per cent of possible marks in his fourth 
year, and has a good report as to character 
from each department, he is permitted to 
pass out of the college after four years* study, 

Keyham is ro play place. The student 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







420. 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


spends the first three years of his time in the 
fitting shop, his hours running to about 7 
per diem. Two mornings he attends school 
instead of going into the factory, and two 
evenings he has to put in a couple of hours 
in the same way, besides attending a lecture 
on Wednesday evenings. Other evenings 
are leave nights. A junior, however, in his 


first year, while the one who gets only 30 per 
cent, counts none of it, but serves as a 
probationary assistant-engineer, and though 
he wears the same uniform and is in most 
respects treated similarly to the rest, he 
cannot be held responsible for watches, and 
may he dismissed from the Service without 
court-martial. Moreover, his pay is 6s. a 



From a Photo, iijri THE ROYAL NAVAL ENGINEERS' COLLEGE AT KEYMAM, LEVON FORT. [J. Valenti**, 


first year has to spend one of his leave 
evenings in learning to row and swim. This 
is in the summer months : in the winter the 
gymnasium must be his resort; and if the 
unfortunate junior docs not attain a certain 
degree of proficiency in these arts in his first 
year he must go on for a second. This 
training is very essential; for the engineer 
officer, as we shall see, may sometimes have 
to jump, row, or even swim, for his life. 

After his third year the student must go 
through a short course in each of the 
following trades, namely, that of coppersmith, 
blacksmith, hrassfounder, pattern-maker, and 
boiler-maker ; the idea being, of course, that 
when the students become officers they will 
have a better idea how the men under them 
are doing their work from having done it 
themselves than if they merely read about it 
in books. 

'The student who gets 60 per cent of 
possible marks at his final “exam/' is 
entitled to go to the Naval College at Green¬ 
wich for a year, at ihe end of which time he 
is again examined, and if he be fortunate 
enough to obtain a first-class certificate, the 
commission to which he is now entitled is 
dated back a year. The student who gets 
50 per cent, of marks counts six months of his 


day instead of 7s. 6d. If, however, at the 
end of the year he is not unsatisfactorily 
reported on by his superiors, he gets his 
commission and his extra pay. 

On obtaining his commission the engineer 
officer must serve five years before being 
promoted to the position of engineer. 
Most likely he is sent to a battleship or a 
big cruiser, where, being the junior, or 
“ boots,” as he is facetiously called, he is 
more or less at everybody’s beck and call. 
He now begins to get his real experience, 
and of course he pays for it. Possibly he 
may drop in for a treat similar to the follow¬ 
ing, described to me by a very amiable 
officer. Said he : “ When I was a youngster, 
and my jackets were mostly new and all fairly 
good, 1 was one day told off to assist in a 
steam trial, during which it became necessary 
for me to go into one of the engine-rooms 
to report something or other to a superior 
officer. About the same time a slide-rod on 
one of the engines got warm, and the con¬ 
tractors, with that reckless extravagance 
which characterizes them, were endeavouring 
to allay this local irritation with a mixture of 
oil and plumbago, which they were applying 
by means of garden squirts holding some¬ 
thing over a qudft each. It fell out that I 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









THE KING’S NAVAL ENGINEERS. 


42 E 



emerged through the middle-line water-tight 
door at the same moment that one of these 
oilers made a bad shot for the rod, with the 
result that I got the lot. It didn't taste 
nice, and, as it mostly ran down inside, my 
wearing apparel was not improved.” 

Said I : u How 1 should like to have a 
picture of that incident.” 

“No doubt,” was the reply ; u and if you 
will find the man and let me handle the 
squirt this time, you shall have one.’ 1 The 
reader must judge of the result 

While still a probationer the young engineer 
usually keeps watch with some other engineer 
officer who is responsible for the watch. 
On the expiry of his first year, however, 
he goes into regular watches — generally 
three, namely, one watch of four hours and 
two off, with the usual arrangement of dog¬ 
watches. 

The senior engineer—that is, the one next 
in seniority to the chief-—has the entire 
management of the 
department, and ar¬ 
ranges the watches 
for all his subordi¬ 
nates, and details 
the duties of each, 
while the supreme 
head is the chief, 
who is directly re¬ 
sponsible for the 
department. The 
senior engineer 
usually keeps one 
watch a day, it being 
a regulation that all 
officers under the 
rank of chief must 
keep at least one 
watch of four hours 
a day. He is usually 
the hardest-worked 
man in the ship ; 
night or day, the rule 
is, when in doubt 
send for the senior ; 
if the case be serious 
he sends for the 
chief. It may be 
that for some reason 
a pump gives out 
and one of the 
boilers is short of water He jumps 
down into the engine-room, and perhaps 
finds himself facing a boiler with no 
water showing in the gauge-glass ; in 
which case he is within measurable distance 
of a violent death by explosion of the 


boiler. Or it may be that a steam-pipe 
has given w F ay—an event not so critical as 
the bursting of a boiler, perhaps, but one 
requiring strong nerve and great presence of 
mind in the engineer. The breaking of 
almost the smallest pipe will soon fill the 
engine-room with steam and endanger the life 
of every man in it. Most engineers have 
gone through acute experiences in this 
respect, and not a few tragic deaths are 
recorded from the same cause. Here is a 
case in point. An engine-room artificer, 
w f ho was below when the bursting of a pipe 
took place, got his lungs so full of steam 
that, on reaching the deck, which, of course, 
he made for at once, he fell doivn dead. The 
sudden contact of the cool air with the 
steam in his lungs caused instant death. 

Sometimes an officer's presence of mind is 
such that by sticking to his guns, so to 
speak, he is able to avert disaster as great as 
if he threw a live shell overboard. Such an 
act was done by Mr. 
F, H. Hutchings as 
assistant-engineer of 
H . M. S. Speedy . 
When she was under¬ 
going her steam trial 
a small steam-pipe 
burst, and he, at 
great personal risk, 
succeeded m closing 
the valve that sup¬ 
plied the pipe. 
Steam at zoolb, pres¬ 
sure per square inch 
is not nice stuff to 
fool with, as anyone 
who has had experi¬ 
ence of it knows. 
Not every man, even 
though in other re¬ 
spects of good cour¬ 
age, possesses the 
nerve and presence 
of mind to do what 
Mr. Hutchings did, 

1 during the operation 
he inhaled a con¬ 
siderable amount of 
steam, and as soon 
as he reached the 
deck from the 
steam-laden atmosphere below he fell into a 
swoon. For this gallant act Mr. Hutchings 
was, by special Order in Council, raised to 
the rank of engineer. 

An equally gallant act was performed by 
Mr. R, W. Toman, wftfflfi chief engineer of 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


&rk. R. W. TOMAN, CHIEF ENGINEER OP H.M. TORHEDO-ItO^T 
PP.STRGYER ** FOAM." 

Fnmn <1 PAoto. II. DmPitm, fiooUe. 









432 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer Foam . Whilst 
H.M.S. Foam was running at the speed of 
twenty-seven knots on a steam trial her 
intermediate pressure cylinder burst, and 
Mr. Toman was severely scalded about the 
arms and face in his brave and successful 
endeavour to turn off the main throttle valve 
in the engine-room. He then proceeded to 
shut off the main stop-valves of the boilers 
in the stokeholds, afterwards returning in the 
blinding steam and with his hands frightfully 
burnt to see if any of his men were still in 
the engine-room. For this gallant deed 
Toman received Her Majesty’s commission 
as chief engineer and the Albert Medal, 
second class. 

In his senior years the assistant generally 
spends some time in one of the dockyard 
reserves, where he lives in the depot ship 
(the Victory at Portsmouth, the Vivid at 
Devonport, and the Pembroke at Chatham), 
and is detailed by the Inspector of Machinery 
of the port for various duties, such as 
the steam trials of new or repaired ships, 
looking after the machinery of vessels in the 
reserve, etc. Even in these quiet occupa¬ 
tions he has arduous and not infrequently 
dangerous duties to perform. Not long ago 
an engineer officer lost his life in the Audacious 
when in the reserve under the following 
circumstances. In all battleships there is 
an inner and an outer bottom, the space 
between which has to be kept clean and in 
order like the rest of the vessel. The work 
of doing so is attended with some danger, 
because this space is kept sealed up, and the 
inside becomes foul owing to the nature of 
the paint used for preserving the plates. On 
the occasion in question two men were at 
work in this space, when one of them was 
overcome by the bad air. Mr. Booth, one of 
the engineer officers on board, went down to 
assist him, and got him part of the way out, 
but was then overcome himself. A stoker 
succeeded in bringing both out, but Mr. 
Booth was dead. 

Until a year or two ago the rank of the 
engine-room artificer was that of a chief petty 
officer, and as he entered the Service with 
that rank he could not, however deserving, 
elevate himself from the lower deck. But by 
a recent Order in Council he can now rise to 
warrant officer, which entitles him to wear a 
sword and to live in the warrant officers’ 
mess. 

The assistant-engineer generally sees a 
good deal of service, and as there is always 
something going on to require warships in 
one part or another of our broad Empire, he 


is likely enough to get chances of distinguish¬ 
ing himself. The “ records ” contain number¬ 
less instances of distinguished services and 
acts of gallantry performed by young officers 
still wearing the broad and the narrow stripe. 
Mr. W. Whittingham, who was assistant- 
engineer of the Sphinx during the war in 
the Eastern Soudan (1884-5), distinguished 
himself by working a search-light on the 
occasion of a night attack, and was, I 
believe, very seriously wounded during the 
engagement. Mr. Whittingham no\v wears 
his two broad and one narrow stripe and is 
a staff engineer. 

Many persons will probably recall to mind 
the wreck of the ill-fated ship Warren 
Hastings , carrying a large contingent of 
troops. Much was said at the time of the 
coolness and bravery displayed by the 
soldiers—a thing to be proud of, certainly; 
but little was said about the coolness of the 
engineers and their assistants, who, in the 
midst of the danger and turmoil, remained 
below to work the electric light the better to 
enable a landing to be effected. 

Of another description was the service 
rendered by Mr. R. W. Edwards, at present 
chief of the Powerful\ while assistant-engineer 
of the Wolverine in 1879. The Wolverine 
was at the time on the Australian Station, 
and as it was found necessary to punish the 
natives of Meran Sound, Ferguson Island, and 
Brooker’s Island for repeated acts of murder 
and piracy, the boats were sent to destroy 
the native villages. Edwards was in charge 
of the steam-launch, which was towing up 
the other boats under the command of a 
lieutenant. Shortly after starting a storm 
came on, and the pintle of the rudder of 
the launch was broken, so that it was 
rendered useless. The rest of the boats 
accordingly went on without it, leaving the 
steam-launch to do the best it could. As 
the storm grew worse Mr. Edwards and his 
crew were in great danger, as the boat was 
not only unmanageable on account of the 
broken rudder, but because the storm had 
put out the fire. However, fertile in re¬ 
source, the engineer found a piece of iron, 
out of which, after some trouble, he managed 
to contrive a new pintle^ Then he made 
shift to re-light the fire, and so to get 
up steam ; and no sooner was this done 
than away went the launch, as hard as 
she could go, after the other boats. 
They, in the meantime, had been badly 
knocked about by the storm, and, not having 
yet effected their purpose, were glad of the 
assistance of the launch to tow them up to 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE KING'S NAVAL ENGINEERS, 


4 2 S 


the offending villages, which were duly 
“obliterated,” This feat was considered — 
and justly—a very meritorious one, and the 
officers and crew of H.M*S* Wohxrine 
received the warm thanks of the Admiralty, 

Having completed his five years’ time, the 
assistant is promoted to the position of 
engineer, and ships a narrow gold stripe on 
his sleeve in addition to his one broad stripe. 
He also becomes a wardroom officer, his pay 
at the same time being raised to 9s. a day. 
However, as he has to pay more for his 
messing, the actual increase is not much. 
These young officers entertain the hope that 
ere long “their Lordshipswill, taking into 
consideration the very re 
sponsible duties they per- 
form, make this increase a 
little more real, and will 
at the same time allow 
them to rank with, instead 
of withy but after , the 
young lieutenants and sur¬ 
geons. This small and 
inexpensive concession on 
the part of the Admiralty 
would well repay them by 
removing a constant source 
of irritation, which cannot 
be good for the Service. 

It is not until he has 
served six years that the 
engineer ranks with his 
other messmates. He is 
then entitled to mount the 
two broad stripes as evi¬ 
dence of his longevity. This 
is not so much a promo¬ 
tion, in fact, as a sign 
of an increase of pay, he being now, as 
senior engineer, advanced to ns. per diem. 
His next step is to chief engineer. This 
goes by seniority, and depends on the 
number he may have above him; the chiefs' 
list being kept numerically the same, and as 
one goes through age, death, or else wise, an 
engineer is promoted. At present thirteen 
and a half years of commissioned time brings 
a man to the head of the list ; but from a 
variety of causes it becomes longer every 
day, and it is a matter of wonder to 
juniors whether they will ever live to be 
chiefs. 

The chief wears two broad stripes, with a 
narrow one between, and after four years in 
that rank he becomes a staff engineer. This 
is a merely ornamental title; hut after 
another four years he takes the rank of fleet 
engineer, and, besides wearing three broad 


stripes, mounts a plain band of gold round 
the peak of his cap. 

When a man reaches the rank of chief he 
no longer holds any subordinate position, but 
is always in charge. The three ranks of 
chief, staff, and fleet engineer are more or 
less interchangeable. All are capable of 
taking charge of the machinery in any one 
of His Majesty's ships, and, theoretically, 
of doing anything that is required of them ; 
though, of course, in practice native genius 
and inborn pluck will always be cropping up 
to differentiate. 

Thus it is not every engineer who could 
do what Chief Benbow did in the Nile 
expedition for the rescue 
of General Gordon in 
1884-85* It will be re¬ 
membered by some that on 
that occasion Sir C, Wilson 
made a dash up to Khar¬ 
toum in one of the Nile 
steamers, and that on his 
return he was wrecked on 
a small island in the river. 
Lord Charles Beresford 
went to his relief in the 
ss. Sofia^ with Ben bow in 
charge of the engine-room. 
On their way up the Sofia 
was struck several times by 
the enemy's shot, and one 
of them pierced the boiler, 
thus rendering it for the 
time being a caput mortuum * 
Then it was that what Lord 
Wolseley called the chiefs 
“ splendid courage and re¬ 
source came out, and in 
the coolest manner, under a hot fire, he per¬ 
sonally repaired the damaged boiler. The 
Commander-in-Chief warmly thanked and 
praised Mr. Benbow for his brilliant feat, and 
as a personal testimony to Ins merits pre¬ 
sented him with his own silver cigarette-case, 
to the great delight of the assembled blue¬ 
jackets, who, next to having a good go-in at a 
fight, enjoy seeing an act of bravery rewarded. 

Of another character was the exceptional 
service rendered by Mr. J* P, Thomas when 
serving in the Triumph on the Pacific Station 
a few years ago* On that occasion the liner 
of one of her cylinders having become 
cracked and useless, a new one was sent out 
from England to replace it. But on arrival 
it was found to be so much too large for its 
purpose that it seemed almost impossible to 
fit it; chipping was out of the question, and 
there were no the dockyard at 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



MK. H. CHIEF HKfilNEKh OF 

H.M.G. ’* SOFIA.” 

Prom a PAofcx by Hall, Waterloo Place, 






UTk. J, r. THOMAS, ENG1MLEH OK H.M.S. “ TKEUMPH.' 

ynmi a l%Ao, b]f ftuiueM J; £qii*. GkicheAtor. 


Esqumialt Mr. Thomas, however, conceived 
the idea of utilizing the ship’s capstan and a 
slide-rest from a large lathe, together with 
cutting tools devised for the purpose by him¬ 
self, and succeeded in making as good a job 
of the liner as if it had been turned down in 
one of the home factories. The country was 
thus saved some hundreds of pounds and 
the Triumph was kept efficient on her station 
by this display of ingenuity, mechanical 
ability, and readiness of resource. 

An experience of an entirely different 
character was that of Mr- William A. P. 
Smith, of the twin-screw torpedo-boat des¬ 
troyer Banshee, who, in 1S95, received the 
special thanks of the Admiralty for his 
11 praiseworthy conduct " on the occasion of 
a fracture occurring in the main steam-pipe 
of H.M.S. Barrosa while serving on the 
West Coast of Africa. His presence of 
mind not only prevented a possible disaster, 


MR. J. Hf 

JWmV 

UNIVERSITY OF 


-ar h;m.s. m apollo.^ 
V* Oo.Chzfram. 

MICHIGAN 


424 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


but was the means of saving valuable lives. 
Equally plucky, but most remarkable for the 
resource displayed, was the action of Mr. 
Joseph H. Pill, now staff engineer of the 
Apollo twin-screw cruiser, when in charge 
of the Indian gunboat Plassy. As the 
experience was one of an exceptional, if 
not unique, character it is worth giving 
somewhat in detail, as showing what a 
naval engineer’s duties and responsibilities 
are like in times of difficulty. The Plassy, 
along with her sister ship, the Assaye, left 
Plymouth on the 25th of February, 1892. 
Very bad weather was experienced after 
passing Cape Finisterre, and in the middle 
watch of the 27th the main feed-pipe to No, t 
boiler burst (at the point marked with an 
arrow in the diagram). They were steaming 
with Nos. 1 and 2 boilers only. “ It will be 
seen,” says Mr. Pill’s account, written in a 
letter to a friend, “ that the main feed could 
not be used on either of these boilers until 
we disconnected the burst pipe and blank- 
flanged at the Y-piece common to the two 
pipes. Started the auxiliary feed-engine and 
got the aft boilers under way in case the 
auxiliary pipes of Nos. 1 and 2 boilers gave 
out; 8.30 a.m., shut off forward boilers and 
switched on the aft boilers; it, 15 a.m., 
main feed-pipe on No. 3 boiler burst. Both 
main feed-engines were now out of it until 














THE KING’S NAVAL ENGINEERS. 


425 



SKETCH-FLAN OK THE BOILER-ROOM OP THE ** PLASSV. BY MR. ENGINEER J. H. PILL. 


blank-flanges were made. By the time we 
had blank-flanged in for’ard stokehold the 
water had risen to the under sides of the 
boilers and we began to 4 raise steam ’ in 
the bilge. 

lt Of course, you will understand that we 
were in a mountainous sea, with a head 
wind which was logged as of force ‘eleven.’ 
At 12.15 I find by my notes that we were 
rolling our bilge-water on to bunker bulk¬ 
heads, and on to my w r ing gauge-glasses, 
which burst, causing no little annoyance to 
those in the stokehold ; 2.0 p.m., auxiliary 
feed valve-box of No. 4 boiler gave out, etc. 
So that now, of the eight main and auxiliary 
feed-pipes five were either burst or leaking 
very badly. The fire-engine suctions to the 
bilge very soon choked after the bilge-water 
rose into the ash-pits and washed the ashes, 
etc., into the bilge. The bunker-lids, I 
should say, were working back on account of 
the shivering of the ship, and thus allowed the 
water to get into the wing-bunkers and thence 
to the bilge. During the afternoon two lids 
were washed overboard, and then the water 
came in wholesale, until a plucky stoker, 
whose name I forget, succeeded in nailing 
some canvas over these holes. 

44 Here is an extract from my notes: 
‘ February 28th, 2 a.m.—Great difficulty in 
keeping fires alight. Most of the deck 
spanners, etc., washed from their places by a 
huge sea, which temporarily bilried the ship 
and washed away the starboard whaler. The 
fires of Nos. 3 and 4 boilers being threatened, 
those of Nos. i and 2 were again got under 
way—the water in forward stokehold not 
being quite so high—and kept alight as well 

Vol. xxi*.—64 


as possible by 
carrying coal from 
the aft stokehold, 
and wading 
through water 
which was now 
rolling knee-deep. 

“ ‘ Our greatest 
difficulties were in 
the stoke- hold— 
that is, keeping 
the fires going and 
the boilers fed 

with water. When 
the weather 
showed signs of 
improving, and 
the navigator got 
his “ position,” the 
ship’s head was 

pointed to Vigo. 
I left the stokehold and got to my cabin 
(where I had some ship biscuit), looking 
into the engine-room en route . All correct 
there, except that the air-pump barrel hold¬ 
ing-down bolts appeared strained. 

“ 4 1 had not been two minutes in the 

cabin when an enormous wave came tum¬ 
bling after the ship and threw up her 

stern. This threw the water out of the 
boilers into the engines. Rushed to engine- 
room, and—what sights and sounds saluted 
my eyes and ears I am not likely to forget! 
Circulation stopped. Feed-tanks overflowing 
full bore to platforms, heaving and banging 
in cylinders, air-pump sway-beams distorted, 
air-pump buckets evidently smashed in pieces, 
and engines endeavouring in a roundabout 
way to grind them up. Dare not stop both 
engines for fear of ship 14 broaching-to ! ” 
Stopped starboard engine, disconnected the 
sway-beams, and tied them back out of the 
way of the engines. Opened soda-cock on 
top of condenser, and worked a non-air- 
pump engine, stationing a man at the 
starting-wheel to 44 link up,” so as to insure 
the steam being at atmospheric pressure 
when leaving L.P. cylinder. Did ditto with 
the port-engine, and then we let her have it, 
and scampered along as best we could to get 
into Vigo that night.’ 

44 And now for another excerpt from my 
notes : 4 7.20 p.m.—Finished with engines ; 
27m. of water in bilges. Estimated quantity 
of water in bilges 150 tons, which took all 
hands four and a half days to remove 
by buckets. The small coal and ashes 
which choked the pump-suctions were found 
to be as compact 4^ a block of patent 

. UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















42f) 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 



fuel and had to be chipped and burnt 
out 1 Jl 

Mr. Pill addsi “I shall never forget the 
excellent behaviour of the E. R. staff, which, 
by the way, was at two-thirds complement 
for the passage out. Shouting orders in the 
stokehold would have been of little use on 
account of the roaring of the bilge-water, 
etc.; but one had only to point and the job 
was done with the utmost alacrity and an 
exhibition of faith that the best was being 
done. 1 ’ 

At the age of fifty-five the naval engineer 
is compulsorily 11 retired. ,J Fifty used to be 
the age \ but, the Navy being at present 
under staffed as regards the engineer depart¬ 
ment, the Admiralty are retaining all till 
fifty-five. If a vacancy occurs in the in¬ 
spector of machinery list before a fleet 
engineer is fifty-five he may be promoted to 
an inspectorship, the officer at the head of 
the list usually, though not invariably, 
securing the appoint menu The inspector’s 
duties are all on shore. There is one at 
each of the principal naval ports, both at 
home and abroad. He is the head of the 
engineering branch of all reserves, and has 
a number of engineer officers under him in 
each port, as when an officer has done a 
three years’ turn 
abroad he generally 
gets a spell of home 
duty, either in one 
or oilier of the dock¬ 
yards or in the Chan¬ 
nel Squadron. 

These are the rules 
upon which the Ser¬ 
vice revolves. But 
exceptions are some¬ 
times made in cases 
of extraordinary ser¬ 
vice. For example, 

Mr. Ben bow was 
promoted to Inspec¬ 
tor of Machinery fur 
his services in the 
Soudan. Another 
officer specially pro¬ 
moted for exceptional 
service was the late 
Fleet Engineer H, G. 

Bourke, who was in 
charge of the engines 
of the Calliope at 
Apia, Samoa, when, 
on the 16th and 17th 
of March, 1889, she 
was caught in a 


THE LATE MU, H, C. UOUkKH, ENGIMEEfl vr K.M.S. 
CALLIUHE." 

Frpiii a Phv-to. b:t (parbuuMt *£ Sydntv, FA. W 


41 terrible hurricane, which caused a disaster 
unprecedented since the introduction of 
steam, the total loss of four (foreign) 
men-of-war out of seven, with a loss of 
130 lives, and the stranding of two others." 
But for the plucky conduct of the engineer 
officers and those under them, and of course 
the strength of the engines which were able 
to withstand the strain put upon them, the 
Calliope must have gone with the other ships. 

Occasions like these are doubly trying to 
those in the engine-room and stokeholds. 
For not only are they ignorant of what is 
going on, except in a general way, but in 
case of disaster they have the least chance of 
anyone on board. The foundering of the 
Victoria , flag-ship of Vice-Admiral Sir George 
Try on, when she collided with H.M.S. 
Camperdown and went down off Tripoli in 
Tune, 1893, is a case in point. Of the seven 
engineer officers on board only one was 
saved, namely, Mr. Rawlingson, Constructor 
of Machinery at Portsmouth. Fortunately, 
when the disaster took place, his duty was 
on deck, and when the bugle sounded to 
quarters he ran to his post, and so when the 
Victoria rolled over he was thrown into the 
water free of the ship. Although carried 
down several times by drowning men cling¬ 
ing to him, and nearly 
exhausted, he was 
eventually picked up. 
Most of the engineers, 
along with the stokers 
and firemen, were 
below at the post of 
duty when the acci¬ 
dent occurred, and 
what happened to 
them down there can 
only he conjectured. 
Said one who wit¬ 
nessed the disaster 
from a neighbouring 
ship i 4 * When she 
rolled over all the 
men in the engine- 
room must simply 
have been pitched 
headlong into the 
machinery, and as it 
continued working to 
the moment of going 
down, as was evident 
from the revolving 
propellers, they can 
hardly have escaped 
being pounded to bits 
by the engines.’ 1 


original fr 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







THE KINGS NAVAL ENGINEERS. 


427 


It need scarcely be pointed out how much 
the efficiency of the Navy depends on the 
gentlemen who form the engineering depart¬ 
ment both as regards their training and the 
esprit de corps that is developed amongst 
them. They constitute so important a factor 
of our fighting strength—for what would the 
whole organization of our sea power be in 


“Of course you have heard all the talk 
about the gun-carriages of Captain Scott. No 
mention, however, is made of our branch 
getting out the drawings, doing the whole of 
the iron-work, etc. The skipper gets his 
C.B.- 

The writer goes on to say (which shows 
that the naval engineer is not always lor- 



ENGINEER OFFICERS OK II. Am. TEIIRIJILE," IN CENTRE OK THE MI UIJ1.K NOW', AtK, chase; 
fVuinal ON HIS RIGHT, AIN. ARTHUR \ OH HlS LEKT, Aik. MURRAY. ( ttVrfoprffpA. 


case of new Armada battles or fresh Trafal¬ 
gar to be fought if the engineers were not 
equal to the strain ?—that the Admiralty will 
make a vast mistake if they keep it subor¬ 
dinate in importance and inferior in numbers 
to what is required. 

It is greatly to be regretted that there is 
much cause for irritation among engineer 
officers on account of their treatment. Not only 
docs an engineer rank below a surgeon and 
a paymaster, but he has not even command 
over the men in his own department They 
may be taken and put to other duties 
without his consent or knowledge; and if a 
squad of them be sent on shore, they must go 
in charge of an executive officer, In short, he 
has always been, and is yet, kept in an inferior 
position, and he feels it. Moreover, he does 
not always get credit when credit is due. 
Here is an instance in point. An engineer 
on board the Terrible , now in China, but 
which, as will be remembered, did such 
magnificent service in Natal in the early days 
of the late war, writes :— 


gotten): ** Arthur (our senior engineer} was 
up with the Naval Brigade at the front for 
four months looking after guns ; also another 
—Murray—with the search-light. Arthur was 
with the Naval Brigade that took its guns 
into Ladysmith, so he will get medal, 
clasps, etc." * 

It has been well remarked (by Sir B. 
Brown) that what the Royal Engineers are to 
the Army so ought the Naval Engineers to 
be to the Navy. That idea could not be 
better illustrated than by what occurred at 
Ladysmith, where, if no Naval Engineer 
officers had accompanied the Naval Brigade, 
the results might have been very different. 
Captain Scoffs 47 gun-mountings proved 
somewhat defective after a few rounds were 
fired. Luckily, however, there were several 
Engineer officers and two engine-room 
artificers among the party. Moreover, the 
fleet engineer of the Terrible (Mr. Chase) 
had thoughtfully sent a portable forge, anvil, 

4 Since the above was written Mr. Arthur has died in China 

of nunc. Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















428 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




MK. *V, J. WILLI-: TT-HRUCEt OF THE KOVAL H AVAL KE^UttVC 
/■Vein q } , hotu. AMhrute t Lii'trfxwt. 


angle-bars, bolts, etc., so 
that when the bolts which 
secured the timber frame¬ 
work sheared, the Engi¬ 
neer officers took the 
carriages to pieces, forged 
new bolts, and re-made 
the carriages, and as they 
could not do the work 
during the day, on ac¬ 
count of the Boers firing 
on them, they did it in 
two consecutive nights. 

Equally worthy of note 
is the fact that to Engi¬ 
neer Sheen, of the 
Powerful ' belongs the 
credit of making distillers 
out of a lot of J^in. 
copper piping, turning it 
into coils, and using a 
railway watering-tank for 
its circulating water supply. On the third 
day after getting his apparatus rigged up 
Mr. Sheen was producing water at the rate 
of 15,000 gallons a day, and he kept the 
troops going with fresh drinking water 
for a couple of months, until, in short, the 
coal supply for his boiler ran out. Thus 
were many lives saved from enteric fever. 
Talk of the “handy man n ! 

As regards the 
augmentation of the 
Engineer Depart¬ 
ment, “my Lords” 
of the Admiralty 
have, within the last 
three years, taken a 
very wise step in 
the right direction, 
by instituting courses 
of instruction for the 
engineer officers of 
that valuable adjunct 
to the Service, the 
Royal Naval Reserve 
at Portsmouth, for 
a period of training 
in the methods of 
the Navy and in 
naval machinery 


with which they would 
not otherwise have had 
the opportunity of mak¬ 
ing themselves acquaint¬ 
ed. By means of this 
instruction the Reserve 
officers are enabled, in 
case of emergency, at 
once to fall into their 
respective places in the 
Navy, according to ap¬ 
pointment 

Of six recently called 
up for duty at Ports¬ 
mouth the senior was 
Mr, W. J. Willett-Bruce, 
junior superintendent- 
engineer of the White 
Star Company's service. 
Mr. Bruce is a man of 
exceptional training and 
intelligence, and, though 
he claims for engineers in the merchant 
service ability equal to those of the Navy, 
he admitted that the duties of the latter 
were of a much wider scope and range* 
Their responsibilities are consequently greater 
in proportion, and require a wider knowledge, 
inasmuch as they are obliged to manipulate 
and keep in order powerful hydraulic 
machinery for actuating the heavy guns, 
barbettes, turrets, 
ammunition lifts, 
etc. ; also are re¬ 
sponsible for the 
delicate mechanism 
of the guns them¬ 
selves ■ and beside 
this they are likewise 
responsible for the 
perfect condition of 
the internal machi¬ 
nery of the various 
types of torpedoes, 
including both the 
ordinary and sub¬ 
merged tubes, to 
gether with much 
else that is a sealed 
book to the ordinary 
Me Andrew. 


ns, c c* SHfcEH, Engineer of the ** tekrible . 1 

F/vin a l‘koU>. by Jf, JSutuf.jffi, Ifony AVnp- 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










Some Wonders from the West. 

XLV.—A RUNAWAY CAR, 

By Clifford L. Higgins. 


ULUTH, Minnesota, called by 
its admirers the “Zenith City by 
the Unsalted Sea,” is stretched 
out like an immense shoe-string 
along the shores of Lake Superior 
Immediately behind the city and beginning 
almost at the shore of the lake is a line of 
hills 6ooft, high, stretching the full length of 
the city. Built upon the hillsides, each 
house, directly above another, gives every 
resident an opportunity to view from his 
front porch one of the most beautiful and 
impressive sights in the North-West Old 
I-ake Superior in its fury or in its calmness 
is always strikingly impressive. The St 
Louis River winding its way down the hill¬ 
sides, turning here 



vaudeville shows were given. In order to 
reach this building the visitor could ride up 
on a large car running on a steel incline-track, 
which in a distance of 3,600ft. rose to a 
height of 625ft, above the bottom. 

There were two tracks, and as one car went 
up the other descended. Each car was 
partly built of steel, and weighed about 
twenty-seven tons. The cables which held 
the cars were made of 1 5-8th in. steel wire, 
and there were two of them. Of course, nearly 
every person that ever rode up on the car 
had discussed the question of what would 
happen if the car should break loose, and 
many theories were offered at various times. 

But on the morning of May 28th, 1901^ 



V'iEW OF THE POIVER-HOHJSE AN LI CAM JtKADY TCt START, TAKEN BEFORE THE FIRE. 
Front a /'koto- Chford i* Hn/ginx. 


and there through 
islands thick with 
wild wood and 
lakes of wild rice, 
where there abide 
fish and game in 
abundance, is a 
natural panorama 
that never wearies 
the eye. Farther 
down can be seen 
this beautiful river 
as it broadens out 
where along its 
banks are situated 
the great coal and 
ore docks, numer¬ 
ous grain elevators, 
and many railroad 
warehouses ; and 
lying beside them 
are some of the best steamships afloat. This 
is indeed a place where rail and waters meet. 
The waters of this river pass through the 
Great Uakes, the St. Lawrence River, and 
thence into the Atlantic Ocean, while scarcely 
sixty miles away over this height of land is 
the Mississippi River gathering its waters for 
its jaunt to the Gulf of Mexico. 

The summit of the hills of Duluth attracts 
thousands of visitors and tourists during the 
summer months, where they loiter for hours 
viewing with amazement the beautiful spec¬ 
tacle before them. 

The best point upon the hill-top from 
which to view this magnificent scene was the 
Pavilion, a latge frame structure in which 


the question w^as settled. About 8.30 a.m. 
fire was discovered in the power-house at the 
top of the hill. A fire-engine was hastily 
summoned and put aboard the car then at 
the bottom, and the car was run up to the 
top. There great difficulty was experienced 
in getting the engine off, as the men and 
horses had to drive through flames to get 
outside the power-house. 

After they had fought the fire in the 
power-house a few moments the wind sud¬ 
denly carried it across to the Pavilion, only 
25ft, away. As this was entirely frame-work 
and contained much scenery, etc., of an 
inflammable nature it w f as wrapped in flames 
in a few moments; from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












43° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



There was no city water to be 
had at that height, and the only 
available supply was a io t ooo- 
gallon tank, which was soon ex¬ 
hausted. Meanwhile nearly every 
person in the city was watching the 
fire from vantage points down 
town, and even from the neighbour¬ 
ing city of Superior, across the 
river on the Wisconsin shore* 

Thousands of eyes were fixed 
on the burning building and on 
the big car, as it stood at the top 
silently awaiting its time to make 
the most thrilling run that any 
person ever saw or could imagine. 

As the flames grew hotter and 
hotter about it the car finally 
caught fire and began to burn. 
Gradually the Pavilion fell, and 
then piece by piece the iron super¬ 
structure of the power-house. 

Of course, one question was on 
every lip, and that was, “Will the 
car get loose ?The engineer and 
two of his men, finding that the 
fire was gaining on them, turned 
their attention to the boilers, which 
were full of water to keep them 
from exploding, and then they 
tried to prevent the car from break¬ 
ing loose. By that time it had 
grown so hot around the car that 
they could scarcely get near it, 
but they finally succeeded in get¬ 
ting three turns of the slack end 
of the big cable about an iron 
cross-beam of the track ; but on 
account of the size of the cable, 
and the few moments available, 
they could not make a very secure 
job of it, All their tools were in 
the burning building, and they 
could not even get a wrench to 
break a joint in the line to derail 
the car. 

Just as the last part of the 
power-house roof fell in the heat 
about the cable became intense, 
and suddenly the first cable melted. 
Hall a minute later the other cable, 
unable to stand the awful strain, 
let go, and the car ran down about 
4ft., with a snap jerked the tied 
end backwards round the beam, 
and with a crash started down the 
hill At that instant probably 5,000 
voices said in unison, “ There she 
goes 3" All eyes were riveted on 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








SOME WONDERS FROM THE WEST. 


43i 



From a Hfwfa by] the power-house on fjre--tiik car not vet having uroken loose. 


10 i/all. 


the burning* flaming meteor as it started on 
its awful flight During the first half of the 
run the car was somewhat retarded by the end 
of the cable striking the hard-wood cross-ties 
and breaking them* but as the car passed over 
the steeper part of the hill its speed increased, 
and the last half was made at a terrific rate. 
As it crossed the last street before it reached 
the bottom it seemed nothing more than a 
gigantic sky-rocket of smoko. The bottom 
of the incline was just on the edge of the 
sidewalk of the main business street* and the 
track runs into a pit* so that the floor of the 
car is just on the level with the sidewalk. 
The car body is large at the lower end and 
small at the upper 
end, being shaped 
like a wedge. 

As the car hit 
the bottom there 
was an awful crash, 
and a puff of flame 
and smoke that 
went about 50ft, 
high* The wedge- 
shaped steel body 
embedded itself in 
the face of the 
granite wall about 
3ft., and was liter¬ 
ally smashed to 
pieces. The top, 
however, shot out 
across the street 
and down the 
avenue, scattering 
itself to pieces as it 
went, and carrying 


with it a large wooden waiting station* which 
it completely demolished and set on fire. 

There were many houses and buildings 
alongside the track at the bottom* and the 
occupants of all these hurriedly moved out 
when told of the danger. Policemen kept 
everyone away from the bottom and stopped 
the street cars which had to pass in front 
of it. As the car made its awful run a 
number of women fainted at the sight. 
Many people had Kodaks and cameras* and 
yet during the run of the car not one picture 
was secured which showed it. 

When the car struck and went to pieces, it 
not only threw burning brands all over the 



THE RUIN* OF THE POWER-HOUSE A STD THE TOP {IF THE TRACIt, WHERE THE CAR STARTED. 
From a Fhuto. bp Ciiford L. 

I by tjOOglC UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














43 2 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



VtKW OF THE CAK AND 
WRECK AGE. 

From a Photo bt c ftalL 

street and side¬ 
walks, but set the 
debris of the 
wooden waiting 
station on fire. 
People became so 
excited by the 
flight of the car 
that, when i t 
struck, t h r e e 
alarms were turned 
into the fire head¬ 
quarters at the 
same time from 
different places. 
Everyone rushed 
to the scene of 
the wreck, and the 
police had a hard 
task in holding the 
crowd back to en¬ 
able the firemen 
to quench the fire 
and clear away 


the wreckage. All 
sorts of rumours 
of people being 
killed were heard; 
but, wonderful to 
state, in reality no 
one was even in¬ 
jured. 

Wild and varied 
were the estimates 
as to how long it 
took the car to 
make its last run 
down, but the watch 
of a cool - headed 
man who saw the 
entire run gave 
forty-three seconds 
as the actual 
time taken to 
cover the 3,600ft. 
descent. 


GENERAL VJKHV OF TMK at THJ-: IlOTTfUr OF Til K TRACK, 

a Photo, 6 U Vtifford L tttf/yina r 


iqilized 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















N the little dining-room of a 
little house in a small London 
square four persons sat at 
breakfast “Clara and Isabel 
Hiles, two elderly maiden 
ladies, and Katherine and 
Cyril Boisragon Frere, known as Kitty and 
Nibs for short. The united ages of Nibs 
and Kitty made twelve. 

It was a beautiful June morning, and out¬ 
side the windows of the little room there 
was a glint of green trees and sunshine. 
The cluttering of sparrows rose and fell on 
the ear. But within the room the mental 
atmosphere was more oppressive than usual, 
and the natural gaiety of the children was 
stifled into silence. 

Unable to talk, they amused themselves 
by taking big hires out of their bread and 
butter, and then holding up the remaining 
piece to exhibit to each other the notched, 
semicircular hole cut out by their tiny teeth. 
Nibs took such a huge bite that the slice 
of bread and butter seemed to frill right 
round to his ears, and Kitty was convulsed 
with suppressed merriment Nibs was an 
unfailing source of amusement and admira¬ 
tion to Kitty, 

The little Freres were practically orphans, 
for their mother was dead and their father 
was far away in India, They had been put 
to live with the Misses Hiles, who hoarded 
them and looked after them, but did not 
love them, for ten pounds a month. 

Irately, however, the monthly cheque had 
not been forthcoming, nor was there any 
news from Captain Frere; and as week by 
week went by, and Kitty and Nibs continued 
to eat heartHy and to require two helpings of 

YoL rum— 


pudding, and to kick out the toes of their 
shoes and to wear out the knees of their 
stockings, the faces of the Misses Hiles 
grew longer every day, and longer, too, the 
amount debited against Captain Frere’s name 
in the red account-book, which Miss Isabel 
posted up scrupulously every night 

But now something had occurred which 
made the old ladies terribly anxious for the 
children’s room rather than their company. 
Coronation week was drawing near. The 
Misses Hiles had received the offer of some 
boarders who would pay highly to be in town 
during the festivities. It was such an offer 
as no old ladies with narrow means and the 
love of gain could possibly refuse. Even 
had Captain Frere been paying regularly for 
the children it would have been hard to 
refuse. But considering that he was paying 
nothing at all ; that, on the contrary, he was 
very much in their debt; that every mouthful 
of food the children took came actually now 
out of the Misses Hiles’s pockets—no, really 
it was more than flesh and blood could 
tolerate, 

“ The children must go, that’s flat, 11 said 
Miss Isabel Hiles to her elder sister on 
the night that they received the proposed 
boarders’ letter of terms, 

“ But where can they go to ? ” objected 
Miss Hiles, whose mind worked heavily, 

** Well, they've got relations, I suppose ? 
Didn’t Captain Frere tell us of an aunt 
of theirs, his sister, living somewhere near 
Hampton Court? But I suppose she didn’t 
approve of his marriage or something, 
since she has never taken any notice of her 
own nephew and niece. However, she'll 
have to take poti^ of ttypm now, and time 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















434 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


too. Well speak to Kitty to-morrow and 
see if she can remember her aunt’s address," 

So, at breakfast next morning, Miss Isabel 
attacked Kitty on the subject which lay 
nearest her own interests. 

11 Stop those vulgar, dirty tricks, children," 
she said, sharply, in allusion to the “ bites M 
competition. “ You ought to be ashamed 
of yourself, Kitty, a big girl like you ! ** 
(Kitty was seven*) “ Nibs, we know, is 
always a little guttersnipe, with no idea of 
manners." (There was open warfare between 
Miss Isabel and Nibs, who, aged five, showed 
himself stoically indifferent to the lady’s 
taunts*) “Now, I want you to tell me about 


stuck pig ! ” said that lady, sharply. “ You 
must have heard the address, I’m sure* Just 
think a little," 

Now Kitty’s eyes began to widen with 
tears and her sensitive mouth to tremble, 
hut she managed to answer, bravely, “My 
auntie lives in Hampton Court"; and then, 
because she felt so dreadfully near crying, 
and because Miss Hiles was looking at her 
so unkindly, she took another bite of bread 
and butter to cover her embarrassment, 
and, forgetting it was forbidden, held the 
hole up for Nibs’s inspection with a watery 
smile* 

Miss Hiles, leaning forward, slapped her 



11 1 WANT VGU TO TELL ME ABOUT VGLft AUHTTH."* 


( 




your auntie* You remember your auntie, 
don’t you ? You’ve got her picture up¬ 
stairs ? ” 

Kitty did possess a photograph in a pretty 
silver frame which she had had ever since 
she was “quite a little girl.” It represented 
a very kind-faced lady, whom dad had taught 
her to call auntie. Now that she had no one 
else to kiss, “’eept, of course, Nibs”—but 
then he was only a little boy and didn’t count 
much in the kissing way—she used to kiss 
the picture every night before going to bed ; 
but she had never seen auntie, and had 
the most confused, indefinite ideas con¬ 
cerning her, 

So when Miss Isabel added, “Try to 
remember your auntie's address, Kitty. What 
is the name of the house or road she lives 
in?" Kitty remained silently gazing at Miss 
Hiles from troubled blue eyes, 

“ Come, come, child ! Don't stare like a 

Digitized by IC 


hand smartly for this disobedience, which 
was a relief to her own feelings, while Kitty 
broke into loud weeping from nervousness 
rather than pain* 

Nibs was furious. 

“ You’re a horrid old woman ! " he cried, 
valiantly, “Why are you so cross to Kitty? 
I ll cut your head off with my sword ! " 

He slipped from his chair to find the 
weapon, and Miss Isabel informed him that 
he was a very naughty, rude, ungrateful little 
boy, and that she would lock him up in 
the black hole, and that the bears would 
certainly come and eat him up. 

“There no bears,” said Nibs, “ Yept in 
India. And if you locked the door how 
would they get in?" Then other ideas 
stirred in his baby brain. “Oh, I wish we 
was in India, don’t you, Kits? I hate this 
horrid old house and all the horrid old 

people in Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









KITTY AND NIBS., 


435 


“And we don’t intend to keep you in it 
much longer, I can tell you !" cried Miss 
Hiles, forgetting that her adversary was a 
child of five, almost ten times her junior in 
age. 11 We've put up with your had manners 
and big appetites long enough, considering 
your papa doesn't pay a sixpence for you. 
Look at the loaf, Clara, though you'll need 
your glasses to see it. Those children get 
through a loaf a meal, I declare. However, 
111 write before five to day to tell Miss Frere 
’—her name would be Miss Frere, of course? 
—to expect them, and Til 
take them to Waterloo to¬ 
morrow by the blue J bus in 
time for the 12.15 1™°*” 

“But bow will you 
manage their boxes ? " Miss 
Clara wanted to know. 

“ We shall keep their 
boxes here until Miss 
Frere sends for them and 
settles up,” answered Miss 
Isabel, grimly. “ They owe 
us close on twenty-nine 
pounds already, besides a 
pair of boots for the boy 
and quite a sovereign’s 
worth of little things for 
Kitty. We shall keep their 
boxes.” 

So a letter was directed 
that day to “Miss Frere, 

Hampton Court ”—a letter 
that was destined to be 
returned through the Dead 
Letter Office a week later, 
marked “Insufficient 
Address”—and next morn¬ 
ing Miss Hiles took the 
children by omnibus to 
Waterloo, where she bought them half¬ 
single tickets, and gave these into Kitty's 
charge. 

“ Be sure you take care of them and don't 
drop them. Hold them in your hand the 
whole time. And don't get out of the train 
till you get to Hampton Court. There can 
be no mistake, because the train stops there 
altogether and goes no farther. Besides, 
your auntie will, of course, be there to meet 
you v I have written to tell her at what time 
you will arrive.” 

“Are we coming back again to live with 
you ? ,s asked Kitty, dubiously. 

“No, you're going to live with your auntie 
now,” said Miss Hiles, “so give a nice kiss 
to poor Miss Isabel, who has been so kind 
to you, and say good-bye ! ” 


Kitty allowed herself to be embraced, but 
Nibs dodged it successfully. 

“ I’ll say good-bye," said be, “ but I won't 
kiss you, and I hope I won't see you not 
never no more." 

“ You’re a rude, naughty, ungrateful little 
gutter boy ! ” cried Miss Hiles, shrilly, as the 
train steamed out of the station, and for a 
long time her resentment against Nibs stifled 
the faint compunctions she felt for the thing 
she had done. For suppose Miss Frere were 
not at the station after all? What would 


become of the children with only half-tickets 
and not a penny in their pockets? Well, 
anyhow, it was no affair of hers. She could 
not be expected to support Captain Frere's 
children for the rest of their lives. She reso¬ 
lutely turned her thoughts to the memory of 
an advertisement she had read of cotton 
blouses to be had in the Brompton Road for 
is. 3^d. ; and in her pursuit of these 
miracles of bad taste, bad work, and sweat¬ 
ing prices she managed to banish Kitty and 
Nibs very comfortably from her mind. 

Meanwhile the children, sitting opposite 
each other in a third-class carriage, were 
perfectly happy. It was delightful to travel, 
it was delightful to be together, it was mo^t 
delightful to be away from Miss Hiles, 

They had pijij^thp^ljfcest clothes, Kitty a 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



111 you're a rude, naughty, ungrateful LITTLE GUTTER BOV, CEIMJ 
AIISS HtLBS." 







436 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


clean white frock, Nibs a Jack Tar suit of 
duck. The blue collar of this, to be sure, 
was much faded in the laundry, while the 
lace on Kitty’s skirt was badly torn in 
the goffering. And Nibs’s sailor hat was 
greatly battered, for he sometimes used it as 
a pail in which to carry water and some¬ 
times as a hod for gravel or stones ; while 
Kitty’s was sun - browned, and the once 
pink ribbon which trimmed it was no longer 
pink, but a yellowish white. 

Then they possessed no gloves, and there 
were no buttons to Nibs’s shoes, the straps of 
which flapped loose, and Kitty was constantly 
obliged to smooth down her frock over 
her knees to conceal a new hole in her 
already much-mended stocking. 

At a casual glance you would never have 
taken them for the children of gentlefolks. 

But the other passengers in the carriage, 
engrossed each in his own affairs, took no 
notice of them at all. 

The train rushed out through the ugly 
South Ixmdon suburbs until it reached the 
comparative beauty of Wimbledon and 
Surbiton. Here most of the passengers got 
out, and the children’s carriage remained 
empty but for one preoccupied elderly man, 
and when the train stopped again at the 
next station but one he got out too. 

Kitty and Nibs looked at each other in¬ 
quiringly. Was this Hampton Court? It 
seemed as though it must be, for the train 
stood quite still and no porter came along 
to bang the open doors. 

“ Let’s get out,” said Nibs, the venturesome. 

Kitty, the prudent, leaned from the door¬ 
way and saw the other end of the platform 
quite black with people leaving the station 
and nobody at all getting into the train, while 
every carriage door stood wide open, from 
engine to guard’s van. 

Yes, this must be Hampton Court. So 
she sprang lightly off the step and Nibs 
scrambled after her, and the two little 
creatures walked up the platform hand in 
hand, Kitty always carefully holding the 
tickets. But where was “ auntie ” ? No 
kind-faced lady like the lady in Kitty’s 
portrait stood there to welcome them. The 
children looked about in vain. 

Nibs wanted to follow the other people out 
of the station ; he felt sure they would find 
her outside. But Kitty decided that they must 
wait for her w r here they were. So they waited 
patiently and without any fear, and presently 
discovered they were the only two passengers 
left. Everybody else had gone away. It 
began to be a little lonesome. 

Digitized by Goodie 

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The collector who had been taking tickets 
at the exit now came towards them, counting 
those already collected over in his hand. 

He spied the children. 

“ Did you come by this train, my dears ? ” 
said he. 

Kitty handed him her tickets. 

“ Half-singles from Waterloo, eh ? Did 
you come alone ? And where are you going 
to now ? ” 

“ We’re waiting for our auntie,” said 
Kitty, in her neat, deliberate little voice, 
sounding the consonants very clearly and 
putting a tiny, dot-like pause between every 
word. 

“ All right! Sit here until she comes. 
But I’ll say good-bye, for I’m off to my 
dinner. I hope auntie will be quick and not 
keep you waiting too long for yours.” 

He laughed heartily at this witticism and 
so did the children, and for another half-hour 
they continued very happy. They explored 
the waiting-rooms, examined the luggage 
waiting to go by the next train “up,” looked 
at the open picture-papers hanging from a 
line over the bookstall, and for a long time 
watched some cattle packed into trucks on 
the other side of the permanent way. The 
poor things’ pathetic eyes were turned wist¬ 
fully from the interior of the whitewashed 
trucks to the green fields they would never 
tread again. 

Nibs discovered he was hungry. 

“ I say, Kits, when do you think auntie’ll 
come ? ” 

“just directly,” Kitty thought “You 
mustn’t be so impatient. Nibs. She’s got a 
long, long way to walk and heaps of things 
to do—to buy our dinners and, perhaps, some 
pretty toys for us, and to have our beds made 
and our room swept out, and oh ! lots and 
lots of other things too ! ” 

“ What, you children here still? ” 

It was two o’clock and the ticket-collector 
had come back. 

“ Your auntie must have forgotten you, 
I’m thinking. Where does she live, eh ? ” 

The children looked at each other and 
looked at the collector, but said nothing. 

“ What’s her name? ” he tried again. 

“ Her name is Auntie,” said Kitty, with 
charming distinctness. 

“ Where do you come from ? ” asked the 
perplexed collector. 

“From London, and from India before 
that,” said Nibs, “and where before that I 
don’t remember.” 

“ But what is your address in London ? ” 

T\)t children did not know. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


KITTY AND NIBS\ 


437 


Just then a train came in and the collector 
had to go to his post The children watched 
the carnages disgorge their passengers, 
watched these hurry to the exit as if they 
were trying to catch a train instead of just 
leaving one, watched the crowd hanging 
black round the collector like bees round 
their queen; and then in a few moments 
more there was the station empty again of 
anyone but their two selves—two poor little 
selves beginning to feel very tired and dis¬ 
consolate. 

A porter came sauntering up, 

14 Halloa 1 ” said he, from a little distance, 

44 Halloa ! ” responded Nibs. 

44 Wot you two kids doin' here ? *’ 

“Kid yourself!” cried Nibs aggressively. 


“Wotser mine, your auntie?” asked the 
porter. 

“Just what the blessed mites don't know, 
nor where she lives neither.” 

44 Werjer come from? London? Then 
werjer live in London? 31 asked the porter, 
who was a cockney himself and sharp. 

“We live with Miss Hrles,” said Kitty. 

“ Yus. But wot street jer live in ? ” 

“ Ids not a street,” said Kitty; “its a 
square,” 

14 But it's got a nime. Belgrive Squire, 
Heaton Squire, Grosvenor Squire?” he 
interrogated, proud of his knowledge. But 
poor little Kitty did not know the name of 
Miss Hiles's square. 

44 Rum go,” the porter opined. “Single 



* KID VcHKHELK E 1 CHIEtJ MJ HK* AODMEsSl VFLY," 


The porter was much amused, 

44 We're waiting for auntie,” explained the 
pacific Kitty. 

44 Yes, and they've been waiting for her 
ever since 12.45,” said collector, joining 
the porter. 

Digitized by Google 


tickets and no luggage? Looks fishy. Not 
the first time unnatcheral parients have tried 
to shove off their young *uns this way 
neither. No, not by a long chalk. Why, 
when I wos at Gorsple Oak——■” 

“ Stow it,” said the collector ; “ here's 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














43& 


THE STB AND MAGAZINE. 


the guv’nor coming* and we’d better tell 
him,” 

“ The guv'nor" was the station-master, 
before whom the ticket-collector proceeded 
to lay the case. 

Now, he was only really the station-master’s 
substitute while the station-master himself 
was taking his holiday. And this substitute 
was a timid* rigid, unimaginative man. He 
was rather afraid of children, having none of 
his own, and he was intensely afraid of taking 
on himself any responsibility. He listened 
to the porter’s “unnateheral parients ” theory, 
and he saw himself saddled for life with 
the two pc^or little things. But even this 
prospect did not appal him so much as did 
the prospect of his wife's anger if he should 
have the temerity to take them home. Such 
a thing was quite out of the question, and 


Poor Kitty, now completely frightened and 
disheartened, only shook her head, 

“ Disgraceful plant! ” grumbled the deputy 
station-master. u People like that deserve 
the treadmill. Don’t believe there's any 
aunt at all However, they can sit here and 
give her the chance of turning up, and if 
she don't HI send ’em up to Waterloo by the 
last train. Look out their tickets, Perkiss. 
We’ll send the tickets up with 'em as a means 
of identification. Now then, look sharp, 
there's the 3.53 signalled," 

A long and beautiful summer day was 
passing over the land. White, sharp-edged* 
sun-suffused clouds stood up like mountains 
m the blue sky and were reflected in the 
river flowing placidly between low banks. 
Boating parties were beginning to unpack 
their tea-baskets. The deep toned, red- 



his face grew sour and his manner short as 
the difficulty of the position forced itself on 
his attention, 

“ What station did they come from?” he 
snapped. 

“ Waterloo, sir,” said the friendly collector. 

“ Return tickets ? ” 

“Single halves," 

“ Any money ? ” 

“ Have you any money, my dear?” asked 
the collector, of Kitty. 

Digitized by Google 


brick palace in its stately gardens breathed a 
note of romance and old-world story into the 
air. Within a stone’s throw of the children 
hundreds of people were enjoying themselves: 
there was no one without some sort of a 
home, some sort of ties. Only the two poor, 
forlorn little creatures sat there on a bench 
in the dusty, ugly station, nobody’s business* 
nobody’s care, hungry, tired, and with all 
their bubbling gaiety at last quenched. 

The ticket-collector went away to his tea, 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



KITTY AND NIBS. 


439 


and brought back with him a couple of buns. 
He gave them to the children, who had had 
nothing to eat since breakfast, but Nibs’s 
little mouth was so parched with thirst he 
could not eat. The porter procured him 
some water in a tin mug. 

Other trains came in and went out. There 
were moments of bustle and movement on 
the station, and then again long, long periods 
when there was nothing to distract the mind. 

The cattle trucks were moved away to a 
distant siding. 

The shadows stretched out slenderly, and 
the sun began to redden as it went down. 

The children sat dozing;, huddled up in a 
corner of the bench. Nibs’s head was in 
Kitty’s lap, and had anyone been concerned 
to examine Kitty’s sweet little face he would 
have found that she had cried herself to 
sleep. 

“The speshull’s signalled!” shouted the 
porter to the ticket-collector; “ she’ll be 
coming in here on the right.” 

Nibs stirred himself up. 

“ I dreamded of ayah,” he told Kitty. “ She 
telled me I was her pukka Baba Sahib, 
just as she used to. I wish she was here. I 
wish we could take a train to India ! ” 

“ Here, kids ! ” cried the porter, “ doncher 
wanter come an* see the black soldiers, eh ? 
There’s a lotter Injun troops camped here in 
the park for the Corynation, an’ ter-day 
they’ve bin up in town enjying of theirselves 
at Madam Toosord’s or sumweres.” 

The children roused themselves without 
enthusiasm, for they barely understood what 
he said; but they followed him politely 
to a distant platform, arriving just in time to 
see gliding up to it a very long train. 

The doors flew open and Nibs thought he 
must be dreaming still. 

For what were these tall, turbaned forms 
with silver crescents or iron circlets gleaming 
in the muslin’s folds; with blue and scarlet 
and orange tunics; with black, curled beards 
and braided hair ; with wholesome dark 
brown skins; what could they be but dream 
people connected with home and dad and 
India, with the far-away happy times and 
places where everyone was always kind to 
children, and he was ayah’s pukka Baba 
Sahib ? 

He squeezed Kitty’s hand convulsively. 

“ Look, look. Kits ! ” he cried, his little 
face on fire. 

But the sedate and gentle Kitty was all 
pink with excitement, too. 

For these wild-looking warriors, Jats and 
Sikhs and smooth-faced Pathans, these ugly, 

Digitized byt -OOQle 

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fierce-eyed, little Gurkhas with kookrie-knives 
slung at their waists, who all seemed to the 
gathering crowd of loafers so awe-inspiring 
and so strange, to Kitty seemed the most 
natural, the most familiar, the most beautiful 
sight in the world. With fixed and radiant 
eyes she watched the platform fill with 
glowing uniforms, and the ranks form up as 
the well-known word of command fell on 
her ear. She was back again in the mys¬ 
terious East, or, rather, a rose from the 
mysterious East had suddenly blossomed out 
upon the humdrum, colourless station. 

“ March ! ” called out the officer; but at 
that same instant came a child’s unrestrained 
cry of joy. 

“ Bhimi! Bhimi Dessah ! ” 

Nibs had rushed forward and was embrac¬ 
ing a big Sikh round the knees. 

“ Oh, Baba Sahib ! ” 

The man squatted down on his heels so 
as to bring his face on a level with the 
child’s. 

“ Where has the Baba Sahib been all this 
long time ?” he asked, affectionately. “ And 
how tall and pukka he has grown ! And is 
this the Mem Missy ? ” 

“ Oh, Bhimi, will you please take care of 
us?” pleaded Kitty. “We’re so unhappy and 
so hungry ! And auntie has never come to 
meet us, and we’ve been here all day ! ” 

Saluting, the tall Sikh turned to say a few 
words with his officer, and it ended in Bhimi 
receiving permission to bring the children 
into camp. 

The procession of Indians which marched 
out of the station that day and over the 
bridge along the Barge Walk was curiously 
completed by a big Sikh who carried in his 
arms a chattering little English boy, and led 
a happy little English girl by the hand. 

“It appears, sir,” explained Captain Law- 
son, when he reached camp, to the command¬ 
ing officer, “ that Bhimi Dessah used to be 
in Captain Frere’s regiment at Peshawur, and 
these children are the little Freres. Funny 
thing to have sent them down here by them¬ 
selves to-day, whoever did it. Don’t under¬ 
stand that part of it at all.” 

“ Well, they can’t stay in camp anyhow,” 
said Major Chalmers. “ But I’m going over 
to dine with I^ady Ollard in the Palace, and 
I’ll take them with me to ask her advice. 
She’s an awfully good sort, and passionately 
fond of children. She’ll understand what to 
do with them, I know. Let Bhimi and 
someone else be ready to carry them over in 
an hour’s time. The poor mites must be 
tired to deatji,” na| from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


440 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



But, revived by pleasant Indian sweets 
and other camp cookery, Kitty and Nibs 
were lively as little bats when the time came 
to go, and danced and skipped by Bhimi’s 
side as they traversed the camp* crossed a bit 
of the Home Park, entered the beautiful 
Palace gardens, and so into the Palace itself, 
and to Lady Ollard’s rooms. 

" Why, this is my auntie ! ” cried Kitty, to 
the kind-faced lady who came to greet Major 
Chalmers in the drawing-room. 

"Who do you say, Major? The little 
Freres? Bob’s children? Oh, darlings, 
darlings, how glad I am you have come !" 

And while she covered them with kisses 
she told the Major, " My poor brother has 
been ill for weeks and weeks, and I only 
heard of it this morning for the first time. 


Digitized by Google 


When he thought he was going to die his 
one desire was that I should take care of his 
children. Unfortunately, there had been 
something between us—but that’s a sad old 
story now and must be forgotten. And now 
auntie is going to take care of her darlings, 
is she not?” said Lady Ollard, kissing the 
beaming little faces again and again. 

" But Bhimi must ster—stay and take care 
of us, too ? ” said Nibs, very earnestly, and he 
always stuttered a little when very much in 
earnest. He put his tiny, fair hand on 
Bhimi’s dark one and held him tight. "It 
will save you a good bit, auntie, for you see 
I’m very heavy to carry, and Bee—Bbinii will 
carry me to bed.” 

So for that evening, anyhow, Bhimi 
stayed. 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







Martyrs of Fashion . 



THHKK Jt 'KAl.S, QF H F.A l)l>KESS. 


O take care of her person, to 
correct certain imperfections 
which disfigure a pretty face, 
to dress with taste, to obey 
the exigencies of fashion is, 
for a woman, not only a per¬ 
missible coquetry, but almost a conventional 
duty* At the same time, if to that extent 
the art of the toilette is quite legitimate, as 
much cannot be said for the means taken by 
some women to give themselves the appear¬ 
ance of a beauty denied to them by Nature. 
To what learned, complicated, and strange 
recipes they have recourse, to what sufferings 
they subject themselves light-heartedly, is 
hardly believable ; and beyond question the 
price paid is a very heavy one for the acquisi¬ 
tion of a fictitious beauty—which deceives 
nobody. 

Is it not the dream of almost all women to 
be beautiful and to remain young ? And 
who thinks of reproaching them for it? 
What moralist would be so severe as to 
blame them ? To take particular care of her 
toilette, to select what adornments may 
assist in giving an agreeable expression to 
her visage, and to correct whatever faults it 
may have—nothing is less blamable, nothing 
is more natural; only the question here is 
one of extent, a matter of degree. By the 
side of this wholly allowable coquetry there 
is another, at which we cannot refrain from 
smiling, unless we are inclined to feel pity for 
those who are under its influence : it consists 
in the complete substitution of artifice for 
Nature in carrying out a labour of vanity and 
falsehood which, when all is done, misses its 
Vot axiv.—66* 


end, since the effect it produces is of the 
most repugnant kind* 

To fashion or cultivate her beauty, then, 
becomes an art in which all the arts are 
employed, a science to which all the sciences 
lend their aid—in which chemistry and 
medicine, surgery and painting, physics, 
statuary, and mineralogy all have parts to 
play. 1 

But it is not only time, trouble, and money 
that have to be paid in such a case ; patience, 
resignation, and endurance are also demanded. 
Who is there who does not know the suffer¬ 
ings to which some women will condemn 
themselves, duped by a mirage of beauty? 
Who does not know to what lengths they will 
carry the cruelties of self-martyrdom ? Let 
us call up this spectacle, let us look upon 
this self-inflicted torture of coquetry pushed 
to mania, and see how much strength of will 
may be put at the service of frivolity. 

The first merit which calls admiring atten¬ 
tion to a woman, and has at all times been 
celebrated by the poets, is freshness of com¬ 
plexion. The women of Corinth took a bath 
of perfumed olive oil for two hours daily. 
In Rome the vapour-bath, followed by 
douches and massage, occupied the mornings 
of elegant ladies. Nero's wife, the Empress 
Poppaea, invented baths of asses’ milk, in 
which she indulged twice a day. Flocks 
of several hundred asses followed the Court 
wherever it went, to insure the toilette of the 
Empress* 

Under the Directory Madame 1 allien tried 
baths of crushed strawberries and raspberries. 
But what is the Sort of bath that has not 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










































442 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


been contrived? Baths of grape and olive 
skins, of Bordeaux wine, and of champagne 
have been used. A French doctor recom¬ 
mended baths of fresh blood, and in hundreds 
of towns bathing-places were provided in 
the public slaughter-houses. Other votaries 
of fashion were advised to bury themselves 
inside the bodies of dead animals, and even 
in manure-heaps. Modern science has re¬ 
placed these strange prescriptions by baths 
of glycerine, and by ammoniacal, electric, 
and chemical baths. 

But even those revolting expedients for 
giving a beautiful hue to the skin were, 
perhaps, less matters of torture than the 
wearing through the night of masks, some¬ 
times rigid, sometimes repulsive. In Rome 
the usage of the mask was so general that 
it was called the domestic, or husband’s, 
mask. It was fabricated by special slaves 
every evening, with a paste made of bean 
flour, or with a mucilaginous product found 
in the nests of certain sea-birds; or, again, 
with the sweat of lambs. 

In France the domestic mask was in use 
down to the seventeenth century. We owe 
to Henry III., who wore it, the recipe for 
a mask made of flour and white of eggs. 
This composition hardened on the face 
during the night, and was softened in the 
morning with a lotion of chervil. Haricot 
bean flour, fresh cream, honey, and olive 
oil entered into the preparation of these 
masks, which moulded themselves to the 
features. The chroniclers have left many 
ironical descriptions of these “stone faces,” 
in which the features of these “ elegants ” 
were encased at nightfall, to be broken on 
the return of daylight and give to view—at 
least for a few hours—a complexion intact 
and youthful. 

Let us not, however, too strongly accuse 
of fantasies the “ elegants ” of other days, 
with their “ stone faces.” In the dressing- 
room of some voluntary victim of coquetry 
in 1902, what are those freshly-cut and care¬ 
fully-secreted beefsteaks, lividly raw and red, 
with powder-boxes near them ? Presently, 
with much of mystery, those steaks will 
be adjusted with minute care by a lady’s- 
maid to the cheeks of her mistress, held in 
their places with a bandage, and not removed 
before the next morning. This energetic 
recipe is said to be a more effective refresher 
of the complexion than chemical baths or 
“ beauty pills ” poisoned with arsenic; at 
any rate, the application of it demands 
courage, mystery, and discretion. 

But, defiant of masks, fleshly compresses, 

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o 


and arsenical potions, little deformations will 
show themselves : tiny indiscreet folds of the 
skin at the corners of the mouth; the epi¬ 
dermis shrinks about the eyes; the surface of 
the forehead loses its smoothness; the first 
wrinkle threatens to assert itself. Treat¬ 
ment at once energetic and immediate is 
called for. Quickly a veritable arsenal is laid 
under contribution to eradicate this minim 
of defect. Behold a series of instruments of 
hardwood and metal, that look like models 
of garden implements! They are all for 
use in the processes of “ face massage.” For 
one or two hours daily for weeks—it may be 
for months—a practitioner employs these tools 
upon the face of his patient with minute 
care. Each one of the muscles that may act 
upon the unfortunate pucker in the skin 
must be massaged in accordance with the 
importance of the part it plays. Frictions of 
alcohol and the application of wet bandages 
terminate each operation. The wrinkle got 
rid of, partial masks maintain the smoothness 
of the epidermis so laboriously obtained, 
until renewed massage becomes requisite a 
little later on. 

The electric treatment is more delicate 
still: it demands the application of a con¬ 
tinuous or intermittent current to the extre¬ 
mities of each of the muscles to be fortified. 
Five or six electrodes may be applied simul¬ 
taneously to a face that is becoming wrinkled. 
The intensity of the currents being very 
weak, innumerable seances are necessary; 
and, even if not made painful, the operation 
is, at least, a very tedious one. Add to this 
that it has to be accompanied by interior 
medication—that the patient must be fattened 
or made thinner, according to the state of 
the epidermis. The suppression of a wrinkle, 
therefore, may represent three months of 
assiduous care, of two hours a day, by 
mechanical or electrical treatment. 

So far, only the preservation intact of 
Nature’s work has been dealt with ; now we 
come upon something more difficult—the 
remedying of some of its errors, their curtail¬ 
ment or total elimination. Numerous stories 
have been told to us of savages scalping their 
prisoners, of their putting them to death at 
slow fires ; it is to similar tortures a woman 
will unhesitatingly submit herself who has 
made the distressing discovery that her upper 
lip is developing a moustache, or is shadowed 
by a too positive growth of down, or that 
her cheeks are being invaded by a hairy 
excrescence. Depilatory operations are always 
painful—often dangerous. 

The Egyptians) Greeks, and Romans had 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


MARTYRS OF FASHION. 


443 


for this disagreeable growth on the visage 
the same aversion as ourselves : they tore 
out both down and hair by very energetic 
means, extirpating them either with tweezers 
or by placing on the spot a plaster composed 
of pitch and quicklime. All the so-called 
“depilatory*' preparations have a caustic 
base, like the rusma of the Orientals, and 
burn and injure the skin to a certain depth. 

Modern operators practise extraction also. 
An extremely fine point of hard wood is 
dipped in crystallizable acetic acid, then 
applied to the skin beside the hair to be 
destroyed, which is gently drawn by tweezers. 
Several applica¬ 
tions are made, 
at intervals of a 
few minutes; 
the skin softens, 
and the point 
penetrates. The 
skin then gives 
way to the least 
strain put upon 
it. Whatever 
the skill of the 
artist may be f 
however, the 
operation is a 
most painful one 
—so painful that 
the extraction of 
five or six hairs 
at a sitting is as 
much as a pa¬ 
tient can endure. 

Elec t ri c i ty 
may here be in¬ 
troduced. Into 
the hair itself is 
inserted a netAlle 
of nickellcd pla¬ 
tinum, through 
which a con¬ 
ductor causes a 
current of 4,000 
or 5,000 amperes 
to circulate for a 
variable period. 

Scars often result from this energetic mode of 
treatment. Besides which, the caprice of elec¬ 
tricity, which has its irony, h|as to be counted 
with ; it may happen that, though it destroys 
the hair itself, it strengthens the root from 
which it has sprung and causes a growth 
of new down, finer and more abundant 
than ever. The red-hot iron is always the 
supreme resource—and the supreme torture. 

This light down was a mere suspicion—a 


mere shadow; but imagine that a pimple 
may appear on this epidermis, or perhaps a 
wart, or streaks and patches of red spread 
over it! And remember that it is the finest 
skins that are most exposed to misadventures 
of that sort! Let surgery come to our 
assistance ; let it cut, slash, tear, and uproot. 
With a silken thread it strangles excrescences 
—burns them with acids, or tears away by 
fragments stains of the skin. This very 
delicate operation goes on for weeks, 
Josephine Beauharnais had the patience 
to allow sixty freckles to he removed from 
her face with the aid of the knife. 

But all these 
operations ap¬ 
pear pale and 
com m on place 
by the side of 
the heroism dis¬ 
played two years 
ago by a cele¬ 
brated actress, 
to whom truly 
belongs the 
martyr's crown. 
Driven to des¬ 
peration by see¬ 
ing her beauty 
compromised by 
a series of super¬ 
ficial alterations 
in her com¬ 
plexion, she de¬ 
cided to have 
the skin of her 
face completely 
changed I She 
found doctors 
who undertook 
the performance 
of this strange 
operation, which 
extended over 
seven weeks — 
seven weeks of 
uninterrupted 
suffering. All 
the skin of her 
face was chemically burned, then detached bit 
by bit. At the end of two months of suffering 
the old epidermis had entirely disappeared 
and been replaced by a skin as rosy, thin, 
and tender as that of a new-born child ! So 
disconcerting was the aspect of this baby* 
like complexion to a woman of thirty that 
the desperate actress found herself more ill- 
looking after the operation than she had 
thought herself rtf be before undergoing it, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





444 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


and had to seclude herself for a month to 
allow her new skin to age a little. At the 
end of four months, however, the result 
was perfect; the best friends of the heroic 
actress all declaring that she was “unrecog¬ 
nisable,” so completely was she rejuvenated 
and transformed ! 

We have suppressed undesirable hairs, 
blotches, and warts: let us now add to them! 
We have been at much pains to do all this ; 
and we will now 
do as much in 
an opposite direc¬ 
tion. 

It was in the 
seventeenth cen¬ 
tury that the use 
of “ patches ” was 
inaugurated. 

They were cut 
out of thin 
black silk or sar¬ 
cenet, gummed 
on the hack, in 
the forms of cres¬ 
cents, suns, stars, 
and comets. 

They resembled 
on a face the signs 
of the Zodiac, 

They were an in¬ 
dispensable acces¬ 
sory to the play 
of the features. 

The placing of 
them on the 
temples, near the 
eyes, and at the 
corners of the 
mouth was a spe¬ 
cial art, A woman 
of quality always wore from eight to ten, and 
never went out without her box of patches 
for the replacing of those that fell off, or for 
the addition of fresh ones, as occasion might 
require. 

Each one of these patches had a charac¬ 
teristic name: at the corner of the eye, 
“the impassioned”; in the middle of the 
cheek, “the gallant”; near the lips, “the 
coquette”; on a pimple, “the concealer.” 
When she had these all properly placed, a 
fashionable lady looked as if she had met 
with some accident to her skin. Even to-day 
we see ladies who have had little pieces of 
brown india-rubber inserted under their skin 
to imitate moles or “ beauty-spots.” 

That is only the beginning. We are now 
going to witness the whole work of ornament¬ 


ing a face, of which there is not a featute that 
cannot be learnedly modified. First, the eye. 
In antiquity the art of enlarging and darkening 
the pupil was already known. Ovid says: 
“The surroundings of the eyes should be 
slightly darkened, a fine powder blown under 
the lids to make them appear brilliant and 
larger, the eyelashes tinted with sepia, the 
arc of the eyebrows lengthened.” 

To-day the transformation is not merely 
superficial By 
the absorption of 
certain poisonous 
substances—atro¬ 
pine and bella¬ 
donna, amongst 
others — a dila¬ 
tion of the pupil 
is obtained, 
making it look 
more expressive 
and luminous. 
Around the eye 
so enlarged some 
skilful touches 
with a pencil, 
prolonging the 
external opening 
of the lids ; and 
the application of 
a flesh-paint, the 
basis of which is 
lamp-black, to the 
lashes, will give a 
look of brightness 
to the eyes. Be¬ 
sides all this there 
needs, for en¬ 
framing these 
perfected eyes, 
weif-designed eye¬ 
brows and thick lashes. Partial extirpation 
of the hair of the brows and repeated mas¬ 
sages may serve to modify their curve. 

At the Court of Peter the Great the 
Russian women of fashion adopted a radical 
means, that of having their eyebrows entirely 
extracted, substituting for them a thick layer 
of black-lead, perfectly designed. Sometimes 
artificial eyelashes, slightly moistened with 
collodion, are placed under the natural lashes, 
which they enlarge. Of course, this work 
of art must be minutely renewed every day ; 
the effect of belladonna is only momentary; 
paints become dimmed, and the false eyelids 
are never of a solidity to be altogether trust¬ 
worthy. 

The face is now to become a veritable 
palette, on which are all the tones of white* 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











MARTYRS OF FASHION. 


44 5 


of blue, and of red, to simulate a young and 
brilliant complexion. 

White, called silver or pearl-white, furnishes 
the first coat and groundwork of the picture. 
Is it generally known that the elementary 
essential of all whites is alabaster, pounded 
and pulverized in special mills mostly in¬ 
stalled at Paris? Our “elegants" exhaust 
every year a quarry of fine marble for the 
making-up of their faces. The white is 
spread with a pad of cotton wool or soft 
brush, more thickly on the parts where there 
are wrinkles, or 
where they may 
be threatening 
to appear. The 
red, chosen 
from a m o n g 
seventeen 
shades between 
rose and ver¬ 
milion, is laid 
on lightly in 
layers and gra^ 
duated from 
the top of the 
cheeks to the 
beginning of the 
neck. Finally, 
with pastels 
made of pow¬ 
dered talc and 
indigo, the 
artist traces in 
simple lines the 
course of the 
veins. One 
may suppose 
that the picture 
is then finished. 

But what varie¬ 
ties and subtle¬ 
ties enter into 
this making-up! 

A visage in¬ 
tended to shine 
under the rays 
of powerful lights cannot be treated in the 
same way as one intended to be seen in the 
light ol day : there is a red for the evening, 
a red for the theatre, and another for the 
town, for the country, for the sea! There is 
one make-up for fetes and another for simple 
entertainments I 

Even painting has for some years given 
place to a process highly mysterious and 
jealously secreted by its practises: that of 
enamelling. It substitutes for the outfit of 
paints a small solid envelope, transparent 


and coloured, which covers the face with a 
coat of enamel. While the most successful 
make-up of paint cannot long resist ex¬ 
posure to heat, and must be renewed at 
least once a day, enamel lends the 
face a brightness that may endure for 
several weeks. Its inconvenience is the 
ceramic stiffness, the immobility in which it 
holds all the features while giving them a 
brilliant appearance. Its application, more¬ 
over, is a long and painful operation. To 
fix, cold, upon the skin the colouring powers, 

recourse must 
be had to acids 
of a dangerous 
character. Part 
of the enamel¬ 
ling must be 
done in dark¬ 
ness, and two 
or three days 
of interrupted 
treatment are 
indispensable 
for rendering 
the application 
definitive. 

Grave acci¬ 
dents, chronic 
affections of 
the skm, often 
result from 
enamelling that 
has been ton 
energetically 
performed. But 
the very risk 
seems to add 
temptation to 
this mysterious 
operation; and 
who would not 
brave it to ob¬ 
tain the pearly 
splendour 
which turns 
the visage into 
a piece of art pottery ? Scraped, massaged, 
polished, electrified, a halo of blue about 
the large and flash mg eyes, the whole face 
brilliant, this w'ork of art has now to be 
crowned with a harmoniously-adapted bead 
of hair. 

At times when fashion requires that its 
followers shall have hair of a dark blonde or 
mahogany colour, what is to he done with black 
hair but dye it ? And what can be done w r ith 
a thin or failing crop or hair but strengthen it 
by useful additions, enrich and thicken it ? 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



AN UP-TO’DATE PROCESS— MODEL.l .[ NT. THE FYKSKOW1 BY MEANS OF TUB 

Framd FMo ] ELECTKIC NRK&LE, flljj Rciuiez 




THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


446 



was immediately combined, pro¬ 
ducing the Venetian blonde so 
greatly in vogue of late years* The 
same effect was formerly attained 
by exposing the hair to the sun, 
as shown in the following illus¬ 
tration from an old print. By 
accident also was the discovery 
made that the first greying of 
chestnut hair may be stayed by a 
lotion of tea* AH grades of colour, 
from black to blonde, are obtained 
from preparations more or less 
dangerous, the least peril incurred 
being the weakening of the growth 
of hair and the provocation of 
premature baldness* 

The most beautiful heads of 
natural hair do not equal certain 
marvellous wigs. In all times 
women have occasionally worn wigs, 
“ Let us picture to ourselves,” wrote 
M. de Saporta, “ Mary Stuart on 
the scaffold : the executioner raises 
his axe, decapitates the poor Queen, 
and, seizing by its long hair the 
head dripping with blood, cries with 
all his might : 1 God save Queen 


IN THR TIMES OF m'UF.BKD HAIR—PROTECT|Nt; THE I ACi. 

WITH A PAPER CONE WHILE THE HAIRDRESSER APPLIES 
ftwnfls] THE POWDER* LOid Print. 

The Orientals and Egyptians, preferring 
black hair, obtain it by the use of a lotion 
composed of Indian ink and rose-water. 
The young Jewesses used gold-dust to 
brighten their hair, and it is from them came 
the fashion of powdered hair. In Rome the 
“elegants” used dyes of gold colour, greens, 
and blues. Some of their recipes were very 
strange. There was one in which the juice of 
hellebore was mixed with honey and pounded 
rats* heads. In old France simple powder 
was at first sufficient; under Charles IX, it was 
violet, red under Louis XIII. In the seven¬ 
teenth and eighteenth centuries white only 
was used. Mercier, in 1783, protested 
against the frightful quantity of starch which 
this fashion caused lobe consumed, affirming 
that cities like London and Paris swallowed 
up as much meal daily as would have sufficed 
for the nourishment of ten thousand hungry 
people. 

Modern chemistry lends itself to the most 
fantastic variations. Who knows what part 
chance may play in scientific discoveries? 
It is not less so in regard to capillary art* A 
doctor visiting a potash manufactory noticed 
the admirable golden hues of the hair of all 
the workwomen, A dye with a potash base 


TURNING THE HAIR VENETIAN BLOWbE," BY SPREADING IT 


TO TUB SUN OV 


UNIVERSITYOF MICHIGAN 


WITHOUT A CROWN. 





























MARTYRS OF FASHION.\ 


4 A 7 


Elizabeth !' But the distresses of all kinds 
endured by Mary bad stripped her of the 
blonde tresses of which she had once been 
so proud : the executioner grasped nothing 
but a wig, while the head, denuded of its 
covering, fell noisily on to the floor of the 
scaffold. For the rest, the Queen of England's 
head was no better furnished than that of 
her victim, and her red wig is not less 
famous/’ 

The eighteenth century must be reached to 
Hud that the art of wig-making has attained the 
highest pitch of perfection—and ridiculous¬ 
ness. Then ap¬ 
peared the head¬ 
dresses called 
“ opera - boxes,” 
which increased 
the height of a 
woman's face to 
7 2 in. from the 
bottom of her 
chin to the top of 
her piled-up hair; 
or those, more 
extravagant still, 
called puffs, in 
which the hair 
was raised stage 
above stage, 
stretched upon 
frames. In 1774 
the Duchesse de 
Chartres ap¬ 
peared at the 
opera, her head 
dressed with a 
pyramidal puff 
on which were 
seen the Due de 
Beaujolais, her 
eldest son, in the 
arms of his nurse, 
a parrot pecking 
at a cherry, a 
little negro, and 
ciphers made of hairs, even of the Due de 
Chartres and of Princes, 

Though less exacting, our present fashions 
demand an abundance of hair which has 
been discreetly augmented by fictitious 
additions* France alone consumes yearly 
more than 400,0001b. weight of hair in the 
making of some 30,000,000 wigs. It is 
the most costly of artificial beauties, for it 
ha* first to he purchased, then kept in order 
by being dre sed daily by the aid of a multi¬ 
tude of products and numerous auxiliaries. 
The outlay on certain elegant heads of hair 


would serve to maintain fifteen persons— 
bald or not. 

Now we come to the mouth. On the lips 
is placed a freshening pigment; on the gums 
a special rose. The tongue is scraped and 
rubbed with soft velvet* The teeth are 
ornamented and fabricated at will. The 
Annamite women carefully cover their teeth 
with a salve composed of bone-charcoal, 
sawdust, and honey; this is an elegance 
among savages. How much more civilized 
appears to us the recent fashion of rich 
American ladies, who, in cavities cut or filed 

in the hollows of 
their teeth, set 
rubies, pearls, 
diamonds, so 
that a sparkle 
underlines every 
smile of their 
opened lips ? 

It is now the 
turn of the ear- 
modeller. The 
practice of 
moulding the 
ears, which has 
again become 
fashionable, is a 
very old one : the 
improved shape 
is effected by 
training the outer 
shell of the ear 
by binding it 
over pieces of 
wood of different 
forms; a cunning 
ointment is laid 
over all, and even 
the least aesthetic 
ears do not resist 
this treatment* 
And now we 
come to the 
nose-maker. 
Nothing is rarer than a well madq nose; 
and need it be said of what importance the 
nose is? To-day noses are remade, re¬ 
fashioned, augmented, the curve of them 
changed at pleasure. Electric massage, the 
introduction of cylindrical and expanding 
sponges into the nostrils, are powerless to 
effect this prodigy ; to achieve it, the skin 
must be moulded from beneath. The form 
of the nose chosen, Greek or aquiline, 
straight or upturned, is carefully moulded in 
plaster of Paris, with exact dimensions ; of this 
a plaster mould h applied to the nose to be 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








448 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE * 


transformed, at the base of which, beneath 
the skin, a fine syringe charged with pure 
vaseline is introduced* The process of in- 
jection is then carried out, the vaseline pene¬ 
trates under the skin, which it raises and 
presses closely against the mould; the 
pressure on the syringe is maintained 
until the vaseline injected becomes firm* 
The mould is then removed, and the 
nose, recently depressed and ill shapen, 
exactly resembles the model, only a little 
discoloured. A trifling daub of red, with 
some blue veins pencilled, completes this 
veritable creation* this triumph of modern 
cosmetics* 

„ Perhaps you may now declare yourself 
satisfied with your face* It has cost you 
quite enough* Bur, no! Beauty is a 
matter of proportions. All is lost if you are 
too big or too little, if you have feet too 
long, hands too short, a neck too long, a 
figure too heavy or too thin. What then? 
You are too tall; your height must be 
lessened* Your limbs are too long ; very 
well* they must be shortened; too short, they 
must be lengthened. Let us resign our¬ 
selves again heroically to the torture, there¬ 
fore : an inch has to be taken from the 
length of our neck, or as much added to it 
To accomplish this there are 
fallible means. 

How many pro¬ 
cesses are there 
for reducing fat, 
from the endless 
band in which 
women of middle 
age are swathed 
to the modern 
electric corset 
furnished with 
invisible bat¬ 
teries! Your 
limbs are too 
short ? Swedish 
gvmnasttcs will 
lengthen and 
stretch them, by 
means of appa¬ 
ratus very much 
resembling some 
ancient instru¬ 
ments of punish¬ 
ment* The size 
of a hand can¬ 
not be much 
diminished, hut 
by repeated mas- 

Diqil 


sages its heavy form may be modified, 
its fingers better arranged, and their nails 
freed from flesh* These are objects of 
great care and energetic treatment. When 
an ill-formed or ill-placed nail resists the 
action of polishers and artificial enamel, 
some “elegants >J do not hesitate to submit to 
have it wholly removed by the burning of its 
base with acid ; the new nail is then, front 
its birth, treated with infinite care. An 
actress in London with rare courage is 
reported to have had the nails on both 
hands replaced in this way* In Paris alone 
more than 3,000 specialists are engaged in 
the fabrication and preservation of beautiful 
hands* 

Is that the end ? Not yet The idea of 
leaving motion, gesture, attitude, to chance t 
One must learn to walk, to smile, to execute 
the least gesture according to a harmonious 
rhythm* The commonest gesture is taught 
and repeated that is calculated to increase 
the effect of the least acquired grace* In 
fine, when nothing of Nature has been left, 
the pupil has acquired the full mastery; the 
work is complete* 

And that work is, veritably, the creation 
of a new being, artificial and elegant, in 
whom nothing remains, or at least is 
visible, of the imperfections imposed by 

Nature. But are 
these artificial 
ckefs d'oeuvre 
worth as much 
as the sincere 
and imperfect 
work of Nature ? 
Painted and 
enamelled, tinted 
and moulded 
to admiration, 
the heroines 
of coquetry may 
at least reproach 
themselves with 
having been too 
successful. They 
have commit¬ 
ted the fault of 
passing the boun¬ 
dary at which 
care of the per¬ 
son ceases to be 
justifiable, and 
are after all much 
less attractive 
than a healthy 
milkmaid* 














f my old bicycling days—-when 
I was a young man —every 
bicyclist was an enthusiast. 
Nobody but an enthusiast 
could have endured it for a 
week. When 1 say we were all 
enthusiasts, I mean that is what we called 
ourselves; other people called us maniacs. 
And in fact, when 1 look hack upon the 
troubles and floundering^ and bard work on 
hard saddles and hard roads—-oh* so hard 
sometimes l—of those days, I feel a growing 
tolerance for the opinion of those other 
people. Still, I can scarcely go so far as to 
call myself a maniac outright. Let us com¬ 
promise i call me an enthusiac. 

My first enthusiasm battered me against, 
and under, and all round a wooden "bone¬ 
shaker.” I suppose there must be many 
people alive now who have never even seen 
a boneshaker. It is not a very beautiful 
thing to see, hut it is worse to feel; it is so 
uncompromising, so hard, and so full of 
metallic corners, and so emphatic in its way 
of impressing itself on you. The worst 
position in which to feel a boneshaker is 
between the boneshaker and a macadam road 
with your leg—but, there, let me first describe 
my own original boneshaker. 

It was an assertive vehicle—a boneshaker 
that wouldn't be ignored. Its hue was the 
hue of mustard, picked out with crimson 
lines. It was so brilliant as to be positively 

Vd. *k!v. —67, 



painful to anybody without blue spectacles, 
and it was about as silent as a tinker’s cart. 
It was about as heavy as that, too, and my 
progress along the street—when I succeeded 
in making any—aroused public attention like 
a runaway Lord Mayor’s Show. The wheels 
possessed an extraordinary property of bump¬ 
ing and jumping and banging on the very 
smoothest surface-—even on a polished floor 
—for no apparent cause; just as though 
half-a-dozen bricks had been lashed at in¬ 
tervals round the rim of each wheel. To 
ride this amazing engine one sat on a stuffed 
saddle of no particular shape, such shape as 
it had being produced by the eccentricities 
of the stuffing, which I suspect to have been 
geological in character. The handle-bar was 
some distance in front, at about the level of 
the chin, so that it would have been just 
possible to look over it at things ahead if 
one could have spared any attention from 
more immediate troubles. The pedals were 
well in front, too, and one*s knees rose a 
good deal higher than one’s waist at the top 
of each revolution ; and *on the front fork 
grew an elegant pair of iron brackets on which 
to hang up your legs when not required, 
going downhill. When the whole equipage 
turned round and assaulted me—it often did 
that —those elegant leg-hooks had a way of 
nipping my leg with deadly precision against 
the backbone, in such a way as made it 
impossible to move without imminent risk of 
breaking the limb. In these absorbing cir¬ 
cumstances I was wont to lie sprawling on 
the Queen's highway and appeal for rescue to 
the scoffing petit sth an. The scoffing pedes- 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


45° 


trian was not always there to be appealed to T 
however; in that case it was my privilege to 
repose in the mud with an agonized leg 
pinned fast, and throbbing with extra pangs 
whenever I moved a finger, till the prayed- 
for scoffer chanced along. At those times 
the blissful solitude of a country lane had its 
disadvantages. And, moreover, the scoffers 
were clumsy. Nine times out of ten they 
laid hold of the wrong part of the heap and 
made things worse ; and after all the practice 
1 gave them, too. 

My next bike—at the time they usually 
called them velocipedes—was a “Phantom,” 
This was an improved boneshaker. In 
place of the iron tyre a strip of rubljer 
was nailed round the wheel, the spokes 
were wire, looped in staples, and there 
was a weird and startling arrangement 
of iron rods hinged to couple the two 
wheels, so that both steered together. 
That is to say, when I swung the front wheel 
to the right, the couplings slewed round 
the back wheel toward the left, and made 
the turn precisely twice as sudden as I had 
expected. Sometimes I only ran into the 
kerb, but usually 1 sat briskly on the road and 
contemplated a distant pile of Phantom. 
That was when 1 was lucky ; at the unlucky 
corners the ghostly conveyance seized my 
leg exactly in the manner of my old bone¬ 
shaker, except that it was provided with 
additional weapons of entanglement in the 
connecting rods. These and the leg-rests 
between them 
fixed me up so 
effectually that 
it was com¬ 
monly neces¬ 
sary to assem¬ 
ble two scoffing 
pedestr ians 
and a rejoicing 
boy to analyze 
the mixture; 
so that the 
Phantom's 
superiority 
over the plain 
boneshaker 
was demon¬ 
strated arith¬ 
metically as 
something 
like 2*4 to i. 

These little 
exhibitions, as 
a rule, brought 
about sudden 


alterations in the design of the bicycle, the 
commonest being the bending of the connect¬ 
ing rods. The result of this was that the thing 
would no longer steer at all except in a succes¬ 
sion of eccentric circles and parabolas such as 
no comet ever performed without breaking 
its tail in the middle; and the entire turn-out 
became useless, except as the nearest avail¬ 
able means of suicide* The india-rubber 
tyre was a great improvement, too. Nobody 
understands what a difference the rubber 
tyre made who did not come straight from 
the boneshaker to the Phantom, as I did. 
We enthusiacs, deafened and shaken loose at 
the joints with the thunderous rattle and 
clatter of the iron wheel, hailed it with joy. 
Many respectable persons, who until that 
time had regularly occupied the centre of 
country roads for the practice of somnambu¬ 
lism, were less delighted with the comparative 
silence of our approach, and chastised us 
with umbrellas. Even the umbrellas were 
bigger and heavier in those spacious times. 

The Phantom gave way to the first of a 
series of tall, or “ordinary” (not at all 
ordinary nowadays), bicycles. They were 
not so very tall at first, however; we did 
things by degrees when I was an enthusiac, 
There was a long dispute between the 
enthusiacs who maintained that both wheels 
should be of the same size, and the others 
who were prepared to shed their blood—and 
did it, too, in many a complicated cropper— 
in defence of the eternal principle that the 




MY OLD BIKES. 


45i 


front wheel should be big and the back 
wheel small. Slowly—in virtue of superior 
recklessness, perhaps—the latter prevailed. 
The front wheels rose an inch at a time and 
the back wheels sank; and some philan¬ 
thropist took away the connecting rods of the 
Phantom and buried them decently. 

Now, as the front wheel grew r and the 
back wheel shrank, the saddle got closer and 
closer to the head of the machine and more 
directly over the centre of the front wheel; 
and so the tendency arose to a bounding 
light-heartedness on the part of the hinder 
half of the affair, and a reverse tendency on 
the part of the big wheel, which acquired 
a habit of stopping suddenly to consider 
before surmounting a pebble or like obstruc¬ 
tion in the road, while the little wheel soared 
merrily in the air behind, and the enthusiac 
passed on in front all by himself, till the 
sudden application of his countenance to the 
surface of the thoroughfare called his atten¬ 
tion to his separation from his bicycle and 
the elevation of his heels. This process, 
being, unlike some others, much easier to 
perform than to describe at length, was 
shortly entitled a cropper, a howler, a mucker, 
a buster, or a purler. 

This constant recurrence of the “ cropper ” 
was the main trouble with the tall bicycle, 
and many weird inventions were devised for 
its abolition. The common effect of these 
inventions was to multiply the croppers by 
about six, and as the plain bicycle, with no 
patent safety attachments, already made a 
pretty general average of a cropper in twenty 
miles for a good rider, the patent safety im¬ 
provements were a trifle too exciting to be 
commercially successful. The amazing ease 
with which a cropper was accomplished with 
the tall bicycle cannot be realized by the 
rider of the modern machine, which won’t 
throw you over even if you try to make it 
You were perched, remember, on the exact 
top of a wheel about 5 ft. high, with an 
inconsiderable little roller of a trailing wheel 
to weigh down behind, and nothing whatever 
to hold you up in front. The smallest check 
or jolt to the big w'heel upset the balance 
of the whole arrangement, and then you were 
flung forward with your face to the ground, 
hammer-fashion, and a nice, straight iron 
handle-bar close across your waist to imprison 
your legs, and make quite certain that it 
should be your face, and no less tender spot, 
that first reached the surface of this unyield¬ 
ing planet. So that the incautious enthusiac 
who rode against a stone, or a walnut-shell, 
or a dead leaf, or a shadow, or anything else, 


ran a good chance of obliterated features. 
But we enthusiacs didn't mind—or, at least, 
we said we didn’t. These little scrambles 
were half the fun, we used to say ; though 
I cannot distinctly remember anybody taking 
up the sport solely for the sake of the 
croppers. 

Many of the sanguine inventors who set 
out to conquer the cropper aimed at restrain¬ 
ing the soaring ambition of the back wheel. 
Some of the earliest tried vrith a weight. 
Ah, me ! how well I remember—especially 
in frosty weather—a tali bicycle I had fitted 
with an infallible # cropper-preventer of this 
sort! An iron rod reached out backward over 
the back wheel and ended a good way 
behind in a prong like a tuning-fork. A 
massive chunk of lead was so made as to 
slide on or off this pronged end, and you 
could graduate your degree of safety by the 
use of bigger or smaller chunks of lead. 
The idea was, of course, that this weight, so 
far behind, would have so great a leverage 
as to hold down all that bucking, jumping 
framework with the back wheel, so that the 
big wheel might stop to consider about sur¬ 
mounting a brick without turning out the 
enthusiac over its head like coals from a 
sack. It was a capital idea, and looked 
charming, not only on paper, but on the 
machine; it never left off looking charming, 
in fact, till you tried it. Then you found 
that, although the arrangement was heavy 
enough and effectual enough to be a sad 
drag on the travelling, some amazing 
operation of Nature made it no hindrance 
to croppers whatever—almost an encourage¬ 
ment, in fact. What actually happened 
was this: you hit your stone, or your 
feather, or shadow, or whatever it might 
happen to be, and signified the same in the 
usual manner by coming the customary 
howler. The whole terrestrial cosmogony 
heaved up and hit you all over the face, 
and amid the wreck of matter and the crash 
of worlds you realized that you were down . 
With this sensation the common or roadside 
cropper of the unimproved bicycle ended ; 
but in this perfected non-buster machine the 
finisher was to come. You felt that you were 
down, and the worst was done, whatever it 
was. And then, in that instant of time— 
crash 1 The chunk of lead took you in 
the back of the head like a cannon-ball, 
and knocked out the rest of your brains. 
For indeed that long rod with the prong 
acted as a catapult of marvellous accuracy, 
and as the machine turned its somersault 
it fired the chunk of lead at your occiput 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


45 * 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 





¥ & 


•—i 

- „ with the precision of 

- a match-rifle. The 
plain, common, vul¬ 
gar, dangerous, tall 

bicycle pitched you over, and, perhaps, jumped 
on you when you were down ; the improved, 
non-croppering vehicle not only threw you 
down and jumped on you, but finished you 
off Goliath fashion with the guaranteed safety 
attachment; and the more safety you had 
purchased, with the greater expenditure of 
lead, the more completely your skull was 
shattered. On the whole, I was disappointed 
with this improvement. I avoided all 
warranted infallible unpurlable bicycles for 
some time, and took my croppers plain. 

I went in for other improvements, however, 
and one of them was a patent spring step. 
A flash of memory tells me that the inventor’s 
name was Dedicoat—a most ingenious gentle¬ 
man who devised quite a number of clever 
things. But I think the spring step was his 
masterpiece. I tried two of them. You 
must know that one of the more interesting 
awkwardnesses of the tall bicycle was the 
trouble of mounting. You had to get the 
procession moving first, and then swarm up 
the backbone into the saddle and catch the 
pedals before the thing lost steerage-way. 
Uphill, in sticky mud, and particularly when 


the saddle was sodden with rain, this feat 
was exciting if hurried ; and the struggles of 
the unskilful, taking the form of fifty yards or so 
of desperate hops, punctuated with 
a ruinous flounder, were the derision 
of all beholders. If your step were 
fixed high you couldn’t get on it 
from the ground except 
at an appalling peril of 
burst raiment (we wore 
them tight in those 

days). And if it were 

low enough to step on 
easily, when you were 

there you were con¬ 

fronted with the task of 
scrambling into a saddle 
about on a level with 

your chin, with a greater 
risk of split costume 

than ever. Now the 
spring step was to get 
over all that. The step was round and 
flat—about as big, say, as a half-crown 
—and hinged to the top of a rod 

round which the spring coiled. The 

idea was this. You took your bicycle, and 
there was the step, so low and handy that 
a man with two wooden legs might have 
hopped on it gracefully. You hopped 

accordingly, and as your weight came for¬ 
ward the step turned on its hinge and released 
the spring, and, presto! you were gently 
wafted upward into the saddle. Charming ! 
And then, of course, the step remained high 
and handy again, and when you wished to 
dismount you just put your foot back on it 
and it just as obligingly eased you down till 
it automatically caught fast again, and you 
stepped easily off, the pride and envy of the 
populace. Delightful ! And it worked, too 
—yes, I can assure you that it worked. It 
worked exactly as the inventor intended, so 
long as the spring was tempered precisely— 
to a quarter of an ounce—to the rider’s 
weight, and so long as the rider’s weight 
remained the same. But ', if the spring 
chanced to be a trifle too strong or too weak, 
or if you lent the machine to a friend, or sold 
it, or if you took an extra potato at lunch, 
or carried a toothpick with you, or wore a 
thinner pair of gloves, or had your hair cut, 
or did anything else to vary your weight, then 
—well, then it worked, too, but it worked 
differently. Suppose you were a shade too 
light for the spring. You hopped airily on 
the step, you bent gracefully forward till the 
spring was released, and then— bang! Do 
you remember “ Zazd, ’ the lady who was 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



MY OLD BIKES, 


453 


fired head first out of a cannon every 
night at the music-halls a good many 
years ago? I remember her quite 
well, and 1 know exactly 
how she felt ]_the patent 
spring step treated me 
just like that, often. But 
I would rather have been 
Zazel. She had a com- a 
fortable net to catch her, wm 

and roars of applause Of 

every tune; but when I 
was shot over the top of 
my bicycle into the wide 
world beyond, it might be a heap 
of clinkers I alighted on, or it 
might be a passing fire-engine, 
but it was never a net; and 
people didn’t applaud at ail— 
they laughed unfeelingly. 

But perhaps you think it 
wouldn’t be quite so 
bad for a rider a little 
too heavy for the 
spring. Wouldn’t it, 
though? I can tell 
you about that, too, 
for I tried a weaker 
spring after about 
twenty purely hono¬ 
rary appearances in 
the character of Zazel. On the weaker 
spring your graceful hop had, at first, no 
effect whatever. The hinge released the 
spring, but that was all; the step remained 
where it was, and the saddle remained where 
it was—too near the wrong end of you. So 
you sprang off the step and made a scramble 
for it; and with that— bang! The moment 
your weight was off the step it shot up and 
backed out a large piece of ankle, or, per¬ 
chance, ploughed two long, dangling strips, 
one out of your stocking and the other out 
of your calf It was worse than Zazelling. 
And it was not only in the mounting that 
you got it, either. Suppose you went on, 
regardless of your mutilations, and presently 
decided to dismount. You put your foot 
back on the step, slipped out of the saddle, 
and — bang! once more. The spring 
collapsed under your weight, you came 
down astride the backbone with an instant 
conviction that you were split in halves, your 
foot jerked off the step, and with a final bang 
the diabolical contrivance shot up again and 
tore away any small remnant of calf that 
might still be dinging to your left leg. It 
was a wonderful invention, but as a means of 
mounting a bicycle I somehow got to prefer 



a convenient lamp- 
post. 

The solid tyres we 
used then were fixed in 
the rims with cement. It didn’t always hold 
very well, and sometimes a yard or so of tyre 
would go loose on the road. On these 
occasions it was our pleasing practice to bum 
old newspapers under the rim, or to borrow 
red-hot pokers to melt the cement. It 
wasn’t a thing you could keep secret, either ; 
people used to cough and bang their 
windows down. What the cement was made 
of I never knew, but it diffused a perfume 
that would lift the hat off your head. It was 
the most powerful incense I ever smelt—it 
incensed people a mile off. 

Of course, the inventor came along to 
improve this, too. He ran a wire through 
the centre of the tyre and joined the ends 
with a screw, thus compressing the rubber 
till it gripped the rim tight. The first 
advantage of this improvement was that you 
couldn’t get the tyre off if you wanted to repair 
a spoke ; the next, that when a speck of rust 
attacked the wire and ate it through, the tyre 
jumped off altogether without any warning 
and caused a pretty complicated smash ; and 
last and best, when the wire was broken 
nothing would hold the rubber on at all— 
not the incensingest cement in the market. 

Brakes were interesting things, too. At 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







454 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


first they acted on the back wheel, and they 
were worked by a string which you wound 
up on your handle-bar. Amid the hosts of 
other troubles it never struck us to consider 
the winding round and round of a loose 
handle-bar an inconvenience. These brakes 
were excellent so long as they were not 
wanted; when they were the string broke. 
But I remember one of the string brakes 
with great pleasure. It did not act on the 
back wheel, but on the road, and it was 
called “Carter’s Trailing Brake.” It was 
wonderfully effectual in checking the machine. 
It was a lever across the back wheel, which 
drove a spike into the road and dragged it 
along. I cannot say that it improved the 
road, but it sent a deal of it into the air in 
the shape of dust and stones, which was very 
soothing to the eyes of anybody 
coming behind. That is not the 
reason of my approval, however; 

I liked the trailing brake as a 
sort of trawl for boys’ caps. 

Boys used to fling their caps at 
the wheels of tall bicycles, in 
the pious hope 
of lodging them 
in the spokes 
and causing a 
cropper. But if 
you rode over a 
cap and put the 
trailing brake 
on, that sportive 
boy came out 
one cap behind 
in the score. 

The lump of 
lead behind was 
far from being 
the only attempt 
to abolish the 
cropper. There 
was one thing 
somebody was 
always inventing 
—it must have 
been invented 
three or four 
times a year, at 
least. That was 
a tall bicycle 
with a lot of 
little wheels all 
round, like a young family, to be stuck out in 
all directions and so keep you approximately 
upright. With this machine you occupied 
four times the road-space of the common 
bicycle and had a lot more wheels to tumble 


over, all for very little extra cost. Also there 
was another safety invention in the shape of 
a variable “ rake ”—which meant the slope of 
the front forks—set going, like the old brake, # 
by cords. Sometimes it acted at the right* 
time, usually it didn’t; but most generally the 
strings broke, the whole thing came unstuck, 
and you were either flung forward in the 
same old familiar orbit over the handles as 
you went down a hill, or you were violently 
jerked out backward as you were labouring 
up one. And so, by many disappointments 
and a multiplicity of muckers, we came to the 
safety bicycle at last. 

But I rode many other safeties before I 
arrived at the comfortable machine now in 
use. Perhaps the very simplest was the 
“Pony.” That was nothing but the “ordinary” 
bicycle made very small, with a 
second crank hanging at the end 
of the first, to carry the pedal. 
The result was that a tall man 
could ride this very short machine 
with a straight leg ; but as there 
was no “ gearing up ” he had to 
kick away at a most amazing rate 
to go eight miles an hour. And 
if he took his feet off 
the pedals going down¬ 
hill those double cranks 
whirled round like flails 
in a large circle and 
threatened to hammer 
and batter his legs off 
unless he hung 
them up very 
high out of the 
way — over his 
ears might have 
done, perhaps. 
Something was 
devised later to 
prevent this 
whirling, but 
other safeties 
came along and 
superseded the 
“ Pony.” 

Of the quaint 
tricycles I have 
used there is no 
space to tell 
here, nor of the 
“ Otto,” an in¬ 
genious vehicle, wherein the rider sat between 
two large wheels, right and left, above the 
centre, to the equal peril of his nose and the 
back of his head. But perhaps I may tell you 
tales of my advcMunea ori these another time. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







R. JOHN BLOWS stood 
listening to the foreman with 
an air of lofty disdain. He 
was a free-born Englishman, 
and yet he had been sum¬ 
marily paid oft at eleven 
o'clock in the morning and told that his valu¬ 
able services would no longer be required. 
More than that, the foreman had passed 
certain strictures upon his features which, 
however true they might be, were quite 
irrelevant to the fact that Mr, Blows had 
been discovered slumbering in a shed when 
he should have been laying bricks. 

“lake your ugly face off these ’ere works,” 
said the foreman ; “take it ’ome and bury it 
in the back-yard. Anybody'll be glad to 
lend you a spade.” 

Mr. Blows, in a somewhat fluent reply, 
reflected severely on the foreman's immediate 
ancestors, and the strange lack of good-feeling 
and public spirit they had exhibited by allow¬ 
ing him to grow up. 

“Take it ’ome and bury it,” said the fore¬ 
man again. “ Not under any plants you’ve 
got a liking for.” 

“ I suppose/’ said Mr. Blows, still referring 

Copyright, 190^ hv W. W, Jmrolis 


to his foe’s parents, and now endeavouring 
to make excuses for them—“ I s’pose they 
was so pleased, and so surprised when they 
found that you was a ’uman being, that they 
didn't mind anything else.” 

He walked off with his head in the air, 
and the other men, who had partially sus¬ 
pended work to listen, resumed their labours. 
A modest pint at the Rising Sun revived 
his drooping spirits, and he walked home 
thinking of several things which he might 
have said to the foreman if lie had only 
thought of them in time. 

He paused at the open door of his house 
and, looking in, sniffed at the smell of 
mottled soap and dirty water which per¬ 
vaded it. The stairs were wet, and a pail 
stood in the narrow passage. From the 
kitchen came the sounds of crying children 
and a scolding mother Master Joseph Henry 
Blows, aged three, was “holding his breath,” 
and the family were all aghast at the length 
of his performance. He recovered it as his 
father entered the room, and drowned, with¬ 
out distressing himself, the impotent efforts 
of the others. Mrs. Blows turned upon her 
husband a look of hot inquiry. 

in the uUitBffiB&ltMftjyiC HI 1 . jA N 















45 6 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“ I’ve got the chuck,” he said, surlily. 

“ What, again ? ” said the unfortunate 
woman. 

“Yes, again,” repeated her husband. 

Mrs. Blows turned away, and dropping 
into a chair threw her apron over her head 
and burst into discordant weeping. Two 
little Blows, who had ceased their outcries, 
resumed them again from sheer sympathy. 

“Stop it,” yelled the indignant Mr. Blows ; 
“ stop it at once ; d’ye hear ? ” 

“ I wish I’d never seen you,” sobbed his 
wife from behind her apron. “ Of all the 
lazy, idle, drunken, good-for-nothing-” 

“Go on,” said Mr. Blows, grimly. 

“ You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” 
declared Mrs. Blows. “ Look at your father, 
my dears,” she continued, taking the apron 
away from her face ; “ take a good look at 
him, and mind you don’t grow up like it.” 

Mr. Blows met the combined gaze of his 
innocent offspring with a dark scowl, and 
then fell to moodily walking up and down 
the passage until he fell over the pail. At 
that his mood changed, and, turning fiercely, 
he kicked that useful article up and down 
the passage until he was tired. 

“ I’ve ’ad enough of it,” he muttered. He 
stopped at .the kitchen-door and, putting his 
hand in his pocket, threw a handful of change 
on to the floor and swung out of the house. 

Another pint of beer confirmed him in his 
resolution. He would go far away and make 
a fresh start in the world. The morning was 
bright and the air fresh, and a pleasant sense 
of freedom and adventure possessed his soul 
as he walked. At a swinging pace he soon 
left Gravelton behind him, and, coming to 
the river, sat down to smoke a final pipe 
before turning his back for ever on a town 
which had treated him so badly. 

The river murmured agreeably and the 
rushes stirred softly in the breeze; Mr. 
Blows, who could fall asleep on an upturned 
pail, succumbed to the influence at once; 
the pipe dropped from his mouth and he 
snored peacefully. 

He was awakened by a choking scream, 
and, starting up hastily, looked about for the 
cause. Then in the water he saw the little 
white face of Billy Clements, and wading in 
up to his middle he reached out and, catching 
the child by the hair, drew him to the bank 
and set him on his feet. Still screaming 
with terror, Billy threw up some of the water 
he had swallowed, and without turning his 
head made off in the direction of home, 
calling piteously upon his mother. 

Mr. Blows, shivering on the bank, watched 


him out of sight, and, missing his cap, was 
just in time to see that friend of several 
seasons slowly sinking in the middle of the 
river. He squeezed the water from his 
trousers and, crossing the bridge, set off 
across the meadows. 

His self-imposed term of bachelorhood 
lasted just three months, at the end of which 
time he made up his mind to enact the part 
of the generous husband and forgive his wife 
everything. He would not go into details, 
but issue one big, magnanimous pardon. 

Full of these lofty ideas he set off in the 
direction of home again. It was a three 
days’ tramp, and the evening of the third day 
saw him but a bare two miles from home. 
He clambered up the bank at the side of the 
road and, sprawling at his ease, smoked 
quietly in the moonlight. 

A waggon piled up with straw came jolting 
and creaking towards him. The driver sat 
dozing on the shafts, and Mr. Blows smiled 
pleasantly as he recognised the first face of a 
friend he had seen for three months. He thrust 
his pipe in his pocket and, rising to his feet, 
clambered on to the back of the waggon, and 
lying face downwards on the straw peered 
down at the unconscious driver below. 

“ I’ll give old Joe a surprise,” he said to 
himself. “ He’ll be the first to welcome me 
back.” 

“Joe,” he said, softly. “’Ow goes it, old 
pal?” 

Mr. Joe Carter, still dozing, opened his 
eyes at the sound of his name and looked 
round ; then, coming to the conclusion that 
he had been dreaming, closed them again. 

“ I’m a-looking at you, Joe,” said Mr. 
Blows, waggishly. “ I can see you.” 

Mr. Carter looked up sharply and, catching 
sight of the grinning features of Mr. Blows 
protruding over the edge of the straw, threw 
up his arms with a piercing shriek and fell 
off the shafts on to the road. The astounded 
Mr. Blows, raising himself on his hands, saw 
him pick himself up and, giving vent to a 
series of fearsome yelps, run clumsily back 
along the road. 

“Joe !” shouted Mr. Blows. “J-o-o-oe!” 

Mr. Carter put his hands to his ears and 
ran on blindly, while his friend, sitting on 
the top of the straw, regarded his pro¬ 
ceedings with mixed feelings ,of surprise and 
indignation. 

“ It can’t be that tanner ’e owes me,” he 
mused, “ and yet I don’t know what else it 
can be. I never see a man so jumpy.” 

He continued to speculate while the old 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



A SPIRIT OF AVARICE . 


457 



horse* undisturbed by the driver’s absence, 
placidly continued its journey. A mile 
farther, however, he got down to take the 
short cut by the fields. 

“ If Joe can’t look after his’orse and cart ,' 1 
he said, primly, as he watched it along the 
road, 11 it’s not my business.” 

The footpath was not much used at that 
time of night, and he only met one man. 
They were in the shadow of the trees which 
fringed the new cemetery as they passed, and 
both peered. The stranger was satisfied first, 
and, to Mr. Blows’s growing indignation, first 
gave a leap back wards which would not have 
disgraced an acrobat, and then made off across 
the field with hideous outcries, 

“ If I get ’old of some of you,” said the 
offended Mr. Blows, 14 111 give you something 
to holler for.” 

He pursued his way grumbling, and in¬ 
sensibly slackened his pace as he drew near 
home. A remnant of conscience which had 
stuck to him without encouragement for 
thirty-five years persisted in suggesting that 
he had behaved badly. It also made a few 
ill-bred inquiries as to how his wife and 
children had subsisted for the last three 
months. He stood outside the house for a 
short space, and then, opening the door softly, 
walked in. 

The kitchen-door stood open, and his wife 
in a black dress sat sewing by the light of a 
smoky lamp. She looked up as she heard 
his footsteps, and then, without a word, slid 

Yol. sjciv, —58. 


from the chair 
full length to 
the floor. 

“Goon," said 
Mr. Blows, bit¬ 
terly ; 41 keep it 
up. Don’t mind 
me,” 

Mrs. Blows 
paid no heed; 
her face was 
white and her 
eyes were 
closed. Her 
husband, with a 
da wming percep¬ 
tion of the state 
of affairs, drew 
a mug of water 
from the tap and flung it over 
her. She opened her eyes 
and gave a faint scream, and 
then, scrambling to her feet, 
tottered towards him and 
sobbed on his breast. 

“There, there,” said Mr. Blows. “Don’t 
take on ; I forgive you.” 

11 Oh, John,” said his wife, sobbing con¬ 
vulsively, 44 I thought you was dead. I 
thought you was dead. It’s only a fortnight 
ago since we buried you 3 ” 

14 Buried me ? ” said the startled Mr. Blows. 
"Buried met” 

“ I shall wake up and find I’m dreaming,” 
wailed Mrs. Blows; “I know' I shall. I’m 
always dreaming that you’re not dead. Night 
before last I dreamt that you was alive, 
and I woke up sobbing as if my ’art would 
break.” 

44 Sobbing? n said Mr. Blows, with a scowl. 

44 For joy, John,” explained his wife. 

Mr. Blows was about to ask for a further 
explanation of the mystery when he stopped, 
and regarded with much interest a fair-sized 
cask which stood in one comer. 

41 A cask o’ beer,” he said, staring, as he 
took a glass from the dresser and crossed 
over to it “You don’t seem to ’ave taken 
much ’arm during my—my going after work.” 

MVe’ad it for the funeral, John,” said his 
wife; 44 leastways, we J ad two; this is the 
second.” 

Mr. Blows, who had filled the glass, set it 
down on the table untasted; things seemed 
a trifle uncanny. 

“Go on,” said Mrs. Blows; 44 you’ve got 
more right to it than anybody else. Fancy 
’aving you here drinking up the beer for your 
own funeral i[) r jg | n a | f rofin 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



“I don't understand what you're a-driving 
at,’* retorted Mr. Blows, drinking somewhat 
gingerly from the glass. “ ’Ow could there 
be a funeral without me ? T 

“ It’s all a mistake," said the overjoyed 
Mrs. Blows; 14 we must have buried some¬ 
body else, But such a funeral, John; you 
would ha* been proud if you could ha 1 seen 
it. All Gravekon followed, nearly. There 
was the boys' drum and fife band, and the 
Ancient Order of Camels, what you used to 
belong to, turned out with their brass band 
and banners—all the people marching four 
abreast and sometimes five.” 

Mr. Blows's face softened ; he had no idea 
that he had established himself so firmly in 
the affections of his fellow-townsmen. 

“ Four mourning carriages,” continued his 
wife, 11 and the— 
the hearse, all 
covered in flowers 
so t hat you couldn't 
see it 'ardly. One 
wreath cost two 
pounds," 

Mr. Blows en¬ 
deavoured to con¬ 
ceal hisgratification 
beneath a mask of 
surliness. ** Waste 
o' money," he 
growled, and stoop- 
ing to the cask 
drew himself an¬ 
other glass of beer. 

“Some o' the 
gentry sent their 
carriages to follow," 
said Mrs, Blows, 
sitting down and 
clasping her hands 
in her lap. 

“ I know one or 
two that J ad a liking for me,” said 
Mr. Blows, almost blushing. 

" And to think that it’s all a mistake, 11 
continued his wife. u But I thought it 
was you ; it was dressed like you, and 
your cap was found near it.” 

11 H'm,” said Mr. Blows; “a pretty 
mess you've been and made of it. Here's 
people been giving two pounds for wreaths 
and turning up with brass hands and banners 
because they thought it was me % and it’s all 
been wasted,” 

“ It wasn't my fault,” said his wife. 
“ Little Billy Clements came running *ome 
the day you went away and said Vd fallen in 
the water, and you'd gone in and pulled 'im 

Dinitizod bv ^OOQle 


out. He said ’e thought you was drownded, 
and when you didn't come ’ome I naturally 
thought so too. What else could I think ? M 

Mr. Blows coughed, and holding his glass up 
to the light regarded it with a preoccupied air. 

“They dragged the river,” resumed his 
wife, “and found the cap, but they didn't 
find the body till nine weeks afterwards. 
There was a inquest at the Peal o’ Bells, 
and I identified you, and all that grand 
funeral was because they thought you’d lost 
your life saving little Billy, They said you 
was a hero.” 

“You’ve made a nice mess of it,” repeated 
Mr. Blows. 

“The rector preached the sermon," con¬ 
tinued his wife; “a beautiful sermon it was, 
too, I wish you'd been there to hear it; I 


should J ave enjoyed it ever so much better. 
He said that nobody was more surprised 
than what 'e was at your doing such a thing, 
and that it only showed 'ovv little we knew 
our fellow-creatures. He said that it proved 
there was good in all of us if we only gave it 
a chance to come out” 

Mr. Blows eyed her suspiciously, but she 
sat thinking and staring at the floor, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


" L THbV DkALiLitU THE HIVLK, fCESL'ME.U if IS WIKF, 4 AXO 
FQUNLi THE CAI*.’ M 














A SPIRIT OF AVARICE. 


459 


11 1 s’pose we shall have to give the money 
back now," she said, at last. 

“ Money 1 ” said the other j “ what 
money ?” 

“ Money that was collected for us,” replied 
his wife. 11 One ’undered and eighty-three 
pounds seven shillings and fourpence.” 

Mr, Blows took a long breath. “ 'Gw 
much ? ” he said, faintly ; “ say it agin*” 

His wife obeyed, 

“ Show it to me,” said the other, in 
trembling tones; 11 let’s *ave a look at it. 
Let's ’old some of it.” 

“ I can't,” was the reply ; “ there’s a com¬ 
mittee of the Camels took charge of it, and 
they pay my rent and allow me ten shillings 
a week. Now I s’pose it’ll have to be given 
back ? ” 

“ Don’t you talk nonsense,” said Mr. 
Blows, violently* “ You go to them interfer¬ 
ing Camels and say yon want your money — 
all of it Say you're going to Australia. 
Say it was my last dying wish*” 

Mrs, Blows puckered her brow, 

“ I'll keep quiet upstairs till you’ve got it,” 
continued her husband, rapidly. “There 
was only two men saw me, and I can see 
now that they 
thought I was my 
own ghost Send 
the kids off to your 
mother for a few 
days*” 

His wife sent them 
off next morning, and 
a little later was able 
to tell him that his 
surmise as to his 
friends’ mistake was 
correct. All Gravel- 
ton was thrilled by 
the news that the 
spiritual part of Mr. 

John Blows was 
walking the earth, 
and much exercised 
as to his reasons for 
so doing* 

“Seemed such a 
monkey trick for ’im 
to do,” complained 
Mr. Carter, to the 
listening circle at 
the Peal o’ Bells. 

“ 1 Pm a-looking at 
you, Joe/ he ses, and he waggled his s ead 
as if it was made of india-rubber.” 

** He’d got something on ’is mind what lie 
wanted to tell you,” said a listener, severely; 


“ you ought to ’ave stopped, Joe, and asked 
r im what it was.” 

“ I think I see myself,” said the shivering 
Mr* Carter* “1 think I see myself.” 

“Then he wouldn’t ’ave troubled you any 
more,” said the other* 

Mr* Carter turned pale and eyed him 
fixedly* 

“ P'r’aps it was only a death*warning,” said 
another man, 

“What d’ye mean, 4 only a death-warning/?” 
demanded the unfortunate Mr. Carter; “you 
don’t know what you're talking about.” 

“ 1 ’ad an uncle o p mine see a ghost 
once,” said a third man, anxious to relieve 
the tension* 

“And what ’appened?" inquired the first 
speaker. 

“ HI tell you after Joe’s gone,” said the 
other, with rare consideration* 

Mr* Carter called for some more beer and 
told the barmaid to put a little gin in it* In 
a pitiable state of “ nerves ” he sat at the 
extreme end of a bench, and felt that he was 
an object of unwholesome interest to his 
acquaintances* The finishing touch was put 
to his discomfiture when a well-meaning 


The committee of the Ancient Order of 
Camels took the news calmly, and classed it 
with pink ratfj and oilier abnormalities. In 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



'* IM A PITIABLE STATE OF 
1 nerves/ HE SAT AT THE 
EXTREME EHU OF A BEHCH," 


friend in a vague and dis¬ 
jointed way advised him to 
give up drink, swearing, and 
any other bad habits which 
he might have contracted. 











THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


460 

reply to Mrs. Blows's request for the capital 
sum, they expressed astonishment that she 
could be willing to tear herself away from the 
hero's grave, and spoke of the pain which 
such an act on her part would cause him in 
the event of his being conscious of it In 
order to show that they were reasonable men 
they allowed her an extra shilling that week. 

The hero threw the dole on the bedroom 
floor, and in a speech bristling with person¬ 
alities consigned the committee to perdition. 
The confinement was beginning to tell upon 
him, and two nights afterwards, just before 
midnight, he slipped out for a breath of 
fresh air. 

It was a clear night, and all Gravelton with 
one exception appeared to have gone to bed. 
The exception was Police-constable Collins, 
and he, after tracking the skulking figure of 
Mr. Blows and finally bringing it to bay in a 
doorway, kept his for a fortnight As a 
sensible man Mr. Blows took no credit to 
himself for the circumstance, but a natural 
feeling of satisfaction at the discomfiture of 
a member of a force for which he had long 
entertained a strong objection could not be 
denied. 

Gravelton debated this new appearance 
with bated breath, and even the purblind 
committee of the Camels had to alter their 
views. They no longer denied the super¬ 
natural nature of the manifestations, but, with 
a strange misunderstanding of Mr. Blows’s 
desires, attributed his restlessness to dissatis¬ 
faction with the projected tombstone, and, 
having plenty of funds, amended their order 
from a plain stone at ten guineas to one in 
pink marble at twenty-five. 

“ That there committee,” said Mr. Blows 
to his wife, in a trembling voice, as he heard 
of the alteration—“that there committee 
seem to think that they can play about with 
my money as they like. You go and tell 'em 
you won't 'ave it And say you've given up 
the idea of going to Australia and you want 
the money to open a shop with. Well take a 
little pub. somewhere.” 

Mrs. Blows went, and returned in tears, 
and for two entire days her husband, a prey 
to gloom, sat trying to evolve fresh and 
original ideas for the possession of the money. 
On the evening of the second day he became 
low-spirited, and going down to the kitchen 
took a glass from the dresser and sat down 
by the beer cask. 

Almost insensibly he began to take a 
brighter view of things. It was Saturday 
night and his wife was out. He shook his 
head indulgently as he thought of her, and 

O 


began to realize how foolish he had been to 
entrust such a delicate mission to a woman. 
The Ancient Order of Camels wanted a man 
to talk to them—a man who knew' the world 
and. could assail them with unanswerable 
arguments. Having applied every known 
test to make sure that the cask was empty, 
he took his cap from a nail and sallied out 
into the street 

Old Mrs. Martin, a neighbour, saw him 
first, and announced the fact with a scream 
that brought a dozen people round her. 
Bereft of speech, she mouthed dumbly at 
Mr. Blows. 

“I ain't touch—touched her,” said that 
gentleman, earnestly. “ I ain't—been near 
'er.” 

The crowd regarded him wild-eved. Fresh 
members came running up, and pushing for 
a front place fell back hastily on the main 
body and watched breathlessly. Mr. Blows, 
disquieted by their silence, renewed his 
protestations. 

“ I was coming 'long-” 

He broke off* suddenly and, turning round, 
gazed with some heat at a gentleman who 
was endeavouring to ascertain whether an 
umbrella would pass through him. The 
investigator backed hastily into the crowd 
again, and a faint murmur of surprise arose 
as the indignant Mr. Blows rubbed the 
place. 

“ He’s alive, I tell you,” said a voice. 
“ What cheer, Jack ! ” 

“Ullo, Bill,” said Mr. Blows, genially. 

Bill came forward cautiously, and, first 
shaking hands, satisfied himself by various 
little taps and prods that his friend was 
really alive. 

“It’s all right,” he shouted; “come and 
feel” 

At least fifty hands accepted the invitation, 
and, ignoring the threats and entreaties of 
Mr. Blows, who was a highly ticklish subject, 
wandered briskly over his anatomy. He 
bioke free at last and, supported by Bill and 
a friend, set off for the Peal o' Bells. 

By the time he arrived there his follow¬ 
ing had swollen to immense proportions. 
Windows were thrown up, and people stand¬ 
ing on their doorsteps shouted inquiries. 
Congratulations met him on all sides, and 
the joy of Mr. Joseph Carter was so gTeat 
that Mr. Blows was quite affected. 

In high feather at the attention he was 
receiving, Mr. Blows pushed his way through 
the idlers at the door and ascended the short 
flight of stairs which led to the room where 
the members of the Ancient Order of Camels 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



A SPIRIT OF AVARICE . 


461 


were holding their lodge. The crowd swarmed 
up after him. 

The door was locked, but in response to 
his knocking it opened a couple of inches, 
and a gruff voice demanded his business. 
Then, before he could give it, the doorkeeper 
reeled back into the room, and Mr. Blows 
with a large following pushed his way in. 

The president and his officers, who were 
sitting in state behind a long table at the 
end of the room, started to their feet with 
mingled cries of indignation and dismay at 
the intrusion. Mr. Blows, conscious of the 
strength of his position, walked up to them. 


“ Mr\ Btoivs / ” gasped the president, 

“Ah, you didn't expec 1 see me,” said Mr. 
Blows, with a scornful laugh. “ They're 
trying do me, do me out o' my lill bit o’ 
money, Bill” 

** But you ain't got no money,” said his 
bewildered friend. 

Mr. Blows turned and eyed him haughtily; 
then he confronted the staring president 
again. 

11 I've come for—my money,” he said, 
impressively—“one 'undereighty pounds.” 

“ But look ’ere,” said the scandalized Bill, 
tugging at his sleeve; “you ain't deadj Jack.” 


“You don't understand” said Mr. Blows, 
impatiently. “ They know wham mean ; one 
'undereighty pounds. They want to buy me 
a tombstone, an' I don't want it. I want the 
money. Here, stop it! D'ye hear ? ” The 
words were wrung from him by the action of 
the president, who, after eyeing him doubt¬ 
fully during his remarks, suddenly prodded 
him with the butt-end of one of the property 
spears which leaned against his chair. The 
solidity of Mr. Blows was unmistakable, and 
with a sudden resumption of dignity the 
official seated himself and called for silence. 
u Fm sorry to say there’s been a bit 

of a mistake 
made,” he said, 
slowly, “but I’m 
glad to say that 
Mr. Blows has 
come back to 
support his wife 
and family with 
the sweat of his 
own brow. Only 
a pound or two 
of the money so 
kindly subscribed 
has been spent, 
and the remain¬ 
der will be hand¬ 
ed back to the 
subscribers.” 

“ Here,” said 
the incensed Mr, 
Blows, “listen 
me.” 

“Take him 
away,” said the 
president, with 
great dignity, 
“Clear the room. Strangers outside,” 

Two of the members approached Mr. 

Blows and, placing their hands on his 
shoulders, requested him to withdraw. He 
went at last, the centre of a dozen panting 
men, and becoming wedged on the narrow 
staircase spoke fluently on such widely 
different subjects as the rights of man and 
the shape of the president's nose. 

He finished his remarks in the street, but, 
becoming aware at last of a strange lack of 
sympathy on the part of his audience, he 
shook off the arm of the faithful Mr. Carter 
and stalked moodily home. 



Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 

LXXVII. 

(VIEWED BY HENRY w. LUCY,) 


corona the publication of the list of 

TioN Coronation honours the House 
tmvnnec Commons was much piqued 
at the choice of Liberals appa¬ 
rently made by Lord Salisbury and Mr, 
Balfour, 1 am assured on high personal 
authority that His Majesty's Ministers had 
nothing to do with the selection made in 
the Liberal camp. His Majesty conveyed 
to the Prime Minister intimation of desire 
that in the special circumstances the bestowal 
of honours should, as far as possible, be free 
from trace of political partisanship. The 
only way to meet this command was to 
divide the honours allotted to political 
personages. This was fairly, even liberally, 
done. But the procedure took the form of 
placing at the dis¬ 
posal of the Leaders 
of the Opposition in 
the House of Lords 
and in the House of 
Commons a certain 
number of honours, 
leaving allotment to 
them. 

This done, the 
ordinary course was 
followed, formal com¬ 
munication of the 
bestowal of the 
honour being, save in 
respect of the peer¬ 
ages, conveyed by the 
Ministers. The new 
l >eers recei ved ho l o- 

graph letters from the King, The one written 
to Sir William Harcourt was a charming 
example of the graceful manner and kind 
heart of His Majesty. It will be a heirloom 
as precious as a patent of the peerage. On 
Sir William Harcourt begging to be excused 
leaving an assembly in which he had lived 
and worked for thirty-four years, His Majesty 
wrote a second long letter marked by even 
increased warmth of friendship and apprecia¬ 
tion for the veteran statesman, 

^ _ The distinction of Privy Coun- 

b rvm T or t:l,lor 1S > aftcr all < the li'ghest a 
xhe Time is Sovcrei S n can be . stow - It was 
J ' borne by 1 Israeli in his prime. 
It sufficed Peel and Gladstone to the last, 
Mr, Arthur Balfour, with choice of stars and 
ribbons galore, not to mention a peerage at 

Dioiiize<l by tiOOQ 10 



syLO COWUNETAHl/' 


his command, is proudly content with its 
simplicity. 

It is true that of late years some alloy has 
been introduced into the aggregate of purest 
metal. When the earliest arrangements for 
the Coronation were settled it was discovered 
that the judges were divided into two 
classes, those who were Privy Councillors 
and those who were not. The former had 
allotted to them especially good points of 
view in the Abbey, the other judges—and 
judges, when divested of wig and gown, are, 
after all, almost human-—murmured at what 
they regarded as an invidious distinction, A 
meeting was held at which there was talk 
of resenting the slight by abstaining from 
attendance. Good temper and contentment 
were restored by the 
wise words of the 
youngest judge pre¬ 
sent. 

“When we remem¬ 
ber,” he said, “that 
X. and Y. are mem¬ 
bers of the Privy 
Council, don't you 
think the distinction 
really rests with us 
who are not ? ” 

The fact that their 
learned brother had 
sat for ten years in 
the House of Com¬ 
mons in the same 
political camp as the 
right hon, gentlemen 
spoke sharpened the 
point of the observation. The judges re¬ 
solved to take no notice of the arbitrary 
division of the Bench, ignoring the preten¬ 
sion it conveyed of the superiority of Privy 
Councillors. 

The Privy Councillorship worthily 
bestowed upon Mr, Haldane 
carries with it a privilege not 
generally recognised. He may, 
if he pleases, take a seat on the Front 
Opposition Bench. Ostensibly that grove 
ot peace is reserved for ex-Ministers; but 
Privy Councillors who have never held office 
under the Crown have equal right to sit there. 
An interesting case in point is supplied by 
the late Beresford Hope. When Big Ben 
—not thedo^, the member for Norfolk, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


of whom he 


A DISES¬ 
TABLISHED 


r.c. 


FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR. 


463 




called Big Ben to distinguish him from 
another Bentinck known as Little Ben— 
disappeared from the Parliamentary scene 
Mr. Beresford Hope claimed, and secured, 
reversion of his seat* It was the corner seat 
of the Front Bench below the gangway, 
to the right of the Speaker when his 
party was in office, to the left when they went 
into Opposition* There he sat when in 
j88q Mr, Gladstone came into office with an 
overwhelming majority, all unknowing that 
in the biscuit was a weevil presently to be 
known as the Fourth Party, that would eat 
its way right through* When Lord Randolph 
Churchill, in 1880 a Parliamentary babe, 
began to feel his feet, he found Mr, Beresford 
Hope, reclining in the corner scat, somewhat 
in the way. Nothing was sacred to this 
Parliamentary sapeut\ 
not even Mr, Arthur 
Balfour s kinsman. In 
a very brief time he 
succeeded in hustling 
the right ban* gentle¬ 
man out of his free¬ 
hold, 

Beresford Hope, 
having no other 
settled place at his 
disposal, bethought 
him of his Privy 
Cou n c i H o rs h i p. 

Crossing the gang¬ 
way he took his seat on the Front Opposi¬ 
tion Bench, in the seat now occupied by Mr. 
John Morley. There, to the end of a blame¬ 
less, dignified life, he sat T chuckling with 
almost maternal pleasure at the hatching of 
the egg of his nephew Arthur’s Parlia¬ 
mentary fame, 

A multiple illustration of the 
rule was presented six years 
later* When after the debacle 
at the polls in 1886 Mr. Glad¬ 
stone and his colleagues, in the brief 
Administration formed in February of that 
year, crossed the floor of the House, Lord 
Harrington, Mr. Chamberlain, Sir Henry 
James, and eke Mr. Heneage claimed the 
right to seat themselves on the Front Oppo¬ 
sition Bench. They had not formed pan 
of the outgoing Ministry. But they were 
Privy Councillors, and were not disposed to 
abrogate their privilege on account of any 
inconvenience its exercise might occasion to 
their old chief. 

The faithful persistence of the claim led to 
some memorable scenes when Mr. Gladstone, 
pouring contumely and scorn on his political 

DiQStlzGo by \jUUS1C 



ENEMIES ON HIS KLANK. 


A DIS¬ 
CONCERTING 
WEDGE 


opponents opposite, turned and almost bent 
over his former colleagues, apportioning their 
share. Mr. Chamberlain was not the man to 
shirk reprisal. When his turn came hon. 
gentlemen opposite were delighted to find 
Mr. Gladstone rated in bitter tones by an 
occupant of the Front Opposition Bench. 

The distinction between the two Front 
Benches was marked w T hen, in 1892, Mr. 
Gladstone recrossed the floor of the House 
to assume its leadership. Mr. Chamberlain 
and his right hon, friends were not going 
to be left behind to rank as Conservatives. 
They had not at that time left the Liberal 
party; the Liberal party, straying from the 
right path, had left them. They accordingly 
crossed the floor of the House with Mr. 
Gladstone. But a Privy Councillorship not 
carrying with it a 
seat on the Treasury 
Bench, they appropri¬ 
ated the second 
bench behind, a 
wedge driven into 
the body corporate 
of the Liberal party 
which in due time 
hopelessly split it. 

Mr. Hal- 
corner datie tells 
seats, me he has 
no inten¬ 
tion of availing himself 
of his rights. He will continue to comfort his 
leaders and counsel the House of Commons 
from his old quarters immediately behind the 
Front Bench. The sole advantage of a seat 
on the Front Opposition Bench—exclusive of 
opportunity of close study in the gentle art of 
amity—is that the incumbent is relieved from 
the necessity of being down at prayers as a 
preliminary to securing a place. 

That is a rule that orders the ways of all 
unofficial members, with the exception of a 
few veterans. Mr. Chaplin upon his retire¬ 
ment from the Ministry secured the corner 
seat below the gangway, long associated with 
the melancholy presence of Mr. Newdegate* 
Sir James Fergusson, another ex-Minister, fills 
the corner seat above the gangway on the 
same line. Below him sits Mr. Gibson 
Bowles, who has lived down the organized 
conspiracy which, three years ago, sought 
to deprive him of his favourite pitch* 
Those were the days when Mr. Hedge and 
Mr, Macdona, rising up early, took posses¬ 
sion of the coveted coign of vantage. Mr. 
Bowles is hard to beat. If his assailants 
appeared on t^Bigddrralit eight in the morn- 

UHIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


464 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 


mg, they discovered 41 Tommy w had been 
there at seven, as witness his card or his 
spare hat planted out on the bench. If they 
were there at seven, he turned up at 
six. So the two parties worked back 
towards the first hour of day. 

Once Mr. Macdona, having 
got in first, made a short speech 
in the current debate. He was 
followed by Mr. Bowles, rising 
from below the gangway. 

Having, in his clearly-cut sen* 
tences, demonstrated a certain 
posinon, he turned a withering 
glance on Mr. Macdona and 
said, 41 Then the bon. member 
rises in his place—or, rather, in 
my place—and commits himself 
to the absurdity of affirming the 
converse.” 

At the General Election of 
1900, following on the con* 
elusion of a war that perversely 
continued for eighteen months 
after it was u over,” a thunder¬ 
bolt fell on one ot the disturbers 
of Mr. Bowles’s peace. Mr. 

Gedge lost hts seat, and Mr. Macdona, 
seeing in the calamity the finger of a 
vengeful Providence, refrained from further 
sacrilege, 

A new-comer, Mr. Winston Churchill, 
looks upon this corner scat with envious eye. 
In the owner’s temporary absence he drops 
into it. But he never disputes Mr. Bowles’s 
right to resume his place on his return. 
Air. James Lowther, by common consent, 
enjoys the leasehold of the most favoured 
corner seat, that on the Front Bench below 
the gangway. The corresponding seat on 
the opposite side of the House, for ever 
associated with Lord 
Randolph Churchill when 
Leader of the Fourth 
Party, is held by Mr. 
l*abouchere with rever¬ 
sion to Sir Charles I )ilke, 
a right frequently enjoyed. 

The member for North¬ 
ampton often prefers his 
Apostolic Chair in the 
smoking-room to the dul- 
ness of procedure in the 
present House of Com¬ 
mons. 

Whilst Mr. Lowther 
holds his seat without the 
tribute of attendance at 
prayers, the corner seat 



FROPHECY 

AND 

POLITICS. 


TOMMY BOWLF.S ON MIS 
FEHCrt. 



opposite is, or till recent date was, secured 
on the usual terms. It is an old story how 
: Mr. ’ Gedge, ostensibly engaged 4 tk> prayer, 
really watching Sir Charles Diike through 
the lattice oft open fingers,: saw him, having 
inserted his 'own card in the 
back of the second seat, affix 
Mr. Labouthere’s in the comer 
seat, which thing is a breach of 
one of the elementary laws of 
the British Constitution. 

Mr: Lloyd George has secured 
the corner seat on.' the second 
bench hfelow the gangway on the 
Opposition side, Mr. Dillon 
being behind; him, and Mr. 
John Redmond at the corner 
of the fourth bench. 

Amongst other 
claims to pre-emin¬ 
ence Mr. Chamber- 
lain is the shrewdest 
living calculator of the chances 
of a pending General Election. 
When the poll started in the 
election of 1S85 it was alarm¬ 
ingly dispiriting for the Liberals, 
who expected to sweep the country. On the 
third day after it opened the record showed 11 7 
Liberals returned and 119 Conservatives. The 
Metropolitan boroughs returned twenty-eight 
Conservatives against seventeen Liberals. 
Everywhere the boroughs showed themselves 
unexpectedly Tory, the beginning of a 
movement that has since gone far. The 
natural consequence was jubilation in the 
Conservative camp, depression among 
Liberals. I well remember a remark made 
by Mr. Chamberlain in company where 
the situation was discussed. 

“ Wait a bit/ 1 he said, with inspiring confi¬ 
dence. “ Wait till the 
counties poll, and then 
you’ll see where we are." 

We waited accordingly, 
and when the roll of 
Parliament was made up 
it was found that the 
House of Commons was 
composed of 334 Liberals, 
250 Conservatives, and 
eighty - six Nationalists, 
giving Mr, Gladstone, 
within two votes, a follow¬ 
ing equal to the combined 
forces of Nationalists and 
Conservatives, 

M r. Chamberlain 
Origins admits that he 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


MKr I.AJJOUCH&HE S I'EKLlf. 



FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR . 


465 


was out of his reckoning in respect of the 
election of 1900. He estimated that the 
Unionist Government would be reinstated 
by an, increase of ten on their jnajonty. 
It turned out to be an increase of four 
-—134 as compared with 130 at the date 
of the dissolution, I believe Lord Salisbury 
took the plunge with the belief that, though 
a working majority was assured, there would 
be serious reduction of the Ministerial host 
elected on the Unionist platform. But they 
don't know everything down at the Foreign 
Office, least of all so inconsiderable an entity 
as the British elector. 

Remembering the success of his 
next prognostication, it is interesting 

time. to know what Mr. Chamber- 

lain thinks of the prospect of 
the next General Election, He does not, at 
presents think about it at all, being con¬ 
vinced that, bar unparalleled accident, the 
present Parliament will run 
its full appointed course. It 
will be time enough some¬ 
where about autumn 1905 to 
begin to form opinion on the 
issue of a General Election, 

But the Colonial Secretary 
has a well-defined and fearless 
opinion about the result of 
a General Election should 
it be forced at the present 
time. He believes that if 
it were to take place next 
week the Government would 
be reinstated in power with 
at least the numerical 
majority that placed them 
there in October, 1900, 

There was some- 
thing tragic about 
the death of 
Johnston of Batly- 
kilbeg. He was in the House 
on a Thursday night, when 
he heard Mr, Wyndham, with 
that pedantry tbit pertains 
to officials, upset a cherished 
project. Rostrevor is, it 
appears, a stronghold of Roman Catholicism in 
the North of Ireland. Ar^a/ y it was the very 
place upon which, on the 12th of July, anni¬ 
versary of a blessed memory, Orangemen 
should march with sashes flaunting and 
drums beating. Rostrevor, to do it justice, 
did not shirk the ordeal. On the contrary, 
its inhabitants joyously prepared to welcome 
the coming guests. Then the Chief Secretary 
to the Lord Lieutenant steps on the scene 
VoL Kjtiv,—69* 


A TENDER¬ 
HEARTED 
FANATIC, 



THE LATK AIH h JOHNSTON OF 
ItALLYK ILBEG. 


and, with deplorable lack of human sym¬ 
pathy, prohibits the excursion on the prosaic 
ground that if it were permitted there would 
be a battle-royal, a field strewn with dead 
and wounded. With the best intentions 
he added to the aggravation of the disap¬ 
pointment, Moved by protests against the 
prohibition, he consented to the Orangemen 
going as far as Warren Point, whence, with 
the aid of field-glasses, they might catch 
glimpses of the Catholics waiting for them 
at Rostrevor Though well-meant, this was 
a concession almost inhuman in its ingenious 
cruelty. It was like spreading a toothsome 
banquet before a hungry tiger, taking care 
that the meal should be set outside the 
impassable bars of his cage. 

Johnston of Ballykilbeg, depressed at this 
extraordinary conduct on the part of a 
Government he had loyally supported, imme¬ 
diately left for Ireland to take part m the 
Downpatrick celebration of 
the happy day* In the course 
of the ceremony he caught 
a chill, and exactly a week 
after he left the House of 
Commons in his usual health 
the blinds were drawn down 
at Ballykilbeg, and there was 
a vacancy in the represents 
tion of West Belfast. 

Mr. Johnston was 
a curious com- 
p o u n d of the 
fanatic and the 
man of tender heart. I do 
not know whether in his long 
career, crowned with the rank 
of Grand Master of Grand 
Black Chapter of Ireland, 
he ever really, overtly or 
covertly, heaved half a brick 
at a Papist ; whether, indeed, 
he ever shouted the watch¬ 
word of militant Orangeism 
which consigns the Holy 
Father to eternal perdition. 
One never knows what un¬ 
expected things a man may 
do in moments of excitement. Out of 
Belfast Johnston of Ballykilbeg was the 
mildest-mannered man that ever wore an 
orange scarf. The spectacle of Irish Nation¬ 
alist members seated opposite him, putting 
questions designed to belittle the memory of 
William III. and extol the parish priest, 
occasionally led him into truculent observa¬ 
tions. He had a way of supplementing such 
s designed to show matters 

" HIGAN 


INSPECTOR 


FISHERIES, 


‘""“lift# 



4 66 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


in quite another light. They involved 
aspersions at least equalled in malignity 
to the question on the paper. But no 
one seemed a penny the worse. The Irish 
members boisterously cheered him. The 
Chief Secretary got out of the difficulty by 
observing that he had “ no information on 
the point mentioned by my hon. friend/' and 
then turned to read the written answer to the 
question on the paper provided for him by 
the Irish Office. 

For one of his kindly disposition, 
Johnston of Ballykilbeg's life was marked 
by turmoil. He emerged from obscurity 
in the arms of the police, who arrested 
him, flagrante delicto , taking part in a 
proscribed Orange procession. That was 
quite enough for the people of Belfast. 
They straightway elected him their member, 
and through the prison door Mr. Johnston 
entered the portals of the House of Com¬ 
mons. After he had been in the House ten 
years Disraeli, who loved a joke and was not 
to be barred off enjoyment by ordinary con¬ 
siderations, made him Inspector of Fisheries. 
At the date when he was inducted in his 
important office the only acquaintance with 
fisheries or fish Johnston of Ballykilbeg 
boasted was that acquired at the breakfast- 
table, where was served the homely haddock 
or the frisky fresh herring. But he could 
learn, and the salary was ^£8oo a year. 

Unfortunately, after he had served for seven 
years and was really beginning to master 
the difference between fly-fishing and gather¬ 
ing in the teeming multitude of the deep in 
a net, he strayed into a meeting of the General 
Synod of the Church of Ireland. A speech 
made by one of the authorities stirred his 
blood. Up he got and delivered an oration 
revolutionary in its tendencies, almost blood¬ 
thirsty in its aspirations. Certainly it was 
incongruous on the part of one of Her 
Majesty's Inspectors of Irish Fisheries. 
Notice was called to the tirade in the 
House of Commons, with the result that 
Earl Spencer, then Lord Lieutenant, was 
obliged to dismiss the eloquent Inspector. 
South Belfast retorted by electing him its 
member, and Johnston of Ballykilbeg 
returned in triumph to the House of 
Commons. 


In the very last speech he delivered, 
within ten days of his sudden cutting off, he 
alluded to the dismissal of 1885. It 
followed, he said, on a question put -by Mr. 
Tim Healy, who he believed had ever since 
regretted his interposition. 44 Hear, hear! *' 
cried Tim, heartily. It was a happy accident 
that, in what chanced to be his last speech 
in an assembly where he first took his seat 
thirty-four years ago, there should have been 
sounded this truce with his ancient foes m 
politics and religion. The warfare was, in 
truth, mimic. The Irish Nationalist members 
respected the rugged eccentricity of Johnston 
of Ballykilbeg, and he had a sneaking affec¬ 
tion for them. 

It was a mark of his indomitable character, 
in small things as m great, that he was thrice 
married. 


MR. 
BRIGHTS 
SPEECHES. 


I continue to receive letters on the 
subject of Mr. Bright's methods 
of preparing his speeches. 
The following interesting memo¬ 
randum is from a correspondent at Brighton : 
“ With reference to your note in the August 
number of The Strand Magazine, might I 
call your attention to the fact that in No. 3 
of that magazine (March, 1891) there is a 
facsimile of the notes of Mr. Bright's speech 
in the House of Commons (April 26th, 1876) 
on the Woman Suffrage Bill? The notes 
were on four half-sheets of note-paper, and, 
judging from the report in the next day’s 
Daily Neivs , I should think the speech took 
about forty minutes in delivery. In the 
Contemporary Review for May, 1889, there 
is a paper on John Bright by Mr. R. 
W. Dale, of Birmingham, and at the end 
of the article is a facsimile of the first 
and the last sheets of the five pages of 
notes used for Mr. Bright's annual address 
to his constituents at Birmingham, January 
12th, 1878. On the conclusion Mr. Bright 
gave the notes to Mr. Dale. The speech on 
that occasion was about an hour, or an hour 
and five minutes, in delivery. The same 
article also contains an extract from a letter 
of Mr. Bright’s to a correspondent on the 
question of the use of notes in speechmaking 
This letter is given in full in ‘The Public 
Letters of the Right Hon. John Bright, 
M.P.,' second edition, 1895, page 298 ” 



Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





By E. Nesbit. 

VII,—THE ELDER BROTHER, 


YRIL had once pointed out 
that ordinary life is full of 
occasions on which a wish 
would be most useful. And 
this thought filled his mind 
when he happened to wake 
early on the morning after the morning after 
Robert had wished to be bigger than the 
baker's boy, and had been it. The day that 
lay between these two days had been occu 
pied entirely by getting the govern ess-cart 
In me from Benenhurst. 

Cyril dressed hastily; he did not take a 
bath because tin baths are so noisy and he 
had no wish to rouse Robert, and he slipped 
off alone, as Anthea had once done, and ran 
through the dewy morning to the sand-pit. 
He dug up the psnmmead very carefully and 
kindly, and began the conversation by asking 
it whether it still felt any ill-effects from the 
contact with the tears of Robert the day 
before yesterday. The psammead was in a 
good temper* It replied politely, 

“And now what can I do for you?” it said* 
“ I suppose you've come here so early to ask 
for something for yourself—something your 
brothers and sisters aren't to know about— 
eh ? Now, do b * persuaded for your own 



good ! Ask lor a good fat megatherium and 
have done with it,” 

“Thank you—not to-day, I think,” said 
Cyril, cautiously. “What \ really wanted to 
say was — you know how- you’re always 
wishing for things when you’re playing at 
anything ?” 

“ I seldom play,” said the psammead, 
coldly* 

“Well, you know what I mean,” Cyril 
went on, impatiently* “What I want to say 
is: won’t you let us have our wish just when 
we think of it, and just where we happen to 
be, so that we don't have to come and 
disturb you again?” added the artful Cyril. 

“ Itll only end in your wishing for some 
thing you don’t really want,” said the 
psammead, stretching its brown hands and 
yawning. “ It’s always the same since people 
left off eating really wholesome things. How¬ 
ever* have it your own way. Good bye ! ” 

“ Good-bye ! ” said Cyril, politely. 

“Ill tell you what,” said the psammead, 
suddenly, shooting out its long snail's eyes ; 
“ I’m getting tired of you—all of you. You 
have no more sense than so many oysters* 


io along with von” 


An 


f'OF MICHIGAN 










468 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“ What an awful long time babies stay 
babies ! ” said Cyril, after the Lamb had taken 
his watch out of his pocket while he wasn’t 
noticing, and with coos and clucks of naughty 
rapture had opened the case and used the 



HE OPENED THE CASE AND USED THE WHOLE THING AS A GARDEN SPADE. 


whole thing as a garden spade, and when 
even immersion m a washhand basin had 
failed to wash the mould from the works 
and make the watch go again. Cyril had said 
several things in the heat of the moment; 
but now he was calmer, and had even con¬ 
sented to carry the Lamb part of the way to 
the woods. Cyril had persuaded the others 
to agree to his plan and not to wish for 
anything more till they really did wish it. 
Meantime it seemed good to go to the woods 
for nuts, and on the mossy grass under a 
sweet chestnut tree the five were sitting. 
The Lamb w r as pulling up the moss by fat 
handfuls, and Cyril was gloomily contem¬ 
plating the ruins of his w'atch. 

“ He does grow,” said Anthea. “ Doesn’t 
oo, precious ? ” 

“ Me grow,” said the Lamb, cheerfully— 
“ me grow' big boy, have guns an’ mouses 
—an’—an’-Imagination or vocabu¬ 


lary gave out here. But any way it was 
the longest speech the Lamb had ever 
made, and it charmed everyone, even 
Cyril, who tumbled the l^imb over and 


rolled him in the moss to the music of 
delighted squeals. 

“ I suppose he’ll be grown up some day,” 
Anthea was saying, dreamily looking up at 
the blue of the sky that showed between the 
long, straight chestnut 
leaves. But at that 
moment the Lamb, 
struggling gaily with 
Cyril, thrust a stoutly- 
shod little foot against 
his brother’s chest, 
there was a crack, and 
the innocent I^tmb 
had broken the glass 
of father’s second-best 
Waterbury watch, 
which Cyril had bor¬ 
rowed without leave. 

“Grow up some 
day,” said Cyril, bit¬ 
terly, plumping the 
Lamb down on the 
grass. “ I dare say he 
will — when nobody 
wants him to. I 
wish to goodness he 

would-” 

“ Oh , take care,” 
cried Anthea, in an 
agony of apprehen¬ 
sion. But it was too 
late. Like music to 
a song her words and 
Cyril’s came out together. 

Anthea : “Oh, take care.” 

Cyril: “Grow up now.” 

The faithful psammead was true to its 
promise, and there, before the horrified eyes 
of its brothers and sisters, the i^amb suddenly 
and violently grew' up. It was a most 
terrible moment The change was not so 
sudden as the wish changes usually were. 
The baby’s face changed first It grew’ 
thinner and larger, lines came in the fore¬ 
head, the eyes grew more deep-set and 
darker in colour, the mouth grew' longer and 
thinner; most terrible of all, a little dark 
moustache appeared on the lip of one who 
was still, except as to the face, a tw'o-year-old 
baby in a linen smock and white open-work 
socks. 

“Oh, I wish it wouldn’t—oh, I wish it 
wouldn’t—you boys might wish as well.” 
They all wished hard, for the sight was 
enough to dismay the most heartless. They 
all wished so hard, indeed, that they felt 
quite giddy and almost lost consciousness; 

!» ,or " h “ ibe 







THE ELDER BROIHER . 


469 



wood ceased to whirl round their dazzled 
eyes were riveted at once by the spectacle of 
a very proper looking young man in grey 
flannels and a straw hat—a young man who 
wore the same little black moustache which 
just before they had actually seen growing 
upon the baby’s lip. This, then, was the 
Lamb—grow n up ! Their own J^amb! It 
was a terrible moment The grown-up Lamb 
moved gracefully across the moss and settled 
himself against 
the trunk of the 
sweet chestnut. 

He tilted the 
straw hat over 
his eyes. He was 
evidently weary. 

He w r as going to 
sleep. T h e 
Lamb — the 
original, little, 
tiresome, be¬ 
loved l^mb —* 
often went to 
sleep at odd 
times and in un¬ 
expected places. 

Was this new 
Lamb in the 
grey flannel suit 
and the pale 
green necktie 
like the other 
Lamb, or had his 
mind grown up 
together with his 
body ? 

That was the 
question which 
the others, in a 
hurried council 
held among the 
yellowing brac¬ 
ken a few yards 
from the sleeper, 
debated eagerly. 

"Whiehever 
it is it’ll be just 
as awful,” said 
Anthea; 41 if his 
inside senses are 
grown up, too, 
he won't stand 
and if he’s still a 
on earth are we 
thing? And it'll 
time in a minute— 








she mu it gently ijy ticklinc; mi nose ivith a twig 


our looking after him; 
baby inside of him, how 
to get him to do any- 
be getting on for dinner- 


dinner’s -different; I didn't have half enough 
dinner the day before yesterday. Couldn't 
we tie him to the tree and go home to our 
dinners and come back afterwards ? " 

“ A fat lot of dinner we should get if we 
went back without the l^amb 1 ” said Cyril, in 
scornful misery. u And it’ll be just the same 
if we go back with him, in the state he is 
now. Yes; I know it's my doing ; don't 
rub it in ! 1 know I’m a beast and not fit 

to live ; you can take that 
for settled and say no more 
about it. The question is, 
what arc we going to do ? 11 

“ Let's wake him up and 
take him into Rochester or 
Maidstone and get some 
grub at a pastrycook's,” said 
Robert, hopefully. 

“Take him?" repeated 
Cyril. " Yes — do ! It's 
all my fault, I don't deny 

that, but you’ll find you’ve 

got your work cut out for 
you if you try to 
take that young 
man anywhere. 
The I^amb al¬ 
ways was spoilt, 

but now he's 

grown up he’s a 
demon, simply. 
I can see it ; 
look at his 
mouth," 

“Well, then," 
said Robert, 
u let’s wake him 
up and see what 
he 7/do. Perhaps 
he'll take us to 
Maidstone and 
stand sam. He 
ought to have 
a hat of money 
in the pockets 
of those extra 
special bags. We 
must have din 
ner, any way.” 

They drew lots 
with little bits of 
to Jane's lot to waken the 


“And we haven't got any nuts,” said jane. 
11 Ob, bother nuts,” said Robert, 11 but 


bracken. It fell 
grown-up Lamb. 

She did it gently 
a twig of wild 
“ Bother the flies 
his eves. 


by tickling his nose with 
honeysuckle. He said 
twice, and then opened 




a languid 







470 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


tone, “ still here ? What's the giddy hour ? 
You’ll be late for your grub ! ” 

“ I know we shall,” said Robert, bitterly. 

“ Then cut along home/’ said the grown¬ 
up Lamb. 

“ What about your grub, though ? ” asked 
Jane. 

“ Oh, how far is it to the station, do you 
think? I’ve a sort of notion that I’ll run up 
to town and have some lunch at the club.” 

Blank misery fell like a pall on the four 
others. The Lamb— alone — unattended— 
would go to town and have lunch at a club ! 
Perhaps he would also have tea there. Per¬ 
haps sunset would come upon him amid the 
dazzling luxury of club-land, and a helpless, 
cross, sleepy baby would find itself alone 
amid unsympathetic waiters, and would wail 
miserably for Panty from the depths of a 
club arm-chair ! The picture moved Anthea 
almost to tears. 

“Oh, no, Lamb, ducky, you mustn’t do 
that,” she cried, incautiously. 

The grown-up Lamb frowned. “ My dear 
Anthea,” he said, “how often am I to tell 
you that my name is Hilary, or St. Maur, or 
Devereux—any of my baptismal names are 
free to my little brothers and sisters, but not 
‘Lamb’—a relic of foolish and far-off child¬ 
hood.” 

This was awful. He was their elder 
brother now, was he? Well, of course he 
was, if he was grown up. Thus, in whispers, 
Anthea and Robert. 

But the almost 
daily adventures re¬ 
sulting from the psam- 
mead wishes were 
making the children 
wise beyond their 
years. 

“Dear Hilary,” 
said Anthea, and the 
others choked at the 
name. “You know 
father didn’t wish you 
to go to London. He 
wouldn’t like us to be 
left alone without you 
to take care of us! 

. . . Oh, deceitful 
beast that I am ! ”. 
she added to herself. 

“ Look here,” said 
Cyril, “if you’re our 
elder brother why not 
behave as sich, and 
take us over to Maid¬ 
stone and give us a 


jolly good blow-out, and we'll go on the river 
afterwards.” 

“I’m infinitely obliged to you,” said the 
Lamb, courteously, “ but I should prefer 
solitude. Go home to your lunch—I mean 
your dinner. Perhaps I may look in about 
tea-time—or I may not be home till after 
you are in your beds.” 

Their beds! Speaking glances flashed 
between the wretched four. Much bed there 
would be for them if they went home without 
the Lamb. 

“ We promised mother not to lose sight of 
you if we took you out,” Jane said, before the 
others could stop her. 

“ Look here, Jane,” said the grown-up 
Lamb, putting his hands in his pockets and 
looking down at her, “little girls should be 
seen and not heard. You kids must learn 
not to make yourselves a nuisance. Run 
along home now, and perhaps if you’re good 
I’ll give you each a penny to-morrow.” 

“ Look here,” said Cyril, in the best “ man 
to man ” tone at his command, “ where are 
you going, old man? You might let Bobs 
and me come with you, even if you don’t 
want the girls.” 

This was really rather noble of Cyril; for 
he never had cared much about being seen 
in public with the Lamb, who, of course, after 
sunset would be a baby again. 

The “ man to man ” tone succeeded. 

“ I shall just run over to Maidstone on my 





THE ELDER BROTHER. 


47 i 



bike/* said the new Lamb, airily, fingering the 
little black moustache. “ 1 can lunch at the 
Crown—and perhaps I'Ll have a pull on the 
river—but I can't lake you all on the 
machine, now, can I ? Run along home like 
good children*” 

The position was desperate* Robert ex^ 
changed a despairing look with Cyril. 
Anthea detached a safety-pin from her 
waistband, a pin whose withdrawal left a 
gaping chasm between skirt and 
bodice, and handed it furtively 
to Robert, with a grimace of the 
darkest and deepest meaning* 

Robert slipped away to the road* 

There, sure enough, stood a 
bicycle—a beautiful new free¬ 
wheel* Of course, Robert under¬ 
stood at once that if the i^amb 
was grown up he must have a 
bicycle. This had always been 
one of Robert's own reasons for 
wishing to be grown up. He 
hastily began to use the pin — 
eleven punctures in the back 
tyre, seven in the front* He 
would have made the total 
twenty-two but for the rustling 
of the yellow hazel leaves, which 
warned him of the approach of 
the others* He hastily leaned 
a hand on each wheel and was 
rewarded by the “whish” of 
what was left of air escaping 
from eighteen neat pinholes* 

11 Your bike’s run down/' said 
Robert, wondering how he could 
so soon have learned to deceive. 

“ So it is," said Cyril 

11 It’s a puncture,” said Anthea, 
stooping down and standing up 
again with a thorn which she had 
got ready for the purpose. “ Look 
here*” 

The grown - up Lamb — or 
Hilary, as I suppose one must 
now call him—fixed hrs pump 
and blew up the tyre* The 
punctured state of it was soon evident* 

“ I suppose there’s a cottage somewhere 
near where one could get a pail of water ? ” 
said the Lamb* 

There was—and when the number of 
punctures had been made manifest it was felt 
to be a special blessing that the cottage pro¬ 
vided “teas for cyclists*” It provided an odd 
sort of tea-and-hammy meal for the l<amh and 
his brothers and sisters. This was paid for 
nut of the fifteen shillings which had been 


earned by Robert when he was a giant; for 
the Lamb, it appeared, had, unfortunately, 
no money about him. This was a great dis¬ 
appointment for the others, but it is a thing 
that will happen even to the most grown up 
of us. However, Robert had enough to eat, 
and that was something* Quietly but persis¬ 
tently the miserable four took it in turns to 
try and persuade the Iamb (or St Maur) to 
spend the rest of the day in the woods* 


Vfcrua ratfcrtncELr stair up it was soon evident*" 

There was not very much or the day left by 
the time he had mended the eighteenth 
puncture. He looked up from the com¬ 
pleted work with a sigh of relief, and sud¬ 
denly put his tie straight. 

“There’s a lady coming,” he said, briskly ; 
u for goodness’ sake get out of the way* Go 
home—hide—vanish somehow. ! can't be 
seen with a pack of dirty kids.” His brothers 
and sisters were indeed rather dirty, because 

“'IlivSRvKftW in his infam 



472 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


state, had sprinkled a good deal of garden 
soil over them. The grown-up Lamb’s voice 
was so tyrant-like, as Jane said afterwards, 
that they actually retreated to the back- 
garden and left him with his little moustache 
and his flannel suit to meet alone the young 
lady, who now came up the front garden 
wheeling a bicycle. 

The woman of the house came out and 
the young lady spoke to her. The Lamb 
raised his hat as she passed him, and the 
children could not hear what she said, 
though they were craning round the corner 
by the pig-pail and listening with all their 
ears. They felt it to be “ perfectly fair,” as 
Robert said, “ with that wretched Lamb in 
that condition.” 

When the Lamb spoke in a languid voice, 
heavy with politeness, they heard well enough. 

“ A puncture ? ” he was saying. “ Can I 
not be of any assistance ? If you would 
allow me-? ” 

There was a stifled explosion of laughter 
behind the pig-pail; the grown-up Lamb 
(otherwise Devereux) turned the tail of an 
angry eye in its direction. 

“ You’re very kind,” said the lady, looking 
at the Lamb. She looked rather shy, but, as 
the boys put it, there didn’t seem to be any 
nonsense about her. 

“But, oh,” whispered Cyril, behind the 
pig-pail, “ I should have thought he’d had 
enough bicycle-mending for one day, and, if 
she only knew that really and truly he’s only 
a whiny-piny, silly little baby ! ” 

“ He’s «*?/,” Anthea murmured, angrily. 
“ He’s a dear, if people only let him alone. 
It’s our own precious Lamb still, whatever 
silly idiots may turn him into, isn’t he, 
Pussy ? ” 

Jane doubtfully supposed so. 

Now the Lamb—whom I must try to re¬ 
member to call St. Maur—was examining the 
lady’s bicycle and talking to her with a very 
grown - up manner indeed. No one could 
possibly have supposed, to see and hear him, 
that only that very morning he had been 
a chubby child of less than two years 
breaking other people’s Waterbury watches. 
Devereux (as he ought to be called for the 
future) took out a gold watch when he had 
mended the lady’s bicycle, and all the on¬ 
lookers behind the pig - pail said “ Oh ! ” 
because it seemed so unfair that the baby, 
who had only that morning destroyed two 
cheap, but honest, watches, should now, in 
the grown-upness Cyril’s folly had raised him 
to, have a real gold watch, with.a chain and 
seals! 

Diqrtized by LiOOQk 

* o 


Hilary (as I will now term him) withered 
his brothers and sisters with a glance, and 
then said to the lady, with whom he seemed 
to be quite friendly :— 

“If you will allow me, I will ride with you 
as far as the cross-roads—it is getting late, 
and there are tramps about.” 

No one will ever know what answer the 
young lady intended to give to this gallant 
offer, for directly Anthea heard it made she 
rushed out, knocking over the pig-pail, which 
overflowed in a turbid stream, and caught 
the Lamb (I suppose I ought to say Hilary) 
by the arm. The others followed, and in an 
instant the four dirty children were visible 
beyond disguise. 

“ Don’t let him,” said Anthea to the lady, 
and she spoke with intense earnestness; “he’s 
not fit to go with anyone ! ” 

“ Go away, little girl! ” said St. Maur (as 
we will now call him), in a terrible voice. 
“ Go home at once.” 

“ You’d much better not have anything to 
do with him,” the now reckless Anthea went 
on. “ He doesn’t know who he is. He’s 
something very different from what you think 
he is.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked the lady, 
not unnaturally ; while Devereux (as I must 
term the grown-up Lamb) tried vainly to 
push Anthea away. The others backed her 
up and she stood solid as a rock. 

“You just let him go with you,” said 
Anthea, “ you’ll soon see what I mean! 
How would you like to suddenly see a poor 
little helpless baby spinning along downhill 
beside you with its feet up on a bicycle it 
had lost control of ? ” 

The lady had turned rather pale. 

“Who are these very dirty children?” she 
asked the grown-up Lamb (sometimes called 
St. Maur in these pages). 

“ I don’t know,” he lied, miserably. 

“ Oh, Lamb ! how can you,” cried Jane, 
“ when you know perfectly well you’re our 
own little baby brother that we’re so fond 
of? We’re his big brothers and sisters,” she 
explained, turning to the lady, who, with 
trembling hands, was now turning her bicycle 
towards the gate, “and we’ve got to take 
care of him. And we must get him home 
before sunset, or I don’t know whatever 
will become of us. You see, he’s sort of 
under a spell—enchanted ; you know what I 
mean.” 

Again and again the Lamb (Devereux I 
mean) had tried to stop Jane’s eloquence, 
but Robert and Cyril held him one by each 
leg, and no proper explanation was possible. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



Curiosities* 

[ shiiil be glad fo receive Contributions to this section, and to pay for such as are accepted ] 



or thirteen pennies were placed, and in a 
small flag there were two half-crowns. 
The different coloured papers have quite a 
pretty effect. This collection was made 
at the kaihvay Hotel, Beckenham Road, 
Penge.”—Mr, Cecil Zatnbra, photographer, 
2, Lucas Road, Penge, S.E. 


HE DID “LOOK: PLEASANT." 

“ I submit to you a print from a flash^ 
light negative that I obtained some time 
ago. It is an original idea, and the 
gentleman photographed suggested that I 
might as well have given a time exposure 
instead of taking the picture so Tapidly* 
Perhaps some of your readers can follow 
hk meaning ! At all events, I am not 
quite sure that everyone could tell 
how the picture was taken*”—Mr. Chas, 
H, LTlommedieu, 319, Fifteenth Street, 
Buffalo, 




A WHITE PEACOCKS TAIL, 
send you a beautiful picture of a 
white peacock’s tall, which I think 
may interest your readers. It was 
only afteT a week's patient daily wait¬ 
ing that I managed to secure it. 7 ’— 
Mr. Thomas Cosano, 16, Bristo Place, 
Edinburgh. _ 


A CURIOUS CORONATION COLLEC¬ 
TION. 

“The accompanying photograph is 
that of a novel method of obtaining 
contributions to the Coronation collection 
London hospitals, there lieing enclosed 
of the pieces of paper on the ceiling a 
the realm. The in¬ 
tending donor has to 
cut a piece of card¬ 
board, about the size 
of a shilling, through 
the centre of which a 
Lack is driven. Two 
or three strips of 
coloured paper are 
then pressed crossways 
uti to the point of the 
tack, and allowed to 
hang down over the 
edge of the cardboard* 

A coin is placed under 
the piece of cardboard 
and the strips drawn 
over the edge and then 
twisted until the coin 
is held tight. The 
whole is then thrown 
point upwards to the 
ceiling, where it re¬ 
mains until removed 
by the collectors. In 
some of the papers 
shown in the illustra¬ 
tion as many as twelve 


* Copyright, 1902, by George Newiies, L!i[rit'f 4 i 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


476 



and tuny suffer serious injury. In the accompanying 
photograph the recruit is shown high in the air, 
and his slippers have fallen off from his liare [eel. 
It was taken in the United States Military Reser- 
ration known as the Presidio, at San Francisco, 
and is forwarded by Mr, Arthur Inkersley, of San 
Francisco. 


SMALLEST POST OFFICE BUILDING IN THE 
WORLD, 

** The post-office building at Virginia, California, 
has the distinction of being the smallest in the world. 
It is located upon the stage road running north from 
San Diego, and is far from any other building or 
habitation. Upon the days which bring the singe- 
coach j>ast the tiny edifice, the postmaster comes 
to the road-side post-office and wails the coming 
of the mail. When they arrive the mail which 
has been deposited in the letter-drop by the five or 


AN AWKWARD BRIDGE. 

“ Having seen a photo, of a 4 Queer Bridge ’ 
in your ‘ Curiosity 1 page, I take the litany 
of sending you a snap shot taken last year, 
also on the Esk, and very probably the same 
bridge. The photographer in this case was 
sitting talow the bridge, and this gives one 
the idea that the figure is suspended high 
up in the air."—Mr. M. F. Stuart, Lundie, 
Inch bare, Brechi n. 


TOSSING A ** ROOKIE*' IN A BLANKET. 

A favourite amusement among the soldiers 
of the United States Army while in camp 
is blanket-tossing. A group of men stand 
round a blanket, holding it in as many places 
as possible. A recruit, or 11 rookie,” is 
seized by some of the men, and, despite 
his struggles, is thrown into the blanket. 
The soldiers then toss him up as high into 
the air as possible, catching him in the out¬ 
stretched blanket as he comes dow n. Occa¬ 
sionally, if the “rookie 11 manifests;* marked 
dislike to the sport, he is allowed to fall to 
the ground, cither through carelessness or 
intention, and then he is likely to ta bruised, 




six patrons of the 
office is exchanged 
for that which the 
stage has for the 
Virginia office, and 
it is distributed in 
the rude lock - boxes 
—the locks being 
pad locks — which 
have been attached 
to the building. 
These being acces¬ 
sible from the out- 
side, the presence of 
the postmaster at 
times other than the 
coming of the mail 
is not essential, w — 
Mr. Arthur J. Bur¬ 
dick, Box 577, Los 
°n^ngdes f California. 

MICHIGAN 


I 















CURIOSITIES . 


477 



A TERRIER POSTER-MOTHER. 


work, but steel shavings 
caused by a WesLinghouse 
Ineak on a Great Eastern 
locomotive, on the ordi¬ 
nary steel rails of the 
lime*" — Mr* D. Graham, 
95, Forburg Road, Stoke 
Newington* 


A REMARKABLE 
RENTAL, 

4t Herewith a photograph 
of a very curious receipt, 
which has to be settled 
each year by the landlord 
of the inn mentioned* I 




(< Mr* George Ullrich is the owner of a dug that 
is a most remarkable example of brute intelligence, 
Mr. Ullrich, who is a poultry raiser on a small 
scale, noticed, a few r days ago, that one of his 
sitting hens was in the habit of frequently 
leaving her nest and remaining away for a 
long time. Fearing that he might lose 
a brood of chickens through the hen's 
neglect, he set about to make arrange¬ 
ments for keeping the eggs warm during 
her absence, and to that end decided to 
transfer the nest to the basement, along¬ 
side the furnace. Upon entering I he hen¬ 
house, however, he discovered that his 
wishes had been anticipated by bis pet 
dog. Princess, a female fox-terrier, which 
he found crouching on the eggs, lie en¬ 
deavoured to induce the animal to leave 
the nest, but she refused to do so until 
the hen returned to her duties. This 
state of affairs continued until the 
eggs were hatched. The moment the 
hen would leave the nest the dog would dash 
into the hen-house and * sit 1 upon the eggs until 
the clucking biddy had finished her outing and was 
ready to assume her rightful place. As soon as 
the chicks were out of the shell, Princess asserted 
her right to share with the hen the care of the 
progeny*”—Mr* John W. Hanson, Hammond, Ind, 


cannot as yet ascertain the origin of this extra¬ 
ordinary document, which it would be interesting 
to learn. I also send a photograph of the Crown 


anti Thistle Inn, which your readers will note 
is a quaint, old-fashioned place.” — Mr. Chas, 
E. Clark, 27, Castle Street, Leicester* 


t * 

WHAT ARE THESE* 

“ The curious objects shown in my photograph are 
not designs for trimming or patterns for ornamental 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












478 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



HOW TO STEP THROUGH A VISITING CARD. 

11 It sounds ridiculous to say that art ordinary visiting card 
may lie so cut that a grown man or woman may step through 
it ; hut the enclosed photo, shows the method by which this 
seeming impossibility may be actually accomplished”—Mr. W. 
Dingwall Fordyte, 34, (beat King Street, Edinburgh. 



AN EXTRAORDINARY ILLUSION. 

11 1 enclose a photograph which repre¬ 
sents Private PL R Lee, 37th Squadron, 
loth Battalion Imperial Yeomanry, cook* 
mg our dinner in South Africa. You will 



see that there is a complete face in his 
hat.”—Mr. Norman M. Lawrence, 14, 
Alexandra Road, Bedford. 


A CURIOSITY IN A MEDICAL 
SCHOOL. 

14 This somewhat weird-looking photo¬ 
graph need not alarm any of your readers. 
The lower limbs represented in the pic¬ 
ture arc purely artificial, though they are 
beautifully modelled to represent the 
actual limbs of a human being. The 
reason for this will l>e easily understood 
when it is mentioned that the students of 
Harvard Medical School are taught how 
to bandage these wooden models before 
they are allowed to dress the damaged 
limits of real patients.” — Mr. Allen II* 
Rlacke, iS, Prentiss Street, N. Cam¬ 
bridge, Mass. 


A FORTUNATE LITTLE 
LADY. 

“ I send you a photo, of 
myself in the play-room 
with some of my dolls. 
Please do not think that the 
picture represents my whole 
family of dolls, because 
alx>ut forty of them only 
appear in the photo., 
though l have nearly eighty, 
I wonder if any of your 
other girl readers can boast 
of so large a collection ? 
My brother arranged the 
dolls round me and then he 
took the photo.' 1 —Miss K. 
Priest, 246, Bristol Road, 
Edgbaston, Bi rm i n gh a m. 















CURIOSITIES . 


479 





A QUAINT CHURCH BELL. 

“ The huge bell shown in my photograph is to lie 
found in a small churchyard in Glen Finnan, Inverness^ 
shire, It takes the place of a church bell, as there 
is no belfry to the building. An inscription in Latin 
is w rit ten around it* the interpretation of which is as 
follows : *0, all ye hills and valleys, praise ye the 
Lord,’ which seems a most appropriate one* the bell 
being situated among the most lovely mountains and 
glens of Scotland/ 1 — Mr. L>. J. Unwin, Dow deswell 
Court, And overs ford, R.S.O- 


something NEW IN DOLLS. 

Mrs. Scott Cooper, of 605, N. San Joaquin Street, Stock- 
ton, Cab, has evolved something distinctly original and 
extremely novel in the way of dolls. Three samples of her 
work are shown herewith. The heads are carved from 
oak-balls with a common jack-knife, and Mrs. Cooper has 
shown a remarkable talent for that class of work. The 
lady, who is quite well known on the American stage, has 
a great deal of artistic talent, tending mostly towards 
modelling and carving. The eyebrows of these dolls are 
made of hair from a clothes + brush, as are also their 
other hirsute adornments. The ears are mode of separate 
oak-balls, pasted on with putty. 


This is the hand 

of Titenia, a variety actress on the American stage, 
who has devised a new way of wearing jewels. Not 
only does she adorn herself with bracelets, a thtimb- 
ring, and rings on three of her fingers, but she 
also has a big jewel moored by chains to 
the middle of tne back of her hand and a 
diamond ear-ring hanging from every nail. 
Each finger-nail is allowed to grow long, and 
is then bored with a little round hole, into 
which is inserted a diamond ear-ring. The 
effect is startling. The photograph is by 
Joseph Hall, of Broadway, New York, 
and is forwarded by Mr. Arthur Inkersley, 
of San Francisco. 


A PUZZLING SIGN-POST. 

“ This is not a * freak photo./ but a photograph of 
a sign-post in the village of Nailstone, near Market 
Bo&worth, Leices¬ 
ter shire. The 

Barton is Barton 
in-Beans, and 
Congcrstone, 
three miles, is 
near Gopshull 
Hall, the country 
seat of Earl 
Howe. It is quite 
correct, as both 
roads, though 
going in exactly 
opposite direc¬ 
tions, eventually 
meet on the out¬ 
skirts of the vil¬ 
lage, but the 
wording is very 
puzzling to a 
stranger/' — Mr. 

A. D. Taylor, 4, 

William Street, 

At 11c bo rough, 

Nuneaton, 


AaHtbh 




lAHTQ* 


A DIAMOND 
EAR-RING ON 
EVERY NAIL 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















480 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




"THE CHAINED CEDAR” 

“ I forward you a photograph, taken by myself, 
of a tree in Bret by Park, the property of the Earl of 
Carnarvon, It is known as E The Chained Cedar/ 
and the legend attached to it is that when one of the 
branches falls off a member uf the family dies imme¬ 
diately afterwards ; and as this has olten occurred, 
the branches arc now supported by chains, which may 
just be distinguished in the photograph/ 1 — Mr, 
Raymond Nad in, 20, Ashby Road, Burton-on 
Trent. 


octopus IxTore, Photographers availed themselves 
of the opportunity to secure prints of this unique 
catch/ **— Mr. A. S. Faulkner, Wood Lodge, Frees, 
Sb1u|>. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


A WEAVER BIRD, 


14 I am sending you 
a photograph of a 
cage in w'hieh is kept 
a red'hilled weaver 
bird, a native of Central 
Africa* It has been 
kept and domesticated 
by Miss Lydia Mat- 
thews, 19, 5 a t t o n 
Street, Wandsworth, 

By some means or 
other it recently secured 
the end of a hall of 
knitting cotton, dragged 
it into its cage, and 
wove several apart¬ 
ments for itself. It has 
filled one cage and is 
now busy with another. 

It is a matter of difficulty 
to show in a photograph how distinct from each 
other the various compartments really are, and how 
cleverly the various partitions are fashioned/ 1 —Miss 
N. Carter, 38, Belle Vue Gardens, Allfarthing 
l*ane, Wandsworth. 


CAPTURING AN 
OCTOPUS. 


14 1 enclose the snap¬ 
shot of an octopus 
caught by myself and 
friend last May in 
Western Australia, also 
an account of the 
same, which is taken 
from the Norseman 
Trmes t which says ; 
4 Some excitement has 
been caused by the 
capture of a large octo¬ 
pus by Messrs, A, S. 
Faulkner and J. B* 
Teede. It appears that 
they were lathing, as 
usual, off Dempste/s 
jetty before breakfast, 
when suddenly they 
saw a huge octopus 
making for them* Swimming for their lives they 
first managed to reach the jelly before the octo¬ 
pus, the powerful tentacles sweeping the steps which 
they but a second before had left, Mr. Teede 
went along the beach, followed by the huge creature 
in shallow' water, while Mr, Faulkner rushed into the 
sea and attacked it with an oar. Between them it 
was eventually overpowered and secured* It was 
found to measure 10ft, across. Even when dying the 
targe tentacles held tenaciously to any object within 
reach. No one here had ever seen such a huge 









Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





\VE COULD SEE THAT IMPASSIVE BODY AMID THE FLAMES, AND THE 
BLACK FIGURES AS THEY DANCED ROUND THE PILE.” 


(A« fap 49J.) 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxiv. NOVEMBER. 1902. No* 143* 


The Adventures of Etienne Gerard\ 

By A + Conan Doyle. 

II. —HOW THE BRIGADIER SAVED THE ARMY* 




HAVE told you, my friends, 
how we held the English shut 
up for six months, from Octo¬ 
ber, i8io, to March, 1811, 
within their lines of Torres 
Vedras. It was during this 
time that I hunted the fox in their company, 
and showed them that amidst all their sports¬ 
men there was not one 
who could outride a Hussar 
of Conflans. When I gal¬ 
loped back into the French 
lines with the blood of the 
creature stilt moist upon 
my blade the outposts who 
had seen what I had done 
raised a frenzied cry in 
my honour, whilst these 
English hunters still yelled 
behind me, so that I had 
the applause of both 
armies. It made the tears 
rise to my eyes to feel that 
l had won the admiration 
of so many brave men. 

These English are gener¬ 
ous foes. That very even¬ 
ing there came a packet 
under a white flag ad¬ 
dressed “To the Hussar 
officer who cut down the 
fox.” Within I found the 
fox itself in two pieces, as 
t had left it. There was 
a note also, short but 
hearty as the English 
fashion is, to say that as I 
had slaughtered the fox it 
only remained for me to 
eat it. They could not 
know that it was not our 
French custom to eat foxes, 
and it showed their desire 
that he who had won the 
honours of the chase 


should also partake of the 
game. It is not for a 

Vol. xxiv,— fll 


Frenchman to be outdone in politeness, and 
so I returned it to these brave hunters, and 
begged them to accept it as a side-dish for 
their next dejeuner de la chtust . It is thus 
that chivalrous opponents make war, 

I had brought back with me from my ride 
a clear plan of the English lines, and this I 
laid before Massena that very evening. 


THIS PL AH I Laid hk fork mass,eka 
THAT VERY EVENING.” 


Copyrighi, 


Uy George Newnts, frOITl 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















4»4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


I had hoped that it would lead him to 
attack, but all the marshals were at each 
other’s throats, snapping and growling like 
so many hungry hounds. Ney hated 
Massena, and Massena hated Junot, and 
Soult hated them all. For this reason 
nothing was done. In the meantime food 
grew more and more scarce, and our 
beautiful cavalry was ruined for want of 
fodder. With the end of the winter we had 
swept the whole country bare, and nothing 
remained for us to eat, although we sent 
our forage parties far and wide. It was 
clear even to the bravest of us that the 
time had come to retreat. I was myself 
forced to admit it. 

But retreat was not so easy. Not only 
were the troops weak and exhausted from 
want of supplies, but the enemy had been 
much encouraged by our long inaction. Of 
Wellington we had no great fear. We had 
found him to be brave and cautious, but with 
little enterprise. Besides, in that barren 
country his pursuit could not be rapid. But 
on our flanks and in our rear there had 
gathered great numbers of Portuguese militia, 
of armed peasants, and of guerillas. These 
people had kept a safe distance all the winter, 
but now that our horses were foundered they 
were as thick as flies all round our outposts, 
and no man’s life was worth a sou when once 
he fell into their hands. I could name a 
dozen officers of my own acquaintance who 
were cut off during that time, and the 
luckiest was he who received a ball from 
behind a rock through his head or his heart. 
There were some whose deaths were so 
terrible that no report of them was ever 
allowed to reach their relatives. So frequent 
were these tragedies, and so much did they 
impress the imagination of the men, that it 
became very difficult to induce them to 
leave the camp. There was one especial 
scoundrel, a guerilla chief named Manuelo, 
“The Smiler,” whose exploits filled our men 
with horror. He was a large, fat man of 
jovial aspect, and he lurked with a fierce 
gang among the mountains which lay upon 
our left flank. A volume might be written 
of this fellow’s cruelties and brutalities, but 
he was certainly a man of power, for he 
organized his brigands in a manner which 
made it almost impossible for us to get 
through his country. This he did by im¬ 
posing a severe discipline upon them and 
enforcing it by cruel penalties, a policy by 
which he made them formidable, but which 
had some unexpected results, as I will show 
you in my story. Had he not flogged his 


own lieutenant-but you will hear of that 

when the time comes. 

There were many difficulties in connection 
with a retreat, but it was very evident that 
there was no other possible course, and so 
Massena began to quickly pass his baggage 
and his sick from Torres Novas, which was 
his head-quarters, to Coimbra, the first strong 
post on his line of communications. He 
could not do this unperceived, however, and 
at once the guerillas came swarming closer 
and closer upon our flanks. One of our 
divisions, that of Clausel, with a brigade of 
Montbrun’s cavalry, was far to the south of 
the Tagus, and it became very necessary to 
let them know that we were about to retreat, 
for otherwise they would be left unsupported 
in the very heart of the enemy’s country. 

I remember wondering how Massena would 
accomplish this, for simple couriers could 
not get through, and small parties would be 
certainly destroyed. In some way an order 
to fall back must be conveyed to these men, 
or France would be the weaker by fourteen 
thousand men. Little did I think that it was 
I, Colonel Gerard, who was to have the 
honour of a deed which might have formed 
the crowning glory of any other man’s life, 
and which stands high among those exploits 
which have made my own so famous. 

At that time I was serving on Massena’s 
staff, and he had two other aides-de-camp, 
who were also very brave and intelligent 
officers. The name of one was Cortex and 
of the other Duplessis. They were senior to 
me in age, but junior in every other respect. 
Cortex was a small, dark man, very quick and 
eager. He was a fine soldier, but he was 
ruined by his conceit. To take him at his 
own valuation he was the first man in the 
army. Duplessis was a Gascon, like myself, 
and he was a very fine fellow, as all Gascon 
gentlemen are. We took it in turn, day 
about, to do duty, and it was Cortex who 
was in attendance upon the morning of which 
I speak. I saw him at breakfast, but after¬ 
wards neither he nor his horse was to be 
seen. All day Massena was in his usual 
gloom, and he spent much of his time staring 
with his telescope at the English lines and at 
the shipping in the Tagus. He said nothing 
of the mission upon which he had sent our 
comrade, and it was not for us to ask him 
any questions. 

That night, about twelve o’clock, I was 
standing outside the Marshal’s head-quarters 
when he came out and stood motionless for 
half an hour, his arms folded upon his breast, 
staring through the darkness towards the east 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD. 


485 


So rigid and intent was he that you might 
have believed the muffled figure and the 
cocked hat to have been the statue of the 
man. What he was looking for I could not 
imagine; but at last he gave a bitter curse, 
and, turning on his heel, he went back into 
the house, banging the door behind him. 

Next day the second aide-de-camp, 
Duplessis, had an interview with Massena 
in the morning, after which neither he nor 
his horse was seen again. That night, as I 
sat in the ante-room, the Marshal passed 
me, and I observed him through the 
window standing and staring to the east 
exactly as he had done before. For fully 
half an hour he remained there, a black 
shadow in the gloom. Then he strode in, 
the door banged, and I heard his spurs and 
his scabbard jingling and clanking through 
the passage. At the best he was a savage 
old man, but when he was crossed I 
had almost as soon face the Emperor 
himself. I heard him that night 
cursing and stamping above my 
head, but he did not send for me, 
and I knew him too well to go un¬ 
sought. 

Next morning it was my turn, for 
I was the only aide-de-camp left. I 
was his favourite aide-de-camp. His 
heart went out always to a smart 
soldier. I declare that I think there 
were tears in his black eyes when he 
sent for me that morning. 

“ Gerard 3 " said he. 44 Come 
here! ” 

With a friendly gesture he took 
me by the sleeve and he led me to 
the open window which faced the 
east. Beneath us was the infantry 
camp, and beyond that the lines of 
the cavalry with the long rows of 
picketed horses. We could see the 
French outposts, and then a stretch 
of open country, intersected by vine¬ 
yards. A range of hills lay beyond, 
with one well-marked peak towering 
above them. Round the base of 
these hills was a broad belt of forest. 

A single road ran white and dear, 
dipping and rising until it passed 
through a gap in the hills, 

“This,” said Massena, pointing 
to the mountain, “is the Sierra de 
Merodal, Do you perceive anything 
upon the top ? M 

I answered that I did not. 

“ Now ? ” he asked, and he handed 
me his field-glass. 


With its aid I perceived a small mound or 
cairn upon the crest, 

“What you see,” said the Marshal, “ is a 
pile of logs which was placed there as a 
beacon. We laid it when the country was in 
our hands, and now, although we no longer 
hold it, the beacon remains undisturbed. 
CJerard, that beacon must be lit to-night 
France needs it, the Emperor needs it, the 
army needs it. Two of your comrades have 
gone to light it, but neither has made his 
way to the summit. To-day it is your turn, 
and I pray that you may have better luck.” 

It is not for a soldier to ask the reason for 
his orders, and so 1 was about to hurry from 
the room, but the Marshal laid his hand 
upon my shoulder and held me. 

“ You shall know all, and so learn how 
high is the cause for which you risk your 
life,” said he. “ Fifty miles to the south of 



** t.EKAkD, TJiAGftGjdUfr nvffGfcti lit to-night/ 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









4 86 


THE S TEA HE MAGAZINE. 


us, on the other side of the Tagus, is the 
army of General Clausel. His camp rs situ¬ 
ated pear a peak named the Sierra d’Ossa. 
On the summit of this peak is a beacon, and 
by this beacon he has a picket. It is agreed 
between us that when at midnight he shall 
see our signal fire he shall light his own as 
an answer, and shall then at once fall back 
upon the main army. If he does not start 
at once I must go without him. For two 
days I have endeavoured to send him his 
message. It must reach him to-day, or his 
army will be left behind and destroyed.” 

Ah, my friends, how my heart swelled 
when I heard how high was the task which 
Fortune had assigned to me ! If my life 
were spared, here was one more splendid new 
leaf for my laurel crown. If, on the other 
hand, I died, then it would be a death worthy 
of such a career. I said nothing, but I 
cannot doubt that all the noble thoughts that 
were in me shone in my face, for Massena 
took my hand and wrung it. 

“ There is the hill and there the beacon,” 
said he. “There is only this guerilla and 
his men between you and it. I cannot 
detach a large party for the enterprise and a 
small one would be seen and destroyed. 
Therefore to you alone I commit it. Carry 
it out in your own way, but at twelve o’clock 
this night let me see the fire upon the hill.” 

“ If it is not there,” said I, “ then I pray 
you, Marshal Massena, to see that my effects 
are sold and the money sent to my mother.” 
So I raised my hand to my busby and turned 
upon my heel, my heart glowing at the 
thought of the great exploit which lay 
before me. 

I sat in my own chamber for some little 
time considering how I had best take the 
matter in hand. The fact that neither 
Cortex nor Duplessis, who were very zealous 
and active officers, had succeeded in reaching 
the summit of the Sierra de Merodal showed 
that the country was very closely watched by 
the guerillas. I reckoned out the distance 
upon a map. There were ten miles of open 
country to be crossed before reaching the 
hills. Then came a belt of forest on the 
lower slopes of the mountain, which may 
have been three or four miles wide. And 
then there was the actual peak itself, of no 
very great height, but without any cover to 
conceal me. Those were the three stages of 
my journey. 

It seemed to me that once I had reached 
the shelter of the wood all would be easy, 
for I could lie concealed within its 
shadows and climb upwards under the cover 

Digitized by G»OG^le 


of night. From eight till twelve would give 
me four hours of darkness in which to make 
the ascent. It was only the first stage, then, 
which I had seriously to consider. 

Over that flat country there lay the inviting 
white road, and I remembered that my com¬ 
rades had both taken their horses. That was 
clearly their ruin, for nothing could be easier 
than for the brigands to keep watch upon the 
road, and to lay an ambush for all who 
passed along it. It would not be difficult 
for me to ride across country, and I was 
well horsed at that time, for I had not 
only Violette and Rataplan, who were two of 
the finest mounts in the army, but I had the 
splendid black English hunter which I had 
taken from Sir Cotton. However, after 
much thought, I determined to go upon foot, 
since I should then be in a better state to 
take advantage of any chance which might 
offer. As to my dress, I covered my Hussar 
uniform with a long cloak, and I put a grey 
forage cap upon my head. You may ask me 
why I did not dress as a peasant, but I answer 
that a man of honour has no desire to die the 
death of a spy. It is one thing to be 
murdered, and it is another to be justly 
executed by the laws of war. I would not 
run the risk of such an end. 

In the late afternoon I stole out of the 
camp and passed .through the line of our 
pickets. Beneath my cloak I had a field- 
glass and a pocket pistol, as well as my 
sword. In my pocket were tinder, flint, and 
steel. 

For two or three miles I kept under cover 
of the vineyards, and made such good 
progress that my heart was high within me, 
and I thought to myself that it only needed 
a man of some brains to take the matter in 
hand to bring it easily to success. Of course, 
Cortex and Duplessis galloping down the 
high road would be easily seen, but the 
intelligent Gerard lurking among the vines 
was quite another person. I dare say I had 
got as far as five miles before I met any 
check. At that point there is a small wine- 
house, round which I perceived some carts 
and a number of people, the first that I had 
seen. Now that I was well outside the lines 
I knew that every person was my enemy, so 
I crouched lower while I stole along to a 
point from which I could get a better view 
of what was going on. I then perceived that 
these people were peasants, who were loading 
two waggons with empty wine-casks. I failed 
to see how they could either help or hinder 
me, so I continued upon my way. 

But soon I understood that my task was 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD. 


4S7 


not so simple as had appeared. As the 
ground rose the vineyards ceased, and I 
came upon a stretch of open country studded 
with low hills. Crouching in a ditch I 
examined them with a glass, and I very soon 
perceived that there was a watcher upon 
every one of them, and that these people 
had a line of pickets and outposts thrown 
forward exactly like our own. 1 had heard 
of the discipline which was practised by this 
scoundrel whom they called “The Smiler,” 
and this, no doubt, was an example of it 
Between the hills there was a cordon of 
sentries, and though I worked some distance 
round to the flank I still found myself faced 


comes to the brave man who refuses to 
despair. 

You remember I have mentioned that 
two waggons were loading up with empty 
casks at the inn. The heads of the oxen 
were turned to the east, and it was evident 
that those waggons were going in the direc¬ 
tion which I desired. Could I only conceal 
myself upon one of them, what better and 
easier way could I find of passing through 
the lines of the guerillas? So simple and so 
good was the plan that I could not restrain a 
cry of delight as it crossed my mind, and I 
hurried away instantly in the direction of the 
inn. There, from behind some bushes, I had 



Fkon behind some rushes i had a good look at what was going on. 


by the enemy. It was a puzzle what to do, 
There was so little cover that a rat could 
hardly cross without being seen. Of course, it 
would be easy enough to slip through at night, 
as I had done with the English at Torres 
Vedras. but I was still far from the mountain 
and I could not in that case reach it in time 
to light the midnight beacon. I lay in my 
ditch and I made a thousand plans, each 
more dangerous than the last. And then 
suddenly I had that flash of light which 


a good look at what was 
going on upon the road. 

There were three pea¬ 
sants with red montero 
caps loading the barrels, 
and they had completed 
One waggon and the lower 
tier of the other. A 
number of empty barrels 
still lay outside the wine- 
house waiting to be put on. Fortune was my 
friend—I have always said that she is a woman 
and cannot resist a dashing young Hussar, 
As I watched, the three fellows went into the 
inn, for the day was hot and they were thirsty 
after their labour. Quick as a flash I darted 
out from my hiding-place, climbed on to the 
waggon, and crept into one of the empty casks. 
It had a bottom but no top, and it lay upon 
its side with the open end inwards. There I 
crouched like a dog in its kennel, my knees 
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4 88 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


drawn up to my chin, for the barrels were not 
very large and I am a well-grown man. As 
I lay there out came the three peasants 
again, and presently I heard a crash upon 
the top of me which told that I had another 
barrel above me. They piled them upon 
the cart until I could not imagine how I was 
ever to get out again. However, it is time 
to think of crossing the Vistula when you are 
over the Rhine, and I had no doubt that if 
chance and my own wits had carried me so 
far they would carry me farther. 

Soon, when the waggon was full, they set 
forth upon their way, and I within my barrel 
chuckled at every step, for it was carrying 
me whither I wished to go. We travelled 
slowly, and the peasants walked beside the 
waggons. This I knew, because I heard 
their voices close to me. They seemed to 
me to be very merry fellows, for they laughed 
heartily as they went. What the joke was I 
could not understand. Though I speak 
their language fairly well I could not hear 
anything comic in the scraps of their con¬ 
versation which met my ear. 

I reckoned that at the rate of walking of 
a team of oxen we covered about two miles 
an hour. Therefore, when I was sure that 
two and a half hours had passed—such hours, 
my friends, cramped, suffocated, and nearly 
poisoned with the fumes of the lees—when 
they had passed, I was sure that the danger¬ 
ous open country was behind us, and that 
we were upon the edge of the forest and the 
mountain. So now I had to turn my mind 
upon how I was to get out of my barrel. 
I had thought of several ways, and was 
balancing one against the other when the 
question was decided for me in a very simple 
but unexpected manner. 

The waggon stopped suddenly with a jerk, 
and I heard a number of gruff voices in 
excited talk. “ Where, where ? ” cried one. 
“ On our cart,” said another. “ Who is he ? ” 
said a third. “ A French officer; I saw his 
cap and his boots.” They all roared with 
laughter. “ I was looking out of the window 
of the posada and I saw him spring into the 
cask like a toreador with a Seville bull at his 
heels.” “Which cask, then ?” “ It was this 

one,” said the fellow, and sure enough his 
fist struck the wood beside my head. 

What a situation, my friends, for a man 
of my standing ! I blush now, after forty 
years, when I think of it. To be trussed 
like a fowl and to listen helplessly to the 
rude laughter of these boors—to know, too, 
that my mission had come to an ignominious 
and even ridiculous end — I would have 


blessed the man who would have sent a 
bullet through the cask and freed me from 
my misery. 

I heard the crashing of the barrels as they 
hurled them off the waggon, and then a 
couple of bearded faces and the muzzles of 
two guns looked in at me. They seized me 
by the sleeves of my coat, and they dragged 
me out into the daylight. A strange figure 
I must have looked as I stood blinking and 
gaping in the blinding sunlight. My body 
was bent like a cripple's, for I could not 
straighten my stiff joints, and half my coat 
was as red as an English soldier's from the 
lees in which I had lain. They laughed and 
laughed, these dogs, and as I tried to express 
by my bearing and gestures the contempt in 
which I held them their laughter grew all the 
louder. But even in these hard circumstances 
I bore myself like the man I am, and as I 
cast my eye slowly round I did not find that 
any of the laughers were very ready to face it 

That one glance round was enough to tell 
me exactly how I was situated. I had been 
betrayed by these peasants into the hands of 
an outpost of guerillas. There were eight of 
them, savage-looking, hairy creatures, with 
cotton handkerchiefs under their sombreros, 
and many - buttoned jackets with coloured 
sashes round the waist. Each had a 
gun and one or two pistols stuck in 
his girdle. The leader, a great bearded 
ruffian, held his gun against my ear while 
the others searched my pockets, taking from 
me my overcoat, my pistol, my glass, my 
sword, and, worst of all, my flint and steel 
and tinder. Come what might I was ruined, 
for I had no longer the means of lighting the 
beacon even if I should reach it. 

Eight of them, my friends, with three 
peasants, and I unarmed! Was Etienne 
Gerard in despair? Did he lose his wits? 
Ah, you know me too well; but they did not 
know me yet, these dogs of brigands. Never 
have I made so supreme and astounding an 
effort as at this very instant when all seemed 
lost. Yet you might guess many times before 
you would hit upon the device by which I 
escaped them. Listen and I will tell you. 

They had dragged me from the waggon 
when they searched me, and I stood, still 
twisted and warped, in the midst of them. 
But the stiffness was wearing off, and already 
my mind was very actively looking out for 
some method of breaking away. It was a 
narrow pass in which the brigands had their 
outpost. It was bounded on the one hand 
by a steep mountain side. On the other the 
ground fell away in a very long slope, which 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD. 4S9 


ended in a bushy valley many hundreds of 
feet below. These fellows, you understand, 
were hardy mountaineers, who could travel 
either up hill or down very much quicker 
than L They wore abarcas, or shoes of skin, 
tied on like sandals, which gave them a foot¬ 
hold everywhere. A less resolute man would 
have despaired. But in an instant I saw 
and used the strange chance which Fortune 
had placed in my way. On the very edge of 
the slope was one of the wine-barrels. I 
moved slowly towards it, and then with a 
tiger spring I dived into it feet foremost, and 
with a roll of my body 1 tipped it over the 
side of the hill. 

Shall I ever forget that dreadful journey 
—how I bounded and crashed and whizzed 
down that terrible slope ? I had dug in my 
knees and elbows, bunching my body into a 
compact bundle so as to steady it ; but my 
head projected from the end, and it was a 
marvel that I did not dash out my brains. 
There were long, smooth slopes, and then 
came steeper scarps where the barrel ceased 
to roll, and sprang into the air like a goat, 
coming down with a rattle and crash which 
jarred every bone in my body. How the 
wind whistled in my ears, and my head 
turned and turned until I was sick and giddy 
and nearly senseless l Then, with a swish 
and a great rasping and crackling of branches, 
1 reached the 
bushes which 1 
had seen so far 
below me. 

Through them I 
broke my way, 
down a slope be^ 
yond, and deep 
into another patch 
of underwood, 
where striking a 
sapling my barrel 
flew to pieces. 

From amid a heap 
of staves and 
hoops I crawled 
out, my body 
aching in every 
inch of it, but 
my heart singing 
loudly with joy 
and my spirit 
high within me, 
for I knew how 
great was the 
feat which I had 
accompl i sh ed, 
and I already 
Vol, xxiv.—62 


seemed to see the beacon blazing on the 
hill. 

A horrible nausea had seized me from the 
tossing which 1 had undergone, and I felt as 
I did upon the ocean when first 1 experienced 
those movements of which the English have 
taken so perfidious an advantage, I had to 
sit for a few moments with my head upon 
my hands beside the ruins of my barrel. 
But there was no time for rest. Already 
I heard shouts above me which told that 
my pursuers were descending the hill. I 
dashed into the thickest part of the under¬ 
wood, and I ran and ran until I was utterly 
exhausted. Then I lay panting and listened 
with all my ears, but no sound came to them, 
I had shaken off my enemies. 

When 1 had recovered my breath I 
travelled swiftly on, and waded knee-deep 
through several brooks, for it came into my 
bead that they might follow me with dogs. 
On gaining a clear place and looking round 
me, I found to my delight that in spite of 
my adventures I had not been much out of 
my way. Above me towered the peak of 
Merodal, with its bare and bold summit shoot¬ 
ing out of the groves of dwarf oaks which 
shrouded its flanks. These groves were the 
continuation of the cover under which I 
found myself, and it seemed to me that I had 
nothing to fear now until 1 reached the 



.T was pupi© F j£fi na | from 

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other side of the forest. At the same time I 
knew that every man’s hand was against me, 
that I was unarmed, and that there were 
many people about me. I saw no one, but 
several times I heard shrill whistles, and 
once the sound of a gun in the distance. 

It was hard work pushing one’s way 
through the bushes, and so I was glad when I 
came to the larger trees and found a path 
which led between them. Of course, I was 
too wise to walk upon it, but I kept near it 
and followed its course. I had gone some 
distance, and had, as I imagined, nearly 
reached the limit of the wood, when a 
strange, moaning sound fell upon my ears. 
At first I thought it was the cry of some 
animal, but then there came words, of which 
I only caught the French exclamation, “ Mon 
Dieu! ” With great caution I advanced in 
the direction from which the sound pro¬ 
ceeded, and this is what I saw. 

On a couch of dried leaves there was 
stretched a man dressed in the same grey 
uniform which I wore myself. He was 
evidently horribly wounded, for he held a 
cloth to his breast which was crimson with 
his blood. A pool had formed all round his 
couch, and he lay in a haze of flies, whose 
buzzing and droning would certainly have 
called my attention if his groans had not 
come to my ear. I lay for a moment, fearing 
some trap, and then, my pity and loyalty 
rising above all other feelings, I ran forward 
and knelt by his side. He turned a haggard 
face upon me, and it was Duplessis, the man 
who had gone before me. It needed but one 
glance at his sunken cheeks and glazing eyes 
to tell me that he was dying. 

“ Gerard ! ” said he; “Gerard ! ” 

I could but look my sympathy, but he, 
though the life was ebbing swiftly out of 
him, still kept his duty before him, like the 
gallant gentleman he was. 

“ The beacon, Gerard! You will light 
it ? ” 

“ Have you flint and steel ? ” 

“ It is here.” 

“Then I will light it to-night.” 

“ I die happy to hear you say so. They 
shot me, Gerard. But you will tell the 
Marshal that I did my best.” 

“ And Cortex ?” 

“ He was less fortunate. He fell into 
their hands and died horribly. If you see 
that you cannot get away, Gerard, put a 
bullet into your own heart. Don’t die as 
Cortex did.” 

I could see that his breath was failing, and 
I bent low to catch his words. 

Digitized by (^OO^lC 


“Can you tell me anything which can help 
me in my task ? ” I asked. 

“ Yes, yes ; De Pombal. He will help you. 
Trust De Pombal.” With the words his 
head fell back and he was dead. 

“Trust De Pombal. It is good advice.” 
To my amazement a man was standing at the 
very side of me. So absorbed had I been 
in my comrade’s words and intent on his 
advice that he had crept- up without my 
observing him. Now I sprang to my feet 
and faced him. He was a tall, dark fellow, 
black-haired, black-eyed, black-bearded, with 
a long, sad face. In his hand he had a wine- 
bottle and over his shoulder was slung one 
of the trabucos or blunderbusses which these 
fellows bear. He made no effort to unsling 
it, and I understood that this was the man 
to whom my dead friend had commended 
me. 

“ Alas, he is gone ! ” said he, bending over 
Duplessis. “ He fled into the wood after he 
was shot, but I was fortunate enough to find 
where he had fallen and to make his last 
hours more easy. This couch was my 
making, and I had brought this wine to 
slake his thirst.” 

“ Sir,” said I, “ in the name of France I 
thank you. I am but a colonel of light 
cavalry, but I am Etienne Gerard, and the^ 
name stands for something in the French" 
army. May I ask-” 

“ Yes, sir, I am Aloysius de Pombal, 
younger brother of the famous nobleman 
of that name. At present I am the first 
lieutenant in the band of the guerilla chief 
who is usually known as Manuelo, ‘The 
Smiler.’ ” 

My word, I clapped my hand to the place 
where my pistol should have been, but the 
man only smiled at the gesture. 

“I am his first lieutenant, but I am also 
his deadly enemy,” said he. He slipped off 
his jacket and pulled up his shirt as he 
spoke. “ Look at this ! ” he cried, and he 
turned upon me a back which was all scored 
and lacerated with red and purple weals. 
“This is what ‘The Smiler’ has done to me, 
a man with the noblest blood of Portugal in 
my veins. What I will do to ‘ The Smiler ’ 
you have still to see.” 

There was such fury in his eyes and in the 
grin of his white teeth that I could no longer 
doubt his truth, with that clotted and oozing 
back to corroborate his words. 

“ I have ten men sworn to stand by me,” 
said he. “ In a few days I hope to join your 
army, when I have done my work here. In 
the meanwhile-.” A strange change 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD. 


491 


came over his face, and he suddenly slung 
his musket to the front: “Hold up your 
hands, you French hound ! ” he yelled, 
“Up with them, or I blow your head off!” 


You start, my friends ! You stare ! Think, 
then, how I stared and started at this sudden 
ending of our talk. There was the black 
muzzle and there the dark, angry eyes behind 
it. What could I do ? 1 was helpless, I 

raised my hands in the air. At the same 
moment voices sounded from all parts of the 
wood, there were crying and calling and rush¬ 
ing of many feet. A swarm of dreadful 
figures broke through the green bushes, a 
dozen hands seized me, and I, poor, luckless, 
frenzied I, was a prisoner once more. Thank 
God, there was no pistol which I could have 
plucked from my belt and snapped at my 
own head. Had I been armed at that 
moment I should not be sitting here in this 
cafe and telling you these old-world tales. 

With grimy, hairy hands clutching me on 
every side I was led alotig the pathway 
through the wood, the villain De Pombal 
giving directions to my captors. Four of 
the brigands carried up the dead body of 
Duplessis. The shadows of evening were 
already falling when we cleared the forest 
and came out upon the mountain-side. Up 
this I was driven until we reached the head¬ 
quarters of the guerillas, which lay in a cleft 


dose to the summit of the mountain. There 
was the beacon which had cost me so much, 
a square stack of wood, immediately above 
our heads. Below were two or three huts 
which had belonged, 
no doubt, to goatherds, 
and which were now 
used to shelter these ras¬ 
cals. Into one of these 
I wa5 cast, bound and 
helpless, and the dead 
body of my poor com¬ 
rade was laid beside me, 
I was lying there 
with the one thought 
still consuming me, 
how to wait a few 
hours and to get at 
that pile of fagots 
above my head, when 
the door of my prison 
opened and a man en¬ 
tered. Had my hands 
been free I should have 
flown at his throat, for 
it was none other than 
De Pombal A couple 
of brigands were at his 
heels, but he ordered 
t h e m back a n d closed 
the door behind him. 
“Youvillain!” said I, 

“Hush!” he cried. “Speak low, for I 
do not know who may be listening, and my 
life is at stake. I have some words to say 
to you, Colonel Gerard ; I wish well to you, 
as I did to your dead companion. As I 
spoke to you beside his body I saw that we 
were surrounded, and that your capture was 
unavoidable. I should have shared your 
fate had I hesitated. I instantly captured 
you myself, so as to preserve the confidence 
of the band. Your own sense will tell you 
that there was nothing else for me to do. I 
do not know now whether I can save you, 
but at least I will try.” 

This was a new light upon the situation. 
I told him that I could not tell how far he 
spoke the truth, but that I would judge him 
by his actions. 

“ I ask nothing better,” said he. “A word 
of advice to you ! The chief will see you 
now. Speak him fair, or he will have you sawn 
between two planks. Contradict nothing he 
says. (live him such information as he 
wants. It is your only chance. If you can 
gain time something may come in our favour. 
Now, I have no more time. Come at once, 

or suspicion may be awakened” He helped 

1 Original Tram 

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" * holo u r vmm hands, you khenoi hotjni>! iik yelled." 








492 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


me to rise, and then, opening the door, he 
dragged me out very roughly, and with the 
aid of the fellows outside he brutally pushed 
and thrust me to the place where the guerilla 
chief was seated, with his rude followers 
gathered round him. 

A remarkable man was Manuelo, “The 
Smiler.” He was fat and florid and com¬ 
fortable, with a big, clean-shaven face and a 
bald head, the very model of a kindly father 
of a family. As I looked at his honest smile 
I could scarcely believe that this was, indeed, 
the infamous ruffian whose name was a 
horror through the English Army as well as 
our own. It is well known that Trent, who 
was a British officer, afterwards had the 
fellow hanged for his brutalities. He sat 
upon a boulder and he beamed upon me 
like one who meets an old acquaintance. I 
observed, however, that one of his men 
leaned upon a long saw, and the sight was 
enough to cure me of all delusions. 

“ Good evening, Colonel Gerard,” said he. 
“ We have been highly honoured by General 
Massena’s staff: Major Cortex one day, 
Colonel Duplessis the next, and now Colonel 
Gerard. Possibly the Marshal himself may 
be induced to honour us with a visit. You 
have seen Duplessis, I understand. Cortex 
you will find nailed to a tree down yonder. 
It only remains to be decided how we can 
best dispose of yourself.” 

It was not a cheering speech ; but all the 
time his fat face was wreathed in smiles, and 
he lisped out his words in the most mincing 
and amiable fashion. Now, however, he 
suddenly leaned forward, and I read a very 
real intensity in his eyes. 

“ Colonel Gerard,” said he, “ I cannot pro¬ 
mise you your life, for it is not our custom, 
but I can give you an easy death or I 
can give you a terrible one. Which shall 
it be ? ” 

“ What do you wish me to do in ex¬ 
change ? ” 

“ If you would die easy I ask you to give 
me truthful answers to the questions which I 
ask.” 

A sudden thought flashed through my 
mind. 

“You wish to kill me,” said I; “it cannot 
matter to you how I die. If I answer your 
questions, will you let me choose the manner 
of my own death ? ” 

“ Yes, I will,” said he, “ so long as it is 
before midnight to-night.” 

“ Swear it ! ” I cried. 

“ The word of a Portuguese gentleman is 
sufficient,” said he. 

Diqitized by GiQOQlC 


“ Not a word will I say until you have 
sworn it.” 

He flushed with anger and his eyes swept 
round towards the saw. But he understood 
from my tone that I meant what I said, and 
that I was not a man to be bullied into sub¬ 
mission. He pulled a cross from under his 
zammara or jacket of black sheepskin. 

“ I swear it,” said he. 

Oh, my joy as I heard the words ! What 
an end—what an end for the first swordsman 
of France! I could have laughed with 
delight at the thought. 

“ Now, your questions ! ” said I. 

“ You swear in turn to answer them 
truly ? ” 

“I do, upon the honour of a gentleman 
and a soldier.” It was, as you perceive, a 
terrible thing that I promised, but what was 
it compared to what I might gain by com¬ 
pliance ? 

“ This is a very fair and a very interesting 
bargain,” said he, taking a note book from 
his pocket. “ Would you kindly turn your 
gaze towards the French camp ? ” 

Following the direction of his gesture, I 
turned and looked down upon the camp in 
the plain beneath us. In spite of the 
fifteen miles, one could in that clear atmo¬ 
sphere see every detail with the utmost 
distinctness. There were the long squares 
of our tents and our huts, with the cavalry 
lines and the dark patches which marked the 
ten batteries of artillery. How sad to think 
of my magnificent regiment waiting down 
yonder, and to know that they would never 
see their colonel again ! With one squadron 
of them I could have swept all these cut¬ 
throats off the face of the earth. My eager 
eyes filled with tears as I looked at the 
corner of the camp where I knew that there 
were eight hundred men, any one of whom 
would have died for his colonel. But my 
sadness vanished when I saw beyond the 
tents the plumes of smoke which marked the 
head-quarters at Torres Novas. There was 
Massena, and, please God, at the cost of my 
life his mission would that night be done. 
A spasm of pride and exultation filled my 
breast. I should have liked to have had a 
voice of thunder that I might call to them, 
“ Behold it is I, Etienne Gerard, who will 
die in order to save the army of Clausel! ” 
It was, indeed, sad to think that so noble a 
deed should be done, and that no one should 
be there to tell the tale. 

“Now,” said the brigand chief, “you see 
the camp and you see also the road which 
leads to Coimbra, ^wded with your 

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THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD. 


493 



HOES THIS MEAN THAT MASSEKA IS AlMJUT TO RtTKtAT ? 11 


fourgons and your ambulances. Does this 
mean that Massena is about to retreat ? ” 

One could see the dark moving lines of 
waggons with an occasional flash of steel 
from the escort There could, apart from 
my promise, be no indiscretion in admitting 
that which was already obvious, 

“ He will retreat," said L 
14 By Coimbra ? ” 

“ I believe so." 

“ But the army of Clausel ? " 

I shrugged my shoulders. 

“ Every path to the south is blocked. No 
message can reach them. If Massena falls 
back the army of Clausel is doomed," 

“ It must take its chance, 11 said L 
“ How many men has he?" 

“ I should say about fourteen thousand," 

“ How much cavalry? ” 

“One brigade of Montbrun’s Division.” 

“ What regiments ? ” 

“ T he 4th Chasseurs, the 9th Hussars, and 
a regiment of Cuirassiers,” 

“ Quite right,” said he, looking at his note¬ 
book, “ I can tell you speak the truth, and 
Heaven help you if you don’t.” Then, 


division by division, he went over the whole 
army, asking the composition of each brigade. 
Need I tell you that I would have had 
my tongue tom out before I would have 
told him such things had I not a greater 
end in view? I would let him know all if 
I could but save the army of Clausel, 

At last he dosed his note-book and re¬ 
placed it in his pocket. “ I am obliged to 
you for this information, which shall reach 
Lord Wellington to-morrow,” said he, “ You 
have done your share of the bargain ; it is 
for me now to perform mine. How would 
you wish to die? As a soldier you would, no 
doubt, prefer to be shot, but some think that 
a jump over the Merodal precipice is really 
an easier death, A good few have taken it, 
but we were, unfortunately, never able to get 
an opinion from them afterwards. There 
is the saw, too, which does not appear to 
be popular. We could hang you, no doubt, 
but tt would involve the inconvenience of 
going down to the wood. However, a promise 
is a promise, and you seem to be an excellent 
fellow, so we will spare no pains to meet your 

wishes. Original from 

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494 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“ You said,” I answered, “ that I must die 
before midnight. I will choose, therefore, 
just one minute before that hour.” 

“Very good,” said he. “Such clinging to 
life is rather childish, but your wishes shall 
be met.” 

“ As to the method,” I added, “ I love a 
death which all the world can see. Put me 
on yonder pile of fagots and burn me alive, 
as saints and martyrs have been burned before 
me. That is no common end, but one 
which an Emperor might envy.” 

The idea seemed to amuse him very much. 
“Why not?” said he. “If Massena has 
sent you to spy upon us, he may guess what 
the fire upon the mountains means.” 

“ Exactly,” said I. “ You have hit upon 
my very reason. He will guess, and all will 
know, that I have died a soldier’s death.” 

“ I see no objection whatever,” said the 
brigand, with his abominable smile. “ I will 
send some goat’s flesh and wine into your 
hut. The sun is sinking, and it is nearly 
eight o’clock. In four hours be ready for 
your end.” 

It was a beautiful world to be leaving. I 
looked at the golden haze below, where the 
last rays of the sinking sun shone upon the 
blue waters of the winding Tagus and 
gleamed upon the white sails of the English 
transports. Very beautiful it was, and very 
sad to leave; but there are things more 
beautiful than that. The death that is died 
for the sake of others, honour, and duty, and 
loyalty, and love—these are the beauties far 
brighter than any which the eye can see. 
My breast was filled with admiration for my 
own most noble conduct, and with wonder 
whether any soul would ever come to know 
how I had placed myself in the heart of the 
beacon which saved the army of Clausel. I 
hoped so and I prayed so, for what a conso¬ 
lation it would be to my mother, what an 
example to the army, what a pride to my 
Hussars ! When I)e Pombal came at last 
into my hut with the food and the wine, the 
first request 1 made him was that he would 
write an account of my death and send it to 
the French camp. He answered not a word, 
but I ate my supper with a better appetite 
from the thought that my glorious fate would 
not be altogether unknown. 

I had been there about two hours when 
the door opened again, and the chief stood 
looking in. I was in darkness, but a brigand 
with a torch stood beside him, and I saw his 
eyes and his teeth gleaming as he peered at 
me. 

“ Ready ? ” he asked. 

Digitized by OOOQ lc 

/ o 


“ It is not yet time.” 

“ You stand out for the last minute ? ” 

“ A promise is a promise.” 

“ Very good. Be it so. We have a little 
justice to do among ourselves, for one of mv 
fellows has been misbehaving. We have a 
strict rule of our own which is no respecter 
of persons, as De Pombal here could tell 
you. Do you truss him and lay him on 
the fagots, De Pombal, and I will return to 
see him die.” 

De Pombal and the man with the torch 
entered, while I heard the steps of the chief 
passing away. De Pombal closed the door. 

“ Colonel Gerard,” said he, “ you must trust 
this man, for he is one of my party. It is 
neck or nothing. We may save you yet. 
But I take a great risk, and I want a definite 
promise. If we save you, will you guarantee 
that we have a friendly reception in the 
French camp and that all the past will be 
forgotten ?” 

“ I do guarantee it.” 

“ And I trust your honour. Now, quick, 
quick, there is not an instant to lose ! If 
this monster returns we shall die horribly, all 
three.” 

I stared in amazement at what he did. 
Catching up a long rope he wound it round 
the body of my dead comrade, and he tied a 
cloth round his mouth so as to almost cover 
his face. . 

“ Do you lie there! ” he cried, and he laid 
me in the place of the dead body. “ I have 
four of my men waiting, and they will place 
this upon the beacon.” He opened the door 
and gave an order. Several of the brigands 
entered and bore out Duplessis. For myself 
I remained upon the floor, with my mind in 
a turmoil of hope and wonder. 

Five minutes later De Pombal and his 
men were back. 

“ You are laid upon the beacon,” said he ; 
“I defy anyone in the world to say it is not 
you, and you are so gagged and bound that 
no one can expect you to speak or move. 
Now, it only remains to carry forth the body 
of Duplessis and to toss it over the Merodal 
precipice.” 

Two of them seized me by the head and 
two by the heels and carried me, stiff and 
inert, from the hut. As I came into the 
open air I could have cried out in my 
amazement. The moon had risen above the 
beacon, and there, clear outlined against its 
silver light, was the figure of the man stretched 
upon the top. The brigands were either in 
their camp or standing round the beacon, for 
none of them stopped or questioned our little 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD. 


495 



THERE, CL EAR OUTLINED AGAINST THE SILVER LIGHT, WAS THE- FIGL'JiE OF THE MAN STftETCHEO UPON THE TOT/' 


party* De Pombal led them in the direction 
of the precipice At the brow we were out 
of sight, arid there I was allowed to use my 
feet once more, De Pombal pointed to a 
narrow, winding track. 

This is the way down,” said he, and then, 
suddenly, il Dios mio, what is that?' 1 

A terrible cry had risen out of the woods 
beneath us. I saw that De Pombal was 
shivering like a frightened horse. 

41 It is that devil, 11 he whispered. 14 He is 
treating another as he treated me. But on, 
on, for Heaven help us if he lays his hands 
upon us ! ” 

One by one we crawled down the narrow 
goat track. At the bottom of the cliff we 
were back in the woods once more. Sud¬ 
denly a yellow glare shone above us, and the 
black shadows of the tree-trunks started out 
in front They had fired the beacon behind 
us. Even from where we stood we could see 
that impassive body amid the flames, and the 
black figures of the guerillas as they danced, 
howling like cannibals, round the pile. Ha! 
how T shook my fist at them, the dogs, and 


how I vowed that one day my Hussars and I 
would make the reckoning level ! 

De Pombal knew how the outposts were 
placed and all the paths which led through 
the forest. But to avoid these villains 
we had to plunge among the hills and walk 
for many a weary mile. And yet how gladly 
would I have walked those extra leagues if 
only for one sight which they brought to my 
eyes I Tt may have been two o'clock in 
the morning when we halted upon the bare 
shoulder of a hill over which our path curled. 
Looking back we saw the red glow of the 
embers of the beacon as if volcanic fires were 
bursting from the tall peak of Merodal And 
then, as I gazed, I saw something else— 
something which caused me to shriek with 
joy and to fall upon the ground, rolling in 
my delight. For, far away upon the southern 
horizon, there winked and twinkled one great 
yellow light, throbbing and flaming, the light 
of no house, the light of no star, but the 
answering beacon of Mount d’Ossa, which 
told that the army of Clause! knew what 

Etienne Gerard had been sent to tell them. 

Tiginarfrom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









Gems of the World's Galleries. 

The Most Precious Pictures According to Official Opinion. 
By Frederick Dolman. 



N The Strand Magazine 
about two years ago a num¬ 
ber of representative English 
artists were called into con- 
ference on the question as to 
f which was the greatest of the 

world’s pictures. The opinions were most 
interesting, perhaps, because of the bias of 
the individual temperament, although in the 
aggregate they may be said to have repre¬ 
sented the cultured judgment of the time. 
In the preparation of the present article I 
have appealed to the official view on a 
matter of similar interest—the most impor¬ 
tant works which the nations now possess for 
themselves in the great national collections, 
addressing my question to the curator or 
director of the following representative 
galleries:— 


France .. 
Germany. . 

Italy .... 


Belgium ... 
Holland .. 

Austria .. 
Spain .... 
United \ 
States f 


The Louvre, Paris. 

The Royal Museum, Berlin ; Dresden 
Gallery ; Pinakothek, Munich. 
Borghese Palace, Rome ; Academy of 
Fine Arts, Venice ; Uffizi Gallery 
and Pitti Palace, Florence. 

Antwerp. 

Royal Picture Gallery, La Hague ; 
Rijks Museum, Amsterdam. 

The Belvidere, Vienna. 

The Prado Museum, Madrid. 

The Metropolitan Museum, New 
York ; The Art Institute of Chicago. 


The Louvre is the greatest of the European 
picture galleries, having 2,500 works by 
nearly all the leading masters. But the 
collection has been formed in rather hap¬ 
hazard fashion during three centuries, 
although before Napoleon had carried to 
Paris his rich spoils of war it contained 
fewer than 600 pictures. According to 
present-day taste the standard of excellence 
at the Louvre greatly varies, and a large 
proportion of the collection falls below that 
which has been established in such modern 


galleries as those of London and Berlin. 
Its director, M. A. Koemppen, had, there¬ 
fore, not the supreme difficulty which might 
be supposed in answering my question. 
Whilst stating in his letter that “ there are 
many pictures in the museum of the Louvre 
which, as its chef d'ecuvre, might be repro- 

Diqilized byC iOCqIc 
¥ o 


duced in The Strand Magazine,” the 
director at once proceeds to mention as his 
own choice “ La Gioconda,” by Leonardo 
da Vinci. This picture, it may be remem¬ 
bered, was selected by Mr. Hacker, A.R.A., 
as an example of female beauty in art (vide 
“The Most Beautiful Women in Painting,” 
Strand Magazine, December, 1900), and 
the interesting circumstances under which it 
was painted were then recalled. Francis I., 
the founder of the Louvre in 1541, pur¬ 
chased the portrait about fifty years after 
it was painted for 4,000 gold florins, but 
the director could give me no estimate of 
its present-day value, “the value in money 
of a work of art depending so much upon 
various circumstances.” 

The Prado Museum at Madrid ranks next 
to the Louvre in point of size, the collection 
numbering nearly as many pictures, and 
having an even earlier origin. Begun by 
Charles V., the collection was increased by 
Philip II. and Philip IV. The building it 
now occupies, however, is comparatively 
modern, having been built about 1785 as a 
museum of natural history and academy of 
sciences. Occupying a splendid site close to 
the Salon del Prado, it ranks, next to the 
Royal Palace from which the pictures were 
removed, as the chief architectural feature of 
the Spanish capital. 

From the many fine specimens of the art 
of Titian, Raphael, Veronese, Tintoretto, 
Velasquez, Vandyck, Rubens, and Teniers 
which the Prado Gallery contains, the director, 
Senor Jos£ Villegar, wrote that preference 
should be given for my article to the 
“ Meninas ” of Velasquez, although he ad¬ 
mitted his inability to place even an approxi¬ 
mate price upon the picture. “ Las Meninas ” 
(“ The Maids of Honour ”) was painted by 
the great Spanish artist at the Court of 
Philip IV. in 1656, when Velasquez was 
fifty-seven years of age and at the height of 
his renown. In the picture “ the painter 
stands at his easel in one of the chambers 
of the palace. Though the King and Queen 
are not in sight, their figures being supposed 
to be placed beyond the canvas, we see them 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







GEMS OF THE WORLD'S GALLERIES. 


497 



in the reflection of a mirror suspended on 
the farther wall The little Princess, Mar¬ 
garita Maria, some four or five years old, occu¬ 
pies a prominent position in the foreground. 
She is attended by her maids of honour— 
one of whom kneels to hand the Princess a 
cup of water. Near to this group are shown 
two well-known dwarfs. Bar bo la and Pertusato, 
sporting with a huge mastiff. A flood of 
light streams in from an open door far 
down the room, where 
Don Joseph Nieto, the 
Queen's quartermaster, has 
just raised a curtain. Two 
other personages of the 
Court converse apart, 
barely distinguishable in 
the darkness of the 
shadows." 

The King is said to 
have been delighted with 
the picture, and there is a 
tradition that when it was 
shown to him in its finished 
state he impulsively seized 
the brush and painted in, 
on the artist's figure, the 
cross of Santiago, which 
was the badge of knight¬ 
hood in Spain. This 
honour was conferred upon 
Velasquez, but not, it is 
believed, till some years 
later, when he himself put 
the decoration into the 
picture. 

The Rijks Museum at 
Amsterdam has no fewer 
than 1,700 pictures ; but 
the Royal Picture Gallery 
at The Hague, with 600, 
is abopt the smallest of 
the leading European 
collections. 

4 * The most important 
picture, 1 ' said the director of the Rijks 
Museum, B. W. F. van Riemdyk, without 
the slightest hesitation, 41 is 4 The Night 
Watch/ by Rembrandt. A picture such as 
this is not to be valued ; it is priceless. It 
never was sold and never shall be." 

"The Night Watch” is about the most 
mislead mg title which ever got attached to a 
picture. In point of fact, Rembrandt's great 
masterpiece has no reference to the night 
and only a slight connection with a watch. 
The picture was thus named hy French 
writers early in the eighteenth century, and 
Sir Joshua Reynolds gave currency to the 

VoL xsiv,— S3- 


error in England. At that time the picture 
was so 14 obscured by oil and varnish ** as to 
make its real meaning a matter of consider¬ 
able doubt. But in 1758 it was skilfully 
cleaned by an artist named Van Dyck, who 
discovered the shield containing the names 
of some of the persons represented. From 
this due it was established that the subject 
of the work was "The Sortie of the Company 
of Franz Banning Cock,” a portion of the 


"i.AS MEM IS AS- UV VKUA!H3U££. 

The mo*! valuable Picture in the Prado Gallery, Madrid, 


and celebrated 


Civic Guard of Amsterdam emerging from 
its barracks. Captain Banning Cock, with 
his lieutenant, is in the forefront of the pic¬ 
ture, and other prominent figures are an 
ensign with the colours of the city of 
Amsterdam “Orange, white, and blue—and a 
drummer with a dog at his heels, whilst 
behind them, crowding at the doors, are 
sergeants with the halberds and guards with 
arquebuses and pikes. Altogether there 
are twenty-eight figures in the picture, the 
predominant colour of which is given by the 
citron-yellow uniform, with a blue sash, of 
the captain, other rich and harmonious 
effects being obtained from the black velvet 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










498 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


of the captain, the green uniform of the 
drummer, and the reds of the musketeers. 
The darkness of the background, which 
induced the blunder of which I have spoken, 
is believed to be entirely due to some 
accident or neglect in the care of the picture, 
“The Sortie of the Banning Cock Com¬ 
pany,” it is recorded, gave great dissatisfaction 
to Captain Banning Cock, from whom Rem¬ 
brandt received the commission, although 
when it was painted in 1643 the artist, at the 
age of thirty-five, was already famous and 


perhaps, become the great picture, palpitat¬ 
ing with human interest and truth, for, in the 
words of an English critic, in looking at 
“The Sortie of the Banning Cock Com* 
pany " one “can almost hear the beating of 
the drum and the barking of the dog.” 

The director of The Hague Gallery men* 
tioned more than one work m replying to 
my question, but gave the first place to Raul 
Potter's “The Young Bulk” This was one 
of the pictures carried off to the Louvre, 
and when there was regarded as the fourth 



41 Tilli NIGHT WATCH.'* llV HEMHRANDT. 

The mosi valuable Picture of the Uijlts Gallery, Amsterdam. 


commanding large prices. So little was 
it to his liking, indeed, that the captain 
shortly afterwards had his portrait, with those 
of his company, painted again by another 
artist. Of this picture all trace lias disap¬ 
peared, whilst Rembrandt's work, more or 
less carefully preserved generation after gene¬ 
ration under circumstances which can now 
be only conjectured, is to-day prized as the 
greatest of Amsterdam’s many art treasures. 
It is probable that Captain Banning's dis¬ 
content arose from the picture's want of 
fidelity in portraiture. The bad portrait has. 


most valuable picture in the great French 
collection. The Dutch animal-painter had 
only about ten years of achievement, dying 
at the age of twenty-eight, after having pro¬ 
duced about 140 works. “ The Young Bull,” 
which measures 7ft. ioin, by 1 e ft. 410., is his 
only life size picture of the kind, and was 
produced in 1647, when he was about mid¬ 
way in his brief career. It is not known for 
whom the great canvas was painted, but 
there is a record of its sale in 1649 for 630 
florins ; when taken away by Napoleon the 
Dutch vainly offered to ransom it for 60,000 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







GEMS OF THE WORLD'S GALLERIES. 


499 



m THE VOUNG llULi_" HV PAUL Kn-rfeli. 

The most valuable Picture in The Hague Gallery, 


florins. The bull in the picture has as his 
companions a cow, a ram, a sheep and lamb, 
and a shepherd, with a background somewhat 
monotonous in its distribution of light The 
judgment of the official expert in this case 


certainly corresponds with popular taste, for 
most visitors to The Hague Gallery, whether 
native or foreign, first make their way to the 
room in which +i The Young Bull’' is exhibited. 

The Belvidere Gallery at Vienna was once 



•n,c m ° s * ***** Pi**™* i" MICHIGAN 






















5oo 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



the residence of the renowned Prince Eugene, 
The palatial building is now the home of 1,700 
pictures, including specimens of Rubens, 
Diirer, and the Italian masters, that give 
great distinction to the Austrian capital as 
an art centre. The director, Dr. Gluck, 
gave me a list of seven as its most valuable 
masterpieces, but finally expressed his own 
belief in the supremacy of Rubens's “ tide- 


fonso Altar,” The picture thus called was 
painted for the church of the Order of St. 
Ildefonso at Brussels, whence at some time 
or other it was removed to Vienna. The 
work is in three parts. In the centre the 
Virgin is depicted presenting to the saint the 
chasuble of the Order, and on the left and 
right wings respectively are the Infanta Isa¬ 
bella with St. Clara and the Archduke Albert 


kneeling in the dress of the Order, This 
work, which was one of several produced 
by Rubens for the decoration of Brussels 
churches, is believed to date from about 
1630, when the Flemish master was between 
fifty and sixty years of age. 

Another altar-piece is considered by its 
director to be the most valuable possession of 
the gallery at Berlin, This is the joint work of 

Hubert and John 
Van Eyck, the two 
Flemish painters 
who flourished 
early in the 
fifteenth century, 
It was placed on 
the altar of St, 
Bavon, in Ghent, 
in 1432, with a 
coloured inscrip¬ 
tion on the frame¬ 
work setting forth 
that the picture 
ivas begun by 
Hubert Van Eyck 
and completed by 
his younger 
brother John, 
Having “The 
Worship of the 
Lamb” as the 
nominal subject, 
the painting, in a 
series of panels, 
really depicts the 
whole Christian 
story as it was re¬ 
garded generally 
in the fifteenth 
century. Apart 
from its excellence, 
“The Worship of 
the I^amb” is note¬ 
worthy as the first 
picture executed 
wholly in oils. It 
is believed to 
have represented 
ten years’ labour 
on the part of 
the two brothers, and in its inception 
was regarded by Hubert Van Eyck as the 
greatest effort of his life; in point of fact, 
it is the only work which can now be defi¬ 
nitely traced to his brush, whereas the story 
of several of John Van Eyck's pictures has 
been handed down to the present generation. 

The Berlin Gallery, which now numbers 

ab ° n, i»Hrbmsi^ * from 


TKE ALTAK^IFCK OF ST. BA VON. BY HUBERT AND JOHN VAN EVCK. 
The most valuable Picture in ihc lierlin Gallery. 





















GEMS OF THE WORLD'S GALLERIES . 


Soi 



1&21, when the 
collection of Mr* 

Solly, an English¬ 
man, was pur¬ 
chased by the 
Prussian Govern¬ 
ment for what 
was then con¬ 
sidered the very 
large sum of 
10,000. This 
was followed by 
the building of a 
gallery to which, 
in 1829, was re¬ 
moved a selec¬ 
tion of works 
from the Royal 
collections in 
Berlin and Pots¬ 
dam, The gal¬ 
leries of Munich 
(1,450 pictures) 
and Dresden 
(2,400) are much 
larger than that 
of the capital, 
but they have, 
not been filled 
with the same 
regard for a uniform standard of artistic value. 

The director of the Dresden Gallery, Dr. 
K. Woermann, fulfilled my confident expec¬ 
tation by at once nominating Raphael's 
u Madonna ” — usually called the “Sistine 
Madonna”—for, as visitors to the gallery will 
remember, this work is given a room all to 
itself. The Dresden u Madonna” was chosen 


by Mr. G. F. 
Watts, R,A*, as 
his example of 
the greatest 
achievement in 
art {Strand 
Magazine, 
August, ujoo), 
and in the article 
where this opin¬ 
ion was quoted 
some particulars 
will be found 
concerning this 
great picture. 

The letter with 
which Dr* Reber, 
the director of 
the Pinakothek, 
Munich, favoured 
me suggested 
that, on the 
whole, the most 
valuable and re- 
presentative 
lecture in the 
collection under 
his charge is 
Murillo's “The 
Melon Eaters.” 
Although a famous example of the Spanish 
master, measuring 50m. by 42m,, little is 
known concerning the history of this picture, 
and Murillo’s biographers have failed to record 
the circumstances under which it was painted. 
It was originally in the Mannheim Gallery* 
u The great triptych, * The Descent from 
the Cross,* the chief work of Quentin 


" THE MKLOS LAJItKs" «V MURILLO. 

The mo*i valuable Picture in iht Munich Gallery. 



TUB*- PERCENT Fl»mi THB CROSS. 1 * BV QUfc'Pfflpi jWVff FQ m 

^ |CH|GAN 


















S° 2 


Tff£ STRAND MAGAZINE, 



housed in palaces of mediaeval splen¬ 
dour, and are under the direction of 
the same gentleman, Signor E. Nidalf 
As the most valuable picture in the 
Uffizi he mentioned Titian’s “ Flora,” 
and in the Pitti Raphael's l( La 
Madonna della-Seggiola,” 

Titian’s world-renowned “Flora” 
is the picture of a lady whose identity 
has never been established, although 
by some writers she is supposed to 
have been Laura D’Este, the wife or 
mistress of Duke Alphonso of Ferrara. 
The title “Flora” may have a double 
meaning, as regards the lady’s name 
and also the roses, jessamine, etc,, 
which she is handing to her unseen 
lover. The work, which depicts the 
lady’s head and shoulders life-size, was 
executed by Titian about 1523. It 
was taken out of the Duke of Ferrara’s 
“ (iardaroba ” and placed in the 
Uffizi Gallery as long ago as 1793. 
Unfortunately, it has suffered a good 
deal from the hands of time, although 
its colouring is still beautiful. 

Raphael's 11 Madonna della 


flora." uv TrriAK. 

The most valuable Picture in ihc Utfm Gallery. 
Florence. 


Massys,” writes M. Pierre Koch, the 
curator of the Antwerp Museum of 
Fine Arts, “ may perhaps be con¬ 
sidered the most precious picture in 
our gallery—its value is inestimable.” 

Massys, whose works are compara¬ 
tively little known in this country, 
was a Flemish painter, a native of 
Louvain, whose life was spent chiefly 
at Antwerp. Born in 1466, he painted 
the triptych for the chapel of the 
joiners’ guild in Antwerp Cathedral 
about 1508. The joiners’ guild, it is 
recorded, paid the artist 300 florins 
for the work, which amount was in¬ 
creased to 1,500 florins when the 
Antwerp magistrates purchased it 
for the town in 1580. 

Of the Italian galleries the Uffizi 
and Pitti at Florence have undis¬ 
puted pre - eminence. By some 
authorities, indeed, they are said to 
form together the finest collection in 
the world, this verdict being based 
upon the absence of actual inferiority 
and the small proportion of even 
mediocrity in the 1,900 works which 
they 


“THE ^AiiOSlNVi!, 


V K A I'll AH., 


The iiiQHst valuable rKttWWtW 'Flit/Gallery, Florera. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















GEMS OF THE WORLD'S GALLERIES, 


503 



Seggiola,” or “Madonna in a Chair,” has 
likewise suffered, being about the same 
age, although its worst injuries have probably 
been inflicted in the vain effort to restore its 
original beauty. The picture is believed to 
have been painted either for the Pope, Leo X., 
or for some member of the great Medici 
family, and it was exhibited as far back as 1589 
in the Palace of the 
Uffizi. 

The picture galle 
the Borghese 
Palace in Rome 
is still in private 
ownership; but it 
is destined even¬ 
tually to become 
the property of 
the Italian nation, 
and in the mean¬ 
time it is like a 
public institution 
in the facilities 
which are given 
for its public use, 
whilst it is incom¬ 
parably superior 
to the many pri¬ 
vate collections 
still to be found in 
the Eternal City. 

“ The picture 
in this gallery,” 
writes Signor 
Gio. PiancastelH, 
the director, “ I 
advise you to re¬ 
produce in your 
article is *The 
Sacred and Pro¬ 
fane I-ove/ by 
Tiztano Vecelli, 
which i s we 11 
known urbi et 
orb i t even too 
much known to 
be reproduced 
again, but the 
one that charac¬ 
terizes the gallery 
better than any 
other. It is 

very difficult to value it. I can tell you only 
that there have been offers up to ^200,000,” 

As was the case with Raphael’s Dresden 
“ Madonna,” Titian's “ Sacred and Profane 
Ijove ” figured in The Strand’s article on 
“The World’s Greatest Pictures.” It was 
the choice of Mr. W. P. Frith, R.A., with re men 


11 THE ASSUMPTION OK THE VlHCiN." BY TITIAN. 

The most valuable Picture jn the Academy* Venice. 


whom I discussed the circumstances under 
which it was painted (Strand Magazine, 
August, 1900.) 

The Accademia di Belle Arti at Venice, 
now located in one of the old guild houses, is 
the stronghold, so to speak, of Titian’s work. 
Although its 650 pictures include many 
great examples of other masters, I felt almost 
certain that the director, 
>r N* Barozzi, would 
ion either a Titian 
or a Tintoretto 
in reply to my 
question. His 
answer was in 
favour of “ The 
Assumption of 
the Virgin,” by 
the former 
master, the work 
which in 1518 
placed Titian at 
the head of the 
then flourishing 
school of Vene¬ 
tian artists. It 
was painted for 
the high altar of 
the church of 
Santa Maria di 
Friari in Venice, 
and occupied 
him for two years. 
When the picture 
was raised to the 
altar the church 
was thronged 
with a crowd of 
people who were 
lost in admiration 
of the beauty of 
its colouring. Al¬ 
though in excel¬ 
lent preservation, 
the picture is said 
to be much less 
beautiful in its 
present position 
at the Academy 
than when it was 
still adorning the 
church. 

What have we in our National Gallery to 
be placed in the same category with these 
gems of the greatest price in the national 
galleries of France, Germany, Italy, Austria, 
Holland, and Spain ? The answer is hardly 
a matter of opinion, J sun pose, for everybody 










5°4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 



in Parliament for the purchase of Raphael’s 
11 Ansidei Madonna" from the Duke of 
Marlborough—the highest price ever paid 
in any country for a single picture. This 
work, which was bought by the nation in 
1884, was acquired by the first Duke in the 
course of one of his campaigns for a com¬ 
paratively small sum. It was painted by 
Raphael on a commission from the Ansidei 
family of Perugia, vvho presented it to the 
church of S. Fiorenzo in that city* for the 
decoration of the altar. There is little doubt 
but that the work was produced about 1506 
or 1507, when Raphael was only twenty-three 
and in his second or il Florentine ” manner, 
as it is called, although for a long time the 


date in the corner of the picture on the 
border of the Virgin’s robe was read as 
MDV, instead of ML)VI. or MDVII, 

In recent years the American millionaire 
has loomed largely in European art sales, 


and some of the most costly pictures have 
crossed the Atlantic, But these are not yet 
to be found in the public galleries of the 
United States. The most costly picture of 
which the Metropolitan Museum, New York, 
can boast is J. L* E. Meissonier's u 1807," for 
which 66,ooodols. was paid a few years ago. 
As Mr. G, H, Store, the director, in giving 
me this information, points out, however, the 
picture has greatly appreciated in value, and 
it is estimated by experts that if “1807” 
were put up to auction in Paris to-day it 
w f ould fetch at least 2oo,ooodols. — or 
^40,000. The gallery of which this is the 
chtj <?&uvre was built in 1880 in the 
midst of the great Central Park, at a cost of 

5DD,ooodols. 

Chicago, the 
constant rival of 
New York, built 
its Art Institute 
about the same 
time, giving the 
building a fine site 
on the lake front. 
“ I rather think,” 
replied Mr. \V. M. 
R. French, the 
director, to my 
question, “the 
most costly picture 
in our collection 
is ‘The Jubilee/ 
by Adriaen van 
Ostade, which we 
bought of the 
Princess Demi- 
doff, of Florence, 
for 40,50odols.” 
“The Jubilee,” a 
canvas which is 
1 Sin, by i6ia, is 
signed and dated 
1675. It is a 
highly character¬ 
istic and import 
ant example of 
the Flemish 
master, about 
400 of whose 
oil paintings are 
extant, but it is 
not a picture 
to which any 
particular story is attached, and nothing 
is known of its antecedents, I believe, 
before it came into the possession of the 
Russo-Italian family of the Demidoffs at 
Florence. J ric J mal rioiTl 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


M THIS JUHILELB** (JV ADRIAEN 1 VAtf OSTAPE. 

The most valuable Picture in the Art Institute, Chicago. 









The Sorceress of the Strand. 

By L, T. Meade axd Robert Eustace. 


II.—THE BLOOD-RED GROSS. 




N the month of November in 
the year 1899 I found myself 
a guest in the house of one of 
my. oldest . friends — George 
Rowland. His beautiful place 
in Yorkshire was an ideal 
holiday resort. It went by the name of 
Rowland^ Folly, and had been built on the 
site of a former dwelling in the reign of the 
first George. The house was now replete 
with e\ery modern luxury. It, however, very 
nearly cost its first owner, if not the whole of 
his fortune, yet the most precious heirloom 
of the family. This was a pearl necklace of 
almost fabulous value. It had been secured 
as booty by a certain Geoffrey Rowland at 
the time of the Battle of Agincourt, had 
originally been the property of one of the 
Dukes of Genoa, and had even for a short 
time been in the keeping of the Pope. 
From the moment that Geoffrey 
Rowland took possession 
necklace there had been 
attempts made to deprive 
it. Sword, fire, water, 
poison, had all been used, 
but ineffectually. The neck¬ 
lace with its eighty pearls, 
smooth, symmetrical, pear- 
shaped, of a translucent 
white colour and with a 
subdued iridescent sheen, 
was still in the possession 
of the family, and was 
likely to remain there, as 
George Rowland told me, 
until the end of time. Each 
bride wore the necklace 
on her wedding-day, after 
which it was put into the 
strong-room and, as a rule, 
never seen again until the 
next bridal occasion. The 
pearls were roughly esti¬ 
mated as worth from two 
to three thousand pounds 
each, but the historical 
value' of the necklace put 
the price almost beyond 
the dreams of avarice. 

It was reported that in 
the autumn of that same 

Yol. —04. 

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year an American millionaire had offered to 
buy it from the family at their own price, but 
as no terms would be listened to the negotia¬ 
tions fell through. 

George Rowland belonged to the oldest 
and proudest family in the West Riding, and 
no man looked a better gentleman or more 
fit to uphold ancient dignities than he. He 
was proud to boast that from the earliest 
days no stain of dishonour had touched his 
house, that the women of the family were as 
good as the men, their blood pure, their 
morals irreproachable, their ideas lofty. 

I went to Rowland's Folly in November, 
and found a pleasant, hospitable, and cheer¬ 
ful hostess in Lady Kennedy, Rowland’s only 
sister. Antonia Ripley was, however, the 
centre of all interest. Rowland was engaged 
to Antonia, and the history was romantic, 
I^ady Kennedy told me all about it. 


' L.VUV KEN.MJJDY Til LD ME AI -I- ABOUT IT." 

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“She is a penniless girl without family,” 
remarked the good woman, somewhat snap¬ 
pishly. “ I can't imagine what George was 
thinking of.” 

“ How did your brother meet her ? ” I 
asked. 

“We were both in Italy last autumn ; we 
were staying in Naples, at the Vesuve. An 
English lady was staying there of the name 
of Studley. She died while we were at the 
hotel. She had under her charge a young 
girl, the same Antonia who is now engaged 
to my brother. Before her death she begged 
of us to befriend her, saying that the child 
was without money and without friends. All 
Mrs. Studley's money died with her. We 
promised, not being able to do otherwise. 
George fell in love almost at first sight. 
Little Antonia was provided for by becom¬ 
ing engaged to my brother. I have nothing 
to say against the girl, but I dislike this Sort 
of match very much. Besides, she is more 
foreign than English.” 

“ Cannot Miss Ripley tell you anything 
about her history ? ” 

“ Nothing, except that Mrs. Studley 
adopted her when she w’as a tiny child. 
She says, also, that she has a dim recollec¬ 
tion of a large building crowded with people, 
and a man who stretched out his arms to her 
and was taken forcibly away. That is all. 
She is quite a nice child, and amiable, with 
touching ways and a pathetic face; but no 
one knows what her ancestry was. Ah, 
there you are, Antonia ! What is the matter 
now ? ” 

The girl tripped across the room. She 
was like a young fawn ; of a smooth, olive 
complexion—dark of eye and mysteriously 
beautiful, with the graceful step which is 
seldom granted to an English girl. 

“ My lace dress has come,” she said. 
“ Markham is unpacking it—but the bodice 
is made with a low neck.” 

Lady Kennedy frowned. 

“You are too absurd, Antonia,” she said. 
“ Why won't you dress like other girls ? I 
assure you that peculiarity of yours of always 
wearing your dress high in the evening 
annoys George.” 

“ Does it ? ” she answered, and she 
stepped back and put her hand to her neck 
just below the throat—a constant habit of hers, 
as I afterwards had occasion to observe. 

“ It disturbs him very much,” said Lady 
Kennedy. “ He spoke to me about it only 
yesterday. Please understand, Antonia, that 
at the ball you cannot possibly wear a dress 
high to your throat. It cannot be permitted.” 

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“ I shall be properly dressed on the night 
of the ball,” replied the girl. . 

Her face grew crimson, then deadly pale. 

“ It :only wants a fortnight to that time, 
but I shall be ready.” 

There was a solemnity about her words. 
She turned and left the room. 

“Antohia is a very trying character,” said 
Lady Kennedy. “ Why won’t she act like 
other girls ? She makes such a fuss about 
wearing a proper evening dress that she tries 
my patience—but she is all crotchets.” 

“ A sweet little girl for all that,*” was my 
answer. 

“Yes ; men like her.” 

Soon aftetwards, as I was strolling on the 
terrace, I met Miss Ripley.* She was sitting 
in a* low chair. I noticed how small, and 
slim, and young she looked, and how pathetic 
was the expression of her little face. When 
she saw me she seemed to hesitate ; then she 
came to my side. 

u May I walk with you, Mr. Druce ? ” she 
asked. 

“ I am quite at your service,” 1 answered. 
“ Where shall we go ? ” 

“ It doesn’t matter. I want to know if 
you will help me.” 

“Certainly, if I can, Miss Ripley.” 

' “It is most important. I want to go to 
London.” 

“ Surely that is not very difficult?” 

“They won't allow me to go alone, and 
they are both very busy. I have just sent a 
telegram to a friend. I want to see her. I 
know she will receive me. I want to go to¬ 
morrow. May I venture to ask that you 
should be my escort ? ” 

“ My dear Miss Ripley, certainly,” I said. 
“ I will help you with pleasure.” 

“ It must be done,” she said, in a low voice. 
“ I have put it off too long. When I marry 
him he shall not be disappointed.” 

“I do not understand you,” I said, “but 
I will go with you with the greatest willing 
ness.” 

She smiled ; and the next day, much to my 
own amazement, I found myself travelling 
first-class up to London, with little Miss 
Ripley as my tompanion. Neither Rowland 
nor his sister had approved ; but Antonia 
had her own way, and the fact that I 
would escort her cleared off some diffi¬ 
culties. 

During our journey she bent towards me 
and said, in a low tone:— 

“ Have you ever heard of that most 
wonderful, that great woman, Madame Sara?’’ 

I looked at her intently. 

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“ I have certainly Heard of Madame Sara/’ 
I said, with emphasis, “but I sincerely trust 
that you have nothing to do with her. 11 

“ I have known her almost all my life," 
said the girl “ Mrs, Studley knew her also. 
I love her very much, I trust her. I am 
going to see her now,” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ It was to her I wired yesterday. She 
will receive me ; she will help me, I am 
returning to the Folly to-night. Will you 
add to your kindness by escorting me home ? n 
“ Certainly/' 

At Euston I put my charge into a hansom, 
arranging to meet her on the departure plat¬ 
form at twenty minutes to six that evening, 
and then taking another hansom drove as 
fast as 1 could to Vandeleur's address. 
During the latter part of my journey to town 
a sudden, almost unaccountable, desire to 
consult Vandeleur had taken possession of 
me. I was lucky enough to find this busiest 
of men at home and at leisure. He gave an 
exclamation of delight when my name was 
announced, and then came towards me with 
outstretched hand, 

■ £ I was just about to wire to you, Druce,” 
he said. “ From where have you sprung ? !1 

11 From no less a place than Rowland’s 
Folly/' was my answer. 

** More and more amazing. Then you 


have met Miss Ripley, 
George Rowland's ? n 
u You have heard of the 
engagement, Vandeleur?” 

“Who has not? What 
sort is the young lady? ** 

“ I can tell you all you 
want to know, lor I have 
travelled up to town with 
her.” 

“ Ah ! " 

He was silent for a 
minute, evidently thinking 
hard ; then drawing a chair 
near mine he seated him¬ 
self. 

“ How long have you 
been at Rowland's Folly ? ” 
he asked, 

“Nearly a week, I am 
to remain until after the 
wedding. I consider Row¬ 
land a lucky man. He is 
marrying a sweet little 
girl" 

“You think so? By the 
way, have you ever noticed 
any peculiarity about her ? M 

“Only that she is singularly amiable and 
attractive/ 5 

“But any habit—pray think carefully 
before you answer me/’ 

“ Really, Vandeleur, your questions sur¬ 
prise me. Little Miss Ripley is a person 
with ideas and is not ashamed to stick to her 
principles. You know, of course, that in a 
house like Rowland's Folly it is the custom 
for the ladies to come to dinner in full dress. 
Now, Miss Ripley won’t accommodate herself 
to this fashion, but wiil wear her dress high 
to the throat, however gay and festive the 
occasion/’ 

“ Ah I there doesn't seem to be much in 
that, does there ? ” 

“ I don't quite agree with you, Pressure 
has been brought to bear on the girl to make 
her conform to the usual regulations, and 
I^ady Kennedy, a woman old enough to be 
her mother, is quite disagreeable on the 
point/ 1 

“ But the girl sticks to her determina¬ 
tion ? 11 

“Absolutely, although she promises to 
yield and to wear the conventional dress at 
the ball given in her honour a week before 
the wedding/’ 

Vandeleur was silent for nearly a minute ; 
then dropping his voice he said, slowly 

“ Did Miss Ripley ever mention in your 

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presence the name of our mutual foe— 
Madame Sara ? ” 

14 How strange that you should ask ! 
On our journey to town to-day she told me 
that she knew the woman—she has known 
her for the greater part of her life —poor 
child, she even loves her. Vandeleur, that 
young girl is with Madame Sara now.” 

“Don’t he alarmed, Druce; there is no 
immediate danger \ but T may as well tell 
you that through my secret agents I have 
made discoveries which show that Madame 
has another iron in the fire, that once again 
she is preparing to convulse Society, and that 
little Miss Ripley is the victim.” 


“ You must be mistaken.” 

“So sure am I, that I want your help. 
You are returning to Rowland’s Folly ? ,r 
u To-night.” 

“ And Miss Ripley?” 
u She goes with me. We meet at Euston 
for the six o’clock train.” 

“So far, good. By the way, has Rowland 
spoken to you lately about the pearl neck 
lace?” 

“ No ; why do you ask ?” 

11 Because I understand that it was his 
intention to have the pearls slightly altered 

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and reset in order to fit Miss Ripley's slendet 
throat; also to have a diamond clasp affixed 
in place of the somewhat insecure one at 
present attached to the string of pearls. 
Messrs. Theodore and Mark, of Bond Street, 
were to undertake the commission* All was 
in preparation, and a messenger, accompanied 
by two detectives, was to go to Rowland's 
Folly to fetch the treasure, when the whole 
thing was countermanded, Rowland having 
changed his mind and having decided that 
the strong-room at the Folly was the best 
place in which to keep the necklace.” 

“ He has not mentioned the subject to 
me,” I said. u How do you know ? ” 

“ I have my emissaries. 
One thing is certain — 
little Miss Ripley is to 
wear the pearls on her 
wedding - day — and the 
Italian family, distant re¬ 
latives of the present 
Duke of Genoa, to whom 
the pearls belonged, and 
from whom they were 
stolen shortly before the 
Battle of A gin court, a to 
again taking active steps 
to secure them. You 
have heard the story of the 
American millionaire? 
Well, that was a blind — 
the necklace was in reality 
to be delivered into the 
hands of the old family as 
soon as he had purchased 
it. Now, Druce, this is 
the state of things : 
Madame Sara is an adven¬ 
turess, and the cleverest 
woman in the world — 
Miss Ripley is very young 
and ignorant. Miss 
Ripley is to wear the 
pearls on her wedding- 
day—and Madame wants 
them. You can infer the rest.” 

u What do you want me to do? ” I asked. 

“Go back and watch. If you see any¬ 
thing to arouse suspicion, wire to me.” 

“What about telling Rowland?” 

“I would rather not consult him. I want 
to protect Miss Ripley, and at the same time 
to get Madame into my power. She 
managed to elude us last time, but she shall 
not this. My idea is to inveigle her to her 
ruin. Why, Druce, the woman is being more 
trusted and run a her and admired clay by 
day. She appeals to the greatest foibles of 

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THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


S °9 


the world. She knows some valuable secrets, 
and is an adept in the art of restoring 
beauty and to a certain extent conquering 
the ravages of time. She is at present aided 
by an Arab, one of the most dangerous men 
I have ever seen, with the subtlety of a 
serpent, and legerdemain in every one of his 
ten fingers. It is not an easy thing to entrap 
her. ,, 

“ And yet you mean to do it ? ” 

“ Some day- some day. Perhaps now.” 

His eyes were bright. I had seldom seen 
him look more excited. 

After a short time I left him. Miss Ripley 
met me at Euslon. She was silent and un¬ 
responsive and looked depressed. Once I 
saw her put her hand to her neck. 

“ Are you in pain ? ” I asked. 

“You might be a doctor, Mr. Druce, from 
your question.” 

“ But answer me,” I said. 

She was silent for a minute; then she said, 
slowly:— 

“ You are good, and I think I ought to tell 
you. But will you regard it as a secret ? 
You wonder, perhaps, how it is that I don’t 
wear a low dress in the evening. I will tell 
you why. On my neck, just below the 
throat, there grew a wart or mole—large, 
brown, and ugly. The Italian doctors would 
not remove it on account of the position. 
It lies just over what they said was an aber¬ 
rant artery, and the removal might cause 
very dangerous haemorrhage. One day 
Madame saw it; she said the doctors were 
wrong, and that she could easily take it 
away and leave no mark behind. I hesitated 
for a long time, but yesterday, when I^ady 
Kennedy spoke to me as she did, I made up 
my mind. I wired to Madame and went to 
her to-day. She gave me chloroform and 
removed the mole. My neck is bandaged 
up and it smarts a little. I am not to remove 
the bandage until she sees me again. She is 
very pleased with the result, and says that 
my neck will now be beautiful like other 
women’s, and that I can on the night of 
the ball wear the lovely Brussels lace dress 
that Lady Kennedy has given me. That is 
my secret. Will you respect it?” 

I promised, and soon afterwards we 
reached the end of our journey. 

A few days went by. One morning at 
breakfast I noticed that the little signora 
only played with her food. An open letter 
lay by her plate. Rowland, by whose side 
she always sat, turned to her. 

“ What is the matter, Antonia ? ” he said. 
w Have you had an unpleasant letter ? ” 

Digitized by Goodie 

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“ It is from-” 

“From whom, dear?” 

“ Madame Sara.” 

“ What did I hear you say ? ” cried Lady 
Kennedy. 

“ I have had a letter from Madame Sara, 
Lady Kennedy.” 

“That shocking woman in the Strand— 
that adventuress ? My dear, is it possible 
that you know her? Her name is in the 
mouth of everyone. She is quite notorious.” 

Instantly the room became full of voices, 
some talking loudly, some gently, but all 
praising Madame Sara. Even the men took 
her part ; as to the women, they were 
unanimous about her charms and her 
genius. 

In the midst of the commotion little 
Antonia burst into a flood of tears and left 
the room. Rowland followed her. What 
next occurred I cannot tell, but in the course 
of the morning I met Lady Kennedy. 

“ Well,” she said, “ that child has won, as 
I knew she would. Madame Sara wishes to 
come here, and George says that Antonia’s 
friend is to be invited. I shall be glad when 
the marriage is over and I can get out of 
this. It is really detestable that in the last 
days of my reign I should have to give that 
woman the entree to the house.” 

She left me, and I wandered into the 
entrance hall. There I saw Rowland. He 
had a telegraph form in his hands, on which 
some words were written. 

“ Ah, Druce ! ” he said. “ I am just send¬ 
ing a telegram to the station. What ! do you 
want to send one too ? ” 

For I had seated myself by the table which 
held the telegraph forms. 

“ If you don’t think I am taking too great 
a liberty, Rowland,” I said, suddenly, “ I 
should like to ask a friend of mine here for 
a day or two.” 

“ Twenty friends, if you like, my dear 
Druce. What a man you are to apologize 
about such a trifle! Who is the special 
friend ? ” 

“ No less a person than Eric Vandeleur, 
the police-surgeon for Westminster.” 

“ What ! Vandeleur—the gayest, jolliest 
man I have ever met ! Would he care to 
come ? ” 

Rowland’s eyes were sparkling with excite¬ 
ment. 

“ I think so ; more especially if you will 
give me leave to say that you would welcome 
him.” 

“'Fell him he shall have a thousand 
welcomes, the best room in the house, the 

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best horse. Get him to come by all means, 
Druce.” 

Our two telegrams were sent off. In the 
course of the morning replies in the affirma¬ 
tive came to each. 

That evening Madame Sara arrived. She 
came by the last train. The brougham was 
sent to meet her. She entered the house 
shortly before midnight. I was standing in 
the hall when she arrived, and I felt a 
momentary sense of pUa*ure when I saw 
her start as her eyes met mine. But she 
was not a woman to be caught off her guard. 
She. .approached me at once with out¬ 
stretched hand and an eager voice. 

“ This is charming, Mr. Druce,” she said. 
“ I do not think anything pleases me more.” 
Then she added, turning to Rowland, 
“ Mr. Dixon Druce is a very old friend of 
mine.” 

Rowland gave me a bewildered glance. 
Madame turned and began to talk to her 
hostess. Antonia was standing near one 
of the open drawing-rooms. She had on a 
soft dress of pale green silk. I had seldom 
seen a more graceful little creature. But the 
expression of her face disturbed me. It wore 
now the fascinated look of a bird wnen a 
snake attracts it. Could Madame Sara be 
the snake ? Was Antonia afraid of this 
woman ? 

The next day Lady Kennedy came to me 
with a confidence. 

“ I am glad your police friend is coming,” 
she said. “ It will be safer.” 

“ Vandeleur arrives at twelve o’clock,” was 
my answer. 

“ Well, I am pleased. I like that woman 
less and less. I was amazed when she dared 
to call you her friend.” 

“Oh, we have met before on business,” I 
answered, guardedly. 

“ You won’t tell me anything further, 
Mr. Druce?” 

“ You must excuse me, Lady Kennedy.” 

“ Her assurance is unbounded,” continued 
the good lady. “She has brought a maid or 
nurse with her—a most extraordinary-looking 
woman. That, perhaps, is allowable; but 
she has also brought her black servant, an 
Arabian, who goes by the name of-Achmed.- 
I must say he is a picturesque creature 
with his quaint Oriental dress. He was all 
in flaming yellow this morning, and the 
embroidery on his jacket was worth a small 
fortune. But it is the daring of the woman 
that annoys me. She goes on as though she 
were somebody.” 

“ She is a very emphatic somebody,” I 

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could not help replying. “ London Society is 
at her feet,” 

“ I only hope that Antonia will take her 
remedies and let her go. The woman has 
no welcome from me,” said the indignant 
mistress of Rowland’s Folly. 

I did not see anything of Antonia that 
morning, and at the appointed time I went 
down to the station to meet Vandeleur. He 
arrived in high spirits, did not ask a question 
with regard to Antonia, received the informa¬ 
tion that Madame Sara was in the house with 
stolid silence, and seemed intent on the 
pleasures of the moment. 

“ Rowland’s Folly!” he said, looking round 
him as we approached one of the finest 
houses in the whole of Yorkshire. “ A folly, 
truly, and yet a pleasant one, Druce, eh ? I 
fancy,” he added, with a slight smile, “ that 
I am going to have a good time here.” 

“ I hope you will disentangle a most 
tangled skein,” was my reply. 

He shrugged his shoulders. Suddenly 
his manner altered. 

“Who is that woman?” he said, with a 
strain of anxiety quite apparent in his voice. 

“Who?” I asked. 

“That woman on the terrace in nurse’s 
dress.” 

“I don’t know. She has been brought 
here by Madame Sara—a sort of maid and 
nurse as well. I suppose poor little Antonia 
will be put under her charge.” 

“ Don’t let her see me, Druce, that’s all. 
Ah, here is our host.” 

Vandeleur quickened his movements, and 
the next instant was shaking hands with 
Rowland. 

The rest of the day passed without adven¬ 
ture. I did not see Antonia. She did not 
even appear at dinner. Rowland, however, 
assured me that she was taking necessary 
rest and would be all right on the morrow. 
He seemed inclined to be gracious to 
Madame Sara, and was annoyed at his sister’s 
manner to their guest. 

Soon after dinner, as I was standing in 
one of the smoking-rooms, I felt a light hand 
on my arm, and, turning, encountered the 
splendid pose and audacious, bright, defiant 
glance of Madame herself. 

“ Mr. Druce,” she said, “just one moment 
It is quite right that you and I should be 
plain with each other. I know the reason 
why you are here. You have come for the 
express purpose of spying upon me and 
spoiling what you consider my game. But 
understand, Mr. Druce, that there is danger 
to yourself when you interfere with the 

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schemes of one like me. 
Forewarned is forearmed.” 

Someone came into the 
room and Madame left it. 

The ball was but a 
week off, and prepa rations 
lor the great event were 
taking place. Attached to 
the house at Line left was- 
a great room built for this 


purpose. 

Rowland and I were 
walking down this room 
on a special morning ; he 
was commenting on its 
architectural merits and 
telling me what band he 
intended to have in the 
musicians 1 gallery, when 
Antonia glided into the 
room. 

11 How pale you are, 
little Tonia ! ” he said. 

This was his favourite 
name for her. He put his 
hand under her chin, 
raided her sweet, blushing 
face, and looked into lur 
eyes. 

“Ah, you want my 
answer. What a persist 
ent little puss it is I You 
shall have your way, Tonia 
—yes, certainly. For you 
I will grant what has 
never been granted before. 

All the same, what will my lady say?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ But you will let me wear them whether 
she is angry or not? ” persisted Antonia. 

“ Yes, child, I have said it.” 

She took his hand and raised it to her 
lips, then, with a curtsy, tripped out of the 
room, 

“A rare, bright little bird,” lie said, turn¬ 
ing to me. “Do you know, I feel that I 
have done an extraordinarily good thing 
for myself in securing little Antonia. No 
troublesome mamma in-law—no brothers and 
sisters, not my own and yet emphatically 
mine to consider—just the child herself. I 
am very happy and a very lucky fellow. I 
am glad my little girl has no past history. 
She is just her dear little, dainty self, no 
more and no less*” 

“What did she want with you now?” I 
asked. 

“ Little witch,” he said, with a laugh, 
“The pearls —the pearls. She insists on 


11 FOREWARNED IS FOREARMED. 

wearing the great necklace on the night of 
the hall. Dear little girl. I can fancy how 
the baubles will gleam and shine on her fair 
throat.” 

I made no answer, but I was certain that 
little Antonia’s request did not emanate from 
herself. I thought that I would search for 
Vanddeur and tell him of the circumstance, 
but the next remark of Rowland’s nipped 
my project in the bud. 

“ By the way, your friend has promised to 
be back for dinner. He left here early this 
morning.” 

“ Vanddeur ? ” I cried. 

“Yes, he has gone to town. What a first- 
rate fellow lie is ! ” 

“ He tells a good story,” 1 answered. 

“Capital Who would suspect him of 
being the greatest criminal expert of the 
day? But, thank goodness, we have no 
need of his services at Rowland's Folly.” 

Date in the evening Vanddeur returned 
He entered the house just before dinner. 1 


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observed by the brightness of his eyes and 
the intense gravity of his manner that he was 
satisfied with himself. This m his case was 
always a good sign. At dinner he was his 
brightest self, courteous to everyone, and to 
Madame Sara in particular. 

Late that night, as I was preparing to 
go to bed, he entered my room without 
knocking. 

“ Well, Druce,” he said, “ it is all right.'* 

“ All right! ” I cried; “ what do you 
mean ? ” 

“You will soon know. The moment I 
saw that woman I had my suspicions. I 
was in town to-day making some very 
interesting inquiries. I am primed now on 
every point. Expect a denouement of a 
startling character very soon, but be sure of 
one thing—however black appearances may 
be the little bride is safe, and so are the 
pearls.*' 

He left me without waiting for my reply. 

The next day passed, and the next. I 
seemed to live on tenter-hooks. Little 
Antonia was gay and bright like a bird. 
Madame*s invitation had been extended by 
Lady Kennedy at Rowland’s command to 
the day after the ball—little Antonia skipped 
when she heard it. 

“ I love her,** said the girl. 

More and more guests arrived—the days 
flew on wings—the evenings were lively. 
Madame was a power in herself. Vandeleur 
was another. These two, sworn foes at 
heart, aided and abetted each other to make 
things go brilliantly for the rest of the guests. 
Rowland was in the highest spirits. • ' 

At last the evening before the ball came 
and went. Vandeleur’s grand coup had not 
come off. I retired to bed as‘usual. The 
night was a stormy one—rain rattled against 
the window - panes, , the wind sighed and 
shuddered. I had just put out iny candle 
and was about to seek 1 forgetfulness; in sleep 
when once again in his unceremonious fashion 
Vandeleur burst into my room. 

“ I want you at once, Druce, in the bed¬ 
room of Madame Sara’s servant. Get into 
your clothes as fast as you possibly can and 
join me there.’* 

He left the room as abruptly as he had 
entered it. I hastily dressed, and with 
stealthy steps, in the dead of night, to the 
accompaniment • of the ever - increasing 
tempest, sought the room in question. 

I found it brightly lighted; Vandeleur 
pacing the floor as though he himself .were 
the very spirit of the storm; and, most 
astonishing sight of all, the nurse whom 

Diqilized by CiOOQ le 
* o 


Madame Sara had brought to Rowland’s 
Folly, and whose name I had never happened 
to hear, gagged and bound in a chair drawn 
into the centre of the room. 

“ So 1 think that is all, nurse,” said Van¬ 
deleur, as 1 entered. “ Pray take a chair, 
Druce. We quite understand each other, 
don’t we, nurse, and the facts are wonder¬ 
fully simple. Your name as entered in the 
archives of crime at Westminster is not as 
you have given out, Mary Jessop, but 
Rebecca Curt. You escaped from Portland 
prison on the night of November 30 th, just 
a year ago. You could not have managed 
your escape but for the connivance of the 
lady in whose service you are now. Your 
crime was forgery, with a strong and very 
daring attempt at poisoning. Your victim 
was a harmless invalid lady. Your know¬ 
ledge of crime, therefore, is what may be 
called extensive. There are yet eleven years 
of your sentence to run. You have doubtless 
served Madame Sara well—but perhaps you 
can serve me better. You know the conse¬ 
quence if you refuse, for I explained that 
to you frankly and clearly before this gentle¬ 
man came into the room. Druce, will you 
oblige me — will you lock the door while 
I remove the gag from the prisoner’s 
mouth ? ” 

I hurried to obey. The woman breathed 
more freely when the gag was removed. 
Her face was a swarthy red all over. Her 
crooked eyes favoured us with many shifty 
glances. 

“ Now, then, have the goodness to begin, 
Rebecca Curt,” said Vandeleur. “Tell us 
everything you can.” 

. She swallowed hard, and said :— 

“ You have forced me-” 

“We won’t mind that part,” interrupted 
Vandeleur. “The story, please, Mrs. 
Curt.” 

If looks could kill, Rebecca Curt would 
have killed Vandeleur then. He gave her 
in > return a gentle, bland glance, and she 
started on her narrative. 

“ Madame knows a secret about Antonia 
Ripley.” 

“ Of what nature ? ” 

“It concerns her parentage.” ' * 

’ “ And that is--? ” 

The woman hesitated and writhed. 

“ The names of her parents, please,” said 
Vandeleur, in a voice cold as ice and hard as 
iron. 

“ Her father was Italian by birth.” 

“ His name ? ” 

“ Count Gioletti. He was unhappily 

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THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 513 


" WE litl lTE LM>hhbTANU BACK GTIIF*!?, DOM T WE, UU RiE?" 


married* and stabbed his English wife in an 
access of jealousy when Antonia was three 
years old- He was executed for the crime 
on the 20th of June, 18—« The child was 
adopted and taken out of the country by an 
English lady who was present in court—her 
name was Mrs. Studley. Madame Sara was 
also present* She was much interested in 
the trial, and had an interview afterwards 
with Mrs. Studley. It was arranged that 
Antonia should be called by the surname of 
Ripley—the name of an old relative of 
Mrs, Stud ley's—and that her real name and 
history were never to be told to her.” 

“ I understand,” said Vandeleur, gently. 
“This is of deep interest, is it not, 

I Jruce ? ” 

I nodded, too much absorbed in watching 
tlie face of the woman to have time for 
words* 

“But now,” continued Vandeleur, “there 
are reasons why Madame should change her 
mind with regard to keeping the matter a 
close secret—is that not so, Mrs* Curt?” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs* Curt. 

“ You will have the kindness to con¬ 
tinue*” 

“Madame has an object—she blackmails 
the signora. She wants to get the signora* 
completely into her power*” 

Vol* jfAiiv, — 65, 

Digitized oy 


“ Indeed ! Is she succeeding ? ” 

“ Yes*” 

“ How has she managed? Be very careful 
what you say, please.” 

“The mode is subtle—the young lady had 
a disfiguring mole or wart on her neck, just 
below the throat. Madame removed the 
mole*” 

“ Quite a simple process, 1 doubt not,” 
said Vandeleur, in a careless tone* 

“ Yes, it was done easily—I was present. 
The young lady was conducted into a ehanv 
bet with a red light*” 

Vandeleur’s extraordinary eyes suddenly 
leapt into fire* He took a chair and drew it 
so close to Mrs* Curt's that his face was 
within a foot or two of hers* 

“Now, you will be very careful what you 
say,” he remarked. “ You know the conse¬ 
quence to yourself unless this narrative is 
absolutely reliable*” 

She began to tremble, but con¬ 
tinued :•— 

“ I was present at the operation* Not a 
single ray of ordinary light was allowed to 
penetrate* Hie patient was put under 
chloroform. The mole was removed. After¬ 
wards Madame wrote something on her 
neck* The words were very small and 

neatly- done—they formed a cross on the 

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


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O 

























5 i4 THE STRAND MAGAZINE , 


young lady’s neck. Afterwards I heard 
what they were/* 

11 Repeat them.” 

“I can't. You will know in the moment 
of victory.” 

“ I choose to know now. A detective 


from my division at Westminster conies here 
early to-morrow morning—he brings hand* 
cuffs—and—” 

** I will tell you,” interrupted the woman. 
“ The words were these :— 

“ 4 1 AM THE DAUGHTER OF PAOLO GlGLLTTJ, 
WHO WAS EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF 
MV MOTHER, JUNE 2DTH, 18 — /” 

“ How were the words written ? ” 

11 With nitrate of silver.” 

“Fiend ! ” muttered Vandeleur. 

He jumped up and began to pace the 
room. I had never seen his face so black 
with ungovernable rage. 

im You know what this means ? 11 he said at 
last to me. “ Nitrate oT silver eats into the 
flesh and is permanent. Once exposed to 
the light the case is hopeless, and the help 
less child becomes her own executioner” 

The nurse looked up restlessly. 

“The operation was performed in a room 
with a red light,” she said, “and up to the 
present the words have not been seen. Unless 
the young lady exposes her neck to the blue 
rays of ordinary light they never will be. In 
order to give her a chance to keep her deadly 


secret Madame has had a large carbuncle of 
the deepest red cut and prepared. It is in 
the shape of a cross, and is suspended to a 
fine gold, almost invisible, thread. This the 
signora is to wear when in full evening dress. 
It will keep in its place, for the back of the 

cross will be 
dusted with gum.” 

“But it cannot 
be Madame’s aim 
to hide the fateful 
words,” said Van- 
deleur. “ You are 
concealing some¬ 
thing, nurse.” 

Her face grew 
an ugly red. After 
a pause the follow¬ 
ing words came 
out with great 
reluctance 

“ The young 
lady wears the 
carbuncle as a 
reward.” 

u Ah,” said Yan- 
deleur, 14 now we 
are beginning to 
see daylight. As 
a reward for 
what ? " 

“Madame wants 
something winch 
the signora can give her. It is a case of 
exchange; the carbuncle which hides the 
fatal secret is given in exchange for that 
which the signora can transfer to Madame.” 

“ 1 understand at last," said Vandeleur. 
11 Really, Druce, 1 fed myself privileged to 
say that of all the malevolent-——” he broke 
off abruptly. “Never mind,” he said, “we 
are keeping nurse. Nurse, you have answered 
all my questions with praiseworthy exactitude, 
but before you return to your well-earned 
slumbers I have one more piece of informa¬ 
tion to seek from you. Was it entirely by 
Miss Ripley’s desire, or was it in any respect 
owing to Madame Sara's instigations, that the 
young lady is permitted to wear the pearl 
necklace on the night of the dance? You 
have, of course, nurse, heard uf the pearl 
necklace ? ” 

Rebecca Curt's face showed that she 
undoubtedly bad. 

“ I see you are acquainted with that most 
interesting story. Now, answer my question. 
The request to wear the necklace to-morrow 
night was suggested by Madame, was it 
not ? ” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



■ l M ADA MU WflOTE SOMETHING ON HEM NECK< ' 




THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


“Ah, yes—yes!” cried the woman, carried 
out of herself by sudden excitement. “It 
was to that point all else tended — all, 
all! ” 

“Thank you, that will do. You under¬ 
stand that from this day you are absolutely 
in my service. As long as you serve me 
faithfully you are safe.” 

“ I will do my best, sir,” she replied, in a 
modest tone, her eyes seeking the ground. 

The moment we were alone Vandeleur 
turned to me. 

“Things are simplifying themselves,” he 
said. 

“ I fail to understand,” was my answer. 
“ I should say that complications, and alarm¬ 
ing ones, abound.” 

“ Nevertheless, I see my way clear. Druce, 
it is not good for you to be so long out of 
bed, but in order that you may repose 
soundly when you return to your room I 
will tell you frankly what my mode of opera 
tions will be to-morrow. The simplest plan 
would be to tell Rowland everything, but 
for various reasons that does not suit 
me. I take an interest in the little girl, 
and if she chooses to conceal her secret 
(at present, remember, she does not know 
it, but the poor child will certainly be 
told everything to-morrow) I don't intend to 
interfere. In the second place, lam anxious 
to lay a trap for Madame. Now, two things 
are evident. Madame Sara’s object in 
coming here is to steal the pearls. Her 
plan is to terrify the little signora into giving 
them to her in order that the fiendish words 
writteh on the child’s neck may not be seen. 
As the signora must wear a dress with a low 
neck to-morrow night, she can only hide the 
words by means of the red carbuncle. 
Madame will only give her the carbuncle if 
she, in exchange, gives Madame the pearls. 
You see ?” 

“ I do,” I answered, slowly. 

He drew himself up to his slender height, 
and his eyes became full of suppressed 
laughter. 

“The child’s neck has been injured with 
nitrate of silver. Nevertheless, until it is 
exposed to the blue rays of light the ominous, 
fiendish words will not appear on her white 
throat. Once they do appear they will be 
indelible. Now, listen ! Madame, with all 
her cunning, forgot something. To the 
action of nitrate of silver there is an antidote. 
This is nothing more or less than our old 
friend cyanide of potassium. To-morrow 
nurse, under my instructions, will take the 
little patient into a room carefully prepared 

Diqilized by C iOO 1 ? 1C 

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5 l 5 

with the hateful red light, and will bathe the 
neck just where the baleful words are written 
with a solution of cyanide of potassium. 
The nitrate of silver will then become 
neutralized and the letters will never come 
out.” 

“ But the chjld will not know that The 
terror of Madame’s cruel story will be upon 
her, and she will exchange the pearls for the 
cross.” 

“ I think not, for I shall be there to 
prevent it. Now, Druce, I have told you all 
that is necessary. Go to bed and sleep 
comfortably.” 

The next morning dawned dull and sullen, 
but the fierce storm of the night before was 
over. The ravages which had taken place, 
however, in the stately old park were very 
manifest, for trees had been torn up by their 
roots and some of the stateliest and largest 
of the oaks had been deprived of their best 
branches. 

Little Miss Ripley did not appear at all 
that day. I was not surprised at her absence. 
The time had come when doubtless Madame 
found it necessary to divulge her awful 
scheme to the unhappy child. In the nidst 
of that gay houseful of people no one specially 
missed her; even Rowland was engaged 
with many necessary matters, and had little 
time to devote to his future wife. The ball¬ 
room, decorated with real flowers, was a 
beautiful sight. 

Vandeleur, our host, and I paced up and 
down the long room. Rowland was in 
great excitement, making many suggestions, 
altering this decoration and the other. The 
flowers were too profuse in one place, too 
scanty in another. The lights, too, were not 
bright enough. 

“By all means have the ball-room well 
lighted,” said Vandeleur. “ In a room like 
this, so large, and with so many doors leading 
into passages and sitting-out rooms, it is well 
to have the light as brilliant as possible. 
You will forgive my suggestion, Mr. Row¬ 
land, when I say I speak entirely from the 
point of view of a man who has some 
acquaintance with the treacherous dealings 
of crime.” 

Rowland started. 

“ Are you afraid that an attempt will be 
made here to-night to steal the necklace?” he 
asked, suddenly. 

“ We won’t talk of it,” replied Vandeleur. 
“Act on my suggestion and you have nothing 
to fear.” 

Rowland shrugged his shoulders, and 
crossing the room gave some directions to 

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


5 16 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


several men who were putting in the final 
touches* 

Nearly a hundred guests were expected to 
arrive from the surrounding country, and the 
house was as full as it could possibly hold* 
Rowland was to open the hall with little 
Antonia. 

There was no late dinner that day, and as 
evening approached Vandeleur sought me. 

iL I say, J )ruce, dress as early as you can, and 
come down and meet me in our host's study.” 

I looked at him in astonishment, but did 
not question him. I saw that he was 


first ball, entered. She was in soft white lace, 
and her neck anj arms were bare* The 
effect of her entrance was somewhat startling, 
and would have arrested attention even were 
we not all specially interested in her* Her 
face, neck, and amis were nearly as white as 
her dress, her dark eyes were much dilated, 
and her soft black hair surrounded her small 
face like a shadow'* In the midst of the 
whiteness a large red cross sparkled on her 
throat like living fire, Rowland uttered an 
exclamation and then stood still ; as for 
Vandeleur and myself, we held our breath in 



*’ WHAT J* IT t LIlILt ONKr 


intensely excited* His face was cold and 
stern ; it invariably wore that expression 
when he was most moved, 

I hurried into my evening clothes and came 
down again. Vandeleur vvas standing in the 
study talking to Rowland. The guests were 
beginning to arrive* The musicians were 
tuning-up in Lhe adjacent LaII-room, and signs 
of hurry and festival pervaded the entire 
place* Rowland was in high spirits and 
looked very handsome* He and Vandeleur 
talked together, and I stood a little apart. 
Vandeleur was just about to make a Sight 
reply to one of our host’s questions when we 
heard the swish of drapery in the passage 
outside, and little Antonia, dressed for her 

Diqilized by GoOqIc 
o 


suspense* What might not the next few 
minutes reveal? 

It was the look on Antonia’s face that 
aroused our fears* What ailed her? She 
came forward like one blind, or as One who 
walks in her sleep. One hand was held out 
slightly in advance, as though she meant to 
guide herself by the sense of touch* She 
certainly saw neither Vandeleur nor me, but 
when she got close to Rowland the blind 
expression left her eyes. She gave a sudden 
and exceedingly bitter cry, and ran forward, 
flinging herself into his amis* 

Kiss me once before we part for ever. 
Kiss me just once before we part,” she said, 
“ My dear little one/ 1 I heard him answer. 
Original from 
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THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


5*7 


“what is the meaning of this ? You are 
not well. There, Antonia, cease trembling. 
Before we part, my dear ? But there is no 
thought of parting. Let me look at you, 
darling. Ah !’* 

He held her at arm’s length and gazed at 
her critically. 

“No girl could look sweeter, Antonia,” he 
said, “and you have come now for the finish¬ 
ing touch—the beautiful pearls. But what 
is this, my dear ? Why should you spoil your 
white neck with anything so incongruous? 
Let me remove it.” 

She put up her hand to her neck, thus 
covering the crimson cross. Then her wild 
eyes met Vandeleur’s. She seemed to 
recognise his presence for the first time. 

“You can safely remove it,” he said to her, 
speaking in a semi-whisper. 

Rowland gave him an astonished glance. 
His look seemed to say, “ Leave us,” 
but Vandeleur did not move. 

“We must see this thing out,” he said 
to me. 

Meanwhile Rowland’s arm encircled 
Antonia’s neck, and his hand sought for the 
clasp of the narrow gold thread that held 
the cross in place. 

“ One moment,” said Antonia. 

She stepped back a pace ; the trembling in 
her voice left it, it gathered strength, her 
fear gave way to dignity. This was the hour 
of her deepest humiliation, and yet she 
looked noble. 

“ My dearest,” she said, “my kindest and 
best of friends. I had yielded to tempta¬ 
tion, terror made me weak, the dread of 
losing you unnerved me, but I won’t come 
to you charged with a sin on my conscience; 
I won’t conceal anything from you. I know 
you won’t wish me now <0 become your wife ; 
nevertheless, you shall know the truth.” 

“ What do you mean, Antonia ? What do 
your strange words signify ? Are you mad ?” 
said George Rowland. 

“ No, I wish I were; but I am no mate 
for you ; I cannot bring dishonour to your 
honour. Madame said it could be hidden, 
that this ”—she touched the cross—“would 
hide it. For this I was to pay—yes, to pay 
si shameful price. I consented, for the terror 
was so cruel. But I — I came here and 
looked into your face and I could not do it. 
Madame shall have her blood-red cross back 
and you shall know alL You shall see.” 

With a fierce gesture she tore the cross 
from her neck and flung it on the floor. 

“ The pearls for this,” she cried ; “ the 
pearls were the price ; but I \vould rather 

Digitized by Google 


you knew. Take me up to the brightest 
light and you will see for yourself.” 

Rowland’s face wore an expression im¬ 
possible to fathom. The red cross lay on the 
floor; Antonia’s eyes were fixed on his. 
She was no child to be humoured; she 
was a woman and despair was driving her 
wild. When she said, “lake me up to 
the brightest light,” he took her hand with¬ 
out a word and led her to where the full rays 
of a powerful electric light turned the place 
into day. 

“ Look ! ” cried Antonia, “ look ! Madame 
wrote it here—here.” 

She pointed to her throat. 

“The words are hidden, but this light will 
soon cause them to appear. You will see 
for yourself, you will know the truth. At 
last you will understand who I really am.” 

There was silence for a few minutes. 
Antonia kept pointing to her neck. 
Rowland’s eyes were fixed upon it. After a 
breathless period of agony Vandeleur stepped 
forward. 

“Miss Antonia,” he cried, “you have 
suffered enough. I am in a position to 
relieve your terrors. You little guessed, 
Rowland, that for the last few days I have 
taken an extreme liberty with regard to you. 
I have been in your house simply and solely 
in the exercise of my professional qualities. 
In the exercise of my manifest duties I came 
afcross a ghastly secret. Miss Antonia was 
to be subjected to a cruel ordeal. Madame 
Sara, for reasons of her own, had invented 
one of the most fiendish plots it has ever 
been my unhappy lot to come across. But 
I have been in time. Miss Antonia, you 
need fear nothing. Your neck contains no 
ghastly secret. Listen ! I have saved you. 
The nurse whom Madame believed to be 
devoted to her service considered it best for 
prudential reasons to transfer herself to me. 
Under my directions she bathed your neck to¬ 
day with a preparation of cyanide of potassium. 
You do not know what that is, but it is 
a chemical preparation which neutralizes 
the effect of what that horrible woman has 
done. You have nothing to fear—your 
secret lies buried beneath your white skin.” 

“ But what is the mystery ? ” said Row¬ 
land. “ Your actions, Antonia, and your 
words, Vandeleur, are enough to drive a man 
mad. What is it all about ? I will know.” 

“ Miss Ripley can tell you or not, as she 
pleases,” replied Vandeleur. “ The unhappy 
child was to be blackmailed, Madame Sara’s 
object being to secure the pearl necklace 
worth a King’s ransom. The cross was to be 
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


S i8 



given in exchange for the necklace. That 
was her aim, but she is defeated. Ask me 
no questions, sir. If this young lady chooses 
to tell you, well and good, but if not the 
secret is her own.” 

Vandeleur bowed and backed towards me. 

“ The secret is mine,” cried Antonia, “ but 
it also shall be yours, George. I will not be 
your wife with this ghastly thing between us + 
You may never speak to me again, but you 
shall know all the truth.” 

“ Upon my word, a brave girl, and I respect 
her,” whispered Vandeleur. “Come, Druce, 
our work so far as Miss Antonia is concerned 
is finished.” 

We left the room. 

“Now to see Madame Sara,” continued 
my friend. “ We will go to her rooms. Walls 
have ears in her case ; she doubtless knows 
the whole damiematt already; but we will 
find her at once, she can scarcely have 
escaped yet.” 

He flew upstairs. I followed him. We 
went from one corridor to another. At last we 
found Madam e's apartments. Her bedroom 
door stood wide open. Rebecca Curt was 
standing in the middle of the room. Madame 


" UEUECCA cu«T WAS STANPINii IN THE MIDDLE OP THE P.UOM,'* 


defeated. 


herself was nowhere to he seen, but there was 
every sign of hurried departure. 

“Where is Madame Sara?” inquired 
Vandeleur, in a peremptory voice. 

Rebecca Curt shrugged her shoulders. 

“Has she gone down? Is she in the 
ball-room ? Speak ! ” said Vandeleur 

The nurse gave another shrug. 

“ I only know that Achmed the Arabian 
rushed in here a few minutes ago,” was her 
answer. “ He was excited. He said some¬ 
thing to Madame. 1 think he had been listen¬ 
ing—eavesdropping, you call it. Madame 
was convulsed with rage. She thrust a few 
things together and she’s gone. Perhaps you 
can catch her.” 

Yandeleuds face turned white, 

“Til have a try,” he said. “Don’t keep 
me, Druce.” 

He rushed away, I don't know what 
immediate steps he took, but he did not 
return to Rowland's Folly, Neither was 
Madame Sara captured. 

Hut notwithstanding her escape and 
her meditated crime* notwithstanding little 
Antonia’s hour of terror, the ball went on 
merrily, and the bride-elect opened it with 

her future hus¬ 
band. On her fair 
neck gleamed the 
pearls, lovely in 
their soft lustre. 
What she told 
Rowland was 
never known; 
how he took the 
news is a secret 
between Antonia 
and himself. Hut 
one thing is cer¬ 
tain : no one was 
more gallant in 
his conduct, more 
ardent in his 
glances of love, 
than was the 
master of Row¬ 
land’s Folly that 
night. They were 
married on the 
day fixed, and 
Madame Sara was 


jOO 



Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





































From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 

LXXVIII. 

(viewed m HENRY W. LUCY.) 


THE 


GENTLEMEN of England who 

sit at home at ease reading 
journals t ■ 

J their morning paper containing 

OF THE v r 4 o 

columns of Parliamentary report, 
house. rec } c G f another record of 

Parliamentary proceedings painstakingly 
compiled, in due time stoutly bound, and 
stored m the Palace of Westminster. These 
are the Journals of the House of Commons, 
to-day compiled by the Clerks of the Table as 
they were by their predecessors 300 years 
ago. Lining the long corridor of the House 
of Commons, which cuts across the building 
from the Lobby where 
the bust of Cromwell 
surveys the scene to the 
door of the office of 
the Speaker’s Secretary, 
the calf-bound volumes 
stand row on row chroni¬ 
cling in severely simple 
style the history of Eng¬ 
land. Beginning long be¬ 
fore morning newspapers 
were established, holding 
the field at a time when 
the reporting of debates 
in Parliament was a crimi¬ 
nal offence, these musty 
volumes tell the tale of the 
Sessions in unbroken con¬ 
tinuity. Rarely opened, 
their existence known only 
to comparatively few, they 
plod along adding yearly 
to their bulk, scrupu¬ 
lously preserving in this 
twentieth century the manner of writing and 
of printing observed in the seventeenth. 

Here is a transcript, capital letters 
and italics duly preserved, of 
record of a historic event under 
date Wednesday, 23rd January, 
1901 : " IT having pleased Almighty God to 
take to His mercy our late Most Gracious 
Sovereign l^dy Queen Victoria of blessed 
memory, who departed this life yesterday 
between the hours of Six and Seven of the 
clock in tlie evening, at Osborne House , in 
the 1 s/e of Wight ; and Her late Majesty’s 
Most Honourable Privy Council, and others, 
having met this day at Saint James's Palate, 
and having directed that His Royal Highness 
Albert Edward Prince of Wales be pro¬ 
claimed King To-morrow at Nine of the 



hiK. TAKING THE OATH 


THE 

king’s 

ACCESSION. 


DN 


^lized by CiOGQ Ic 


clock, by the Style and Title of Edward 
the Seventh : At Four of the clock the 
House met pursuant to the Statute made in 
the Sixth year of the reign of Her late 
Majesty Queen Anne, intituled, 1 An Act for 
the Security of Her Majesty’s Person and 
Government, and of the Succession to the 
Crown of Great Britain in the Protestant 
Line. J And Mr. Speaker and several other 
Members (Eninas Broxhalm Grey Jenkinson, 
Esquire, c.h., and Arthur William Nukoistm, 
Esquire, the Clerks Assistant, and the other 
Clerks attending according to their duty) 
came into the House, 
whereupon Mr. Speaker 
first alone, standing upon 
the upper step of the 
Chair, took and sub¬ 
scribed the Oath required 
by I^aw. Then several 
Members took and sub¬ 
scribed the Oath ; and 
several Members made 
and subscribed the Affir 
mation required by Law.” 

With the exception of 
one line this is, with varia¬ 
tion of date and proper 
name, a copy of the entry 
recording the death of 
British Sovereigns since 
the Restoration. The varia¬ 
tion appears in the con¬ 
cluding line, where the fact 
that several mem hers made 
affirmation instead of tak¬ 
ing the Oath is recorded. 
In the “ Thousand and One 
Nights” each chapter concludes 
with a certain monotony. The 
break of day always interrupts 
Scheherazade at the most critical point in 
her story, and is recorded in a phrase that 
varies slightly in form. A similar peculiarity 
marks the Journals of the House of Com¬ 
mons. Save towards the end of the 
Session, when by special order the House 
is adjourned without question put, a Minister 
moves the adjournment as soon as the busi¬ 
ness on the paper has been disposed of. 
The last daily entry in the Journals of the 
House uses a formula more precise in 
its repetition even than the scheming 
Scheherazade's welcome of the daylight that 
brought her fresh respite. Taking the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


AND 

THEN.” 

















520 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 


entry of the 15th of February, for example, 
it is written: “And then the House having 
continued to sit till one minute after twelve 
of the clock on Friday morning, adjourned 
till this day.” 

With necessary variation of hour and day, 
that through the centuries is the last thing 
written in the Journal of a sitting of the 
House of Commons. About the “ And 
then ” there is discernible a touch of grateful 
relief on the part of the Clerk at the close- 
of a more or less laborious sitting. 

Another peculiarity ! of diction 
“the yeas in the Journals is found in 
have it.” the formula recording divisions. 

When the Speaker calls a division 
he says, “The ayes to the right the noes to 
the left.” In far-off times, some dead and 
forgotten Clfcck of the House of Commons 
recording such an event naturally dropped 
into the vernacular of his quiet home or the 
busy street. He accordingly ,wrote, “The 
House divided, the yeas to the right the noes 
to the left.” Adding the figures he con¬ 
cluded the entry with the cooing remark, 
“So it passed in the negative,” or in the 
affirmative, as the case might be. 

These are small things but their touch 
carries us far back, realizing in a flash the 
antiquity of the mother of Parliaments. 

In the volume from which I 
quote, being the 156th, there 
appears a valuable hint to mem¬ 
bers about to bring on questions 
of breach of privilege. In the closing days 
of the Session of 1901, the Globe frankly 
discussed some recent performance of the 
Irish members under the 
heading “ Irish Rowdies.” 

Had the incident been 
ignored by the persons 
affronted it would have 
passed into comparative 
obscurity and by this 
time been forgotten. Like 
most people habitually 
prone to make violent 
personal attacks on 
others, the Irish mem¬ 
bers are quick to resent 
approach to reprisals. 

Desirous above all 
things to vindicate order 
and to resent the use 
of strong language, Mr. 

John Dillon brought the 
article under the notice 
of the House as a breach 
of privilege. It was 

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A SPLENDID 
ADVERTISE¬ 
MENT. 



MKj DI4.LON ON THE i.MHlK. 


accordingly read at the Table of the House, 
with the immediate consequence that the 
offensive lines were republished by every 
paper in the kingdom, the publication com¬ 
plained of being increased a thousandfold. 

But the Globe received another and more 
permanent advertisement. In accordance 
with usage, order was made that the offend¬ 
ing article should be entered in the Journals 
of the House. There it stands at this day, 
and there it will remain for all time, showing 
how some publicists, writing in the first 
year of the new century, regarded the Irish 
members as “political mercenaries from the 
Sister Isle,” and regretted “ their recent out¬ 
rageous behaviour/ 1 

__ ^ A good deal is heard from 

PHOTOU RAPHE R - * ^ r c- n 

time to time of Sir Benjamin 

' u Stone's collection of photo¬ 
graphs relating to Parliamen¬ 
tary life. The photographs taken on the 
Terrace of the House of Commons, multitu¬ 
dinous as they are, form only a section of 
this unique collection. Ike Ulysses, much has 
Sir Benjamin travelled, much of men and 
cities has he seen. Before he entered the 
House as member for East Birmingham he 
visited Japan, China, the Straits Settle¬ 
ments, Asia Minor, the West Indies, the 
Rocky Mountains, Vancouver, and the River 
Amazon, not to mention ordinary accom¬ 
plishment in the way of historic places on 
the Continent of Europe. Wherever he went 
be carried with him his camera, bringing home 
photographs of whatever he saw. Nor are 
these of the ordinary snap-shot character 
common to Cook's tourists. They are works 
of art, skilful use of the platinum 
process giving them the appear¬ 
ance rather of engravings than of 
photographs. The fact is, it Sir 
Benjamin had not been dazzled 
by the dignity of being 
five times Mayor of 
Sutton - Coldfield, he 
would have been—-per¬ 
haps he is—the most 
s u cces sfu l ph otogra ph i s t 
of the age. 

In addition to being 
an artistic photographer 
he is a practised writer, 
having recorded in 
several volumes his 
travels in Japan, Brazil, 
Spain, and Norway. 
His practice, extended 
T ■ f over many years, has 

been that when he takes 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR * 


5 21 


AN 
INTEREST¬ 
ING 

BEQUEST, 

posterity. 



sifc u. st;jnk Fosini; a subject 


a photograph of a memorable scene or a 
distinguished person he writes a descriptive 
note, which is affixed to the picture when it 
is stored away and catalogued* The con¬ 
sequence is that his collection, which now 
numbers 25,000 separate plates, is an un- 
paralleled pictorial history of the world. 

It is well to know 
that this rare 
achievement will 
not be lost to the 
public and to 
Sir Benjamin tells 
me he has bequeathed the 
collection to the 
care of trustees, with 
direction to take 
whatever steps they 
in their judgment 
think best calcu¬ 
lated to add to the 
instruction and 
entertainment of the 
public* Whether the 
pictures, with per¬ 
sonal notes or des¬ 
criptions of scenery, 
shall be published 
in book form, or 
whether they shall 
be deposited in 
some public institution, is a matter Sir Benja¬ 
min leaves to the unfettered discretion of the 
trustees* Amongst the series of pictures of 
immediate home interest are photographs of 
every part of the interior of the structure of 
the Palace o t Westminster, The Tower of 
London has been dealt with in the same 
minute and masterly fashion* 

One of the most beautiful and impressive 
among the multitudinous pictures is one of 
which I possess a cherished copy. It shows 
the last halt of Mr* Gladstone on his way to 
burial in Westminster Abbey. It was taken 
early on the morning of the 5th June, 3898. 
Westminster Hall is empty, save for the 
coffin set in its midst, on which the early 
morning light falls softly through the lofty 
windows set in their place when Richard II. 
was King* 

During the summer Session Sir Benjamin 
Stone had a rich harvest of celebrities in the 
foreign, Indian, and Colonial celebrities 
coming over for the Coronation. His studio 
is a portion of the Terrace belonging to the 
deserted section pertaining to the House of 
Lords* With quick artistic eye he dis¬ 
covered the usefulness of the accessory of 
a wrought-iron gateway opening on to the 

VoL aniv*—66* 

Digitized by CiOOQlC 

■ \ ■ J** 


IN COM¬ 
MITTEE OF 
SUPPLY* 


Terrace. With this background his subjects 
are posed. It is a memorable procession, 
including all the more famous past and pre¬ 
sent members who have held seats during 
the last seven years. In addition is the fringe 
of foreign notabilities who flock to the Lobby 
of the House of Commons. The latest 
photograph of Mr* 
Chamberlain was 
taken by Sir Benja¬ 
min on the day 
peace was signed at 
Pretoria. 

One of 
the best 
of the 
n e w 
Rules of Procedure 
was quietly estab¬ 
lished when, some 
Sessions ago, Mr* 
Arthur Balfour 
carried the Standing 
Order which sets 
apart a certain num¬ 
ber of days upon 
which Supply shall 
be considered in 
Committee* Prac¬ 
tically this amounts 
to one day per week 
through an average Session. The work begins 
as soon as the Address is voted and Supply 
can be set up. Previous to the passing of this 
Standing Order, Committee of Supply was at 
the mercy of all other business* Bills men¬ 
tioned in the Speech from the Throne absorbed 
Government time till after Whitsuntide. 

With the end of the Session in view*, it 
began to be felt that really something must 
be done with Supply. Night after night was 
set apart for the work, members not going 
home till morning* It was the fag end of 
the Session, when energy was sapped and 
obstruction by Irish members, or any other 
organized minority, was dominant. The 
situation was unmistakably clear. The 
month of August had been entered upon. 
A large number of members wanted to clear 
out by the 12th* But there were so many 
scores of votes to be passed before the 
adjournment. No supply, no holiday. The 
only thing to be done was for the two parties, 
the majority and the minority, doggedly to 
settle down and see which could wear the 
other out. Incidentally a vote was passed. 
In the end the closure was invoked, and, 
amid angry scenes, millions of public money 
were voted* 

Original from 

i UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













5 22 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE , 




Under the new system oppor- 
a foiled tunity is provided for adequately 
reform, discussing every vote. The work 
is commenced early in the Ses¬ 
sion in circumstances calculated to make 
easy its businesslike dispatch. But it must 
be confessed that the new 
system, admirably conceived, 
is not a success. This is 
demonstrated by a simple 
statement of fact. The total 
number of votes dealt with 
in Committee of Supply 
during the earlier part of 
this Session was 150. On 
the 4th of August, twenty- 
two days having been 
occupied m discussion, 

63, less than one-half, 
had been earned. There 
remained 87, which, with 
the assistance of auto¬ 
matic closure, must needs 
be disposed of at a single 
sitting* Obviously, either 
the dealing with 63 votes 
had been elaborately dila¬ 
tory, or the rushing 
through of 87 votes in a 
single sitting was gro¬ 
tesquely hurried* 

The system is all right. What paralyzes 
it is survival of the habit of verbosity, 
the indulgence in selfadvertising that has 
during the last twenty-five years with in¬ 
creasing strength and persistence afflicted 
Parliament* I am afraid it must be ad¬ 
mitted that the in¬ 
trinsically excellent 
rearrangement of the 
sitting which sets the 
House actually to 
work not later than 
three o'clock in the 
afternoon is respon¬ 
sible for fatal waste 
of time. When a 
member gets on his 
legs anywhere between three o'clock 
and 5.30, he feds it is so nice and 
early that he may as well make the 
most of his opportunity. If members 
going before have spoken over an hour, 
he owes it to his constituency at least 
to keep up with the record, or, better 
still, beat it by five or ten minutes. 

More than once during the earlier 
part of the Session Mr, John Dillon, 
called on early in debate, has appro¬ 


priated for his own share a fraction under 
two hours of a sitting whose full length 
could not possibly exceed four and a half, 
This is not debate* It is, in a criminal 
sense, flat burglary, forcible appropriation of 
the just share of opportunity pertaining to 
other Irish members* In three 
sittings Mr. Dillon has appropri¬ 
ated to what, using the phrase in 
the strictly Parliamentary sense, 
may be described as “his own 
cheek J * more hours and minutes 
than on Monday, August 4th, 
remained to 670 members to 
discuss 87 votes involving ex¬ 
penditure of many millions of 
the taxpayers* money* To cite 
that fact is to admit the break¬ 
down of the carefully and, as far 
as it goes, sagaciously 
amended system of Com¬ 
mittee of Supply. 

The banality 
wasting of Committee 
time* of Supply is 
crowned on 
the last allotted night by 
the performance in the 
Lobby, It is ordered that 
at ten o'clock members 
shall “ cut the cackle 
and come to the 'osses*' 1 In other words, 
there is to be no more speech-making* But 
there remains the privilege of voting “aye” 
or “ no" when a vote is submitted. To 
begin with, it was necessary to commit to 
the ordeal of the Division Lobby every single 
vote remaining on 
the list. Now they 
are arranged in 
classes, and put from 
the Chair in sections* 
But the process is 
long enough to keep 
grave and reverend 
senators (and some 
others) marching 
round and round 
the Division Lobby 
for three hours on a 
summer night 

The attraction of 
this performance it 
only too obvious. 
Perhaps the meaness 
form of Parliamen¬ 
tary ambition is to 
stand high on the 
list of members 


MR. BALFOLfkS STANDING ORDER. 


Digili 


red by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR. 


taking part in divisions. It finds its 
parallel in the painstaking endeavour of 
the member who seeks the bubble reputa¬ 
tion of being the first man to take his seat 
on the opening night of a Session. For 
men lax m attendance through the Session, 
the working of the guillotine on the night 
when Supply is cleared off is a splendid 
opportunity for bringing up their average. 
You can get four divisions of the House of 
Commons through in an hour. If members 
are brisk and the lobbies not blocked, five 
may be hurried through. Thus, in three 
hours, a member in good condition may 
run up a score of from twelve to fifteen 
divisions, representing the average accom¬ 
plishment of a fortnight or three weeks in 
mid-Session. 

Talking about the charge of 

a young inconsistency brought against 
imperialist, him, seeing that he, once the 

risen hope of the Radical party, 
is now the chief buttress of a Ministry of 
strong Imperialistic tendencies, Mr. Chamber- 
lain tells me a curious and interesting story. 
Forty-five years ago he, having just reached 
his majority, took an active part in canvas¬ 
sing Birmingham against Mr. John Bright. 
The great Corn Leaguer, then ousted from 
Manchester, was his beau ideal of a political 
leader save in one respect. Mr. Bright was 
directly antagonistic to what in these days 
has come to be called Imperialism. 

It was the year of the China War. The 
situation is vividly described by Lord Palmer¬ 
ston in his address to the electors of 
Tiverton: “An insolent barbarian, breathing 
authority at Canton, violated the British Flag, 
broke the engagements of treaties, offered 
rewards for the heads of British subjects in 
that part of China, and planned their 
destruction by murder, assassination, and 
poison.” After describing how a vote of 
censure on the Government was “ carried by 
a combination of political parties not till 
this last Session united,” Lord Palmerston 
asks, “ Will the British nation give their 
support to men who have thus endeavoured 
to make the humiliation and degradation 
of their country the stepping-stone to 
power ? ” 

Young Joseph Chamberlain, in a voice 
not then familiar in public life, emphatically 
answered “ No,” and did his best to prevent 
Birmingham affording John Bright sanctuary 
after being driven from Manchester on 
account of his hostility to I^ord Palmerston. 
Thus was the political child father of the 
Imperialist statesman of to-day. 

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* o 


5 2 3 

Wherever two or three lawyers 
frank are gathered together, stones 
lockwood. about Frank Lockwood still 
crop up. His oldest friends, his 
warmest admirers at the Bar, admit that 
soundness of knowledge on difficult points 
of law was not his especial gift or the 
basis of his high reputation. Of equity 
he knew hardly anything, a circumstance 
that did not prevent his accepting a brief 
involving equity rules and principles. 

With one such in his hand, he was 
arguing one day when the judge, who knew 
his weak point, blandly said, “ Which do you 
think, Mr. Lockwood, is the case bearing 
most directly upon your line of argument ? ” 
“ My lord,” said Lockwood, “ there are so 
many cases in my mind I do not like to 
discriminate.” 

He later got out of a similar difficulty in a 
case involving an alleged breach of patent. 
The counsel on the other side, most learned 
in the matter, talked fluently about various 
kinds of dynamos. Lockwood, as one of his 
friends in court remarked, wouldn’t have 
known one dynamo from another if he had 
met them walking arm in arm along Pall 
Mall. In this dilemma he turned towards the 
jury with flushed face, and indignantly said, 
“ Dynamos ! What, gentlemen, do we care 
about these things ? Let us get at the truth.” 

I do not know whether he got at the truth. 
He certainly got his verdict. 

The third story relates to a judge, now 
gone to a higher court, who had an ineradi¬ 
cable, embarrassing habit of interrupting 
counsel. One day he was so aggravating 
that Lockwood, who was addressing the jury, 
ventured upon respectful remonstrance. 

“ Well, well,” said the judge, “ I shall 
reserve my remarks till I sum up.” 

“ Yes, my lord,” said Lockwood, quietly; 
“ that, I believe, is the usual course.” 

Some years ago I shared with Frank 
Lockwood the honour of being the guest of 
the Sheffield Press Club at their annual 
dinner. I remember the twinkle in his eye 
that flashed over a little aside in a speech 
responding to the toast of his health. Allud¬ 
ing to his long connection with Sheffield in 
the capacity of Recorder, he said : “ I hope 
that during the ten years I was connected 
with this city I gave satisfaction ”—(here the 
company broke into a loud cheer.) “ I was 
about to add,” continued Lockwood, gravely, 
“ I gave satisfaction to those gentlemen who 
came before me in my judicial capacity. I 
did not realize till I heard the applause that 
there were so manv Dresent here to-night.” 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




By G, H. Page. 


HE Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms 
were to be opened in Bond 
Street on the 24th June, two 
days before the coronation of 
the King. Eva and Muriel 
Stanley, who had put all their 
little capital and their great hopes into the 
venture, were filled with tremors as the day 
drew near. Suppose the rooms were not a 
success after all ? 

And yet the girls had done everything 
they knew to command success. They had 
taken, at an immense rent, three large and 
pretty rooms at the corner of Maddox Street, 
and Eva, who was artistic, had superintended 
the decoration and furnishing. She had hung 
the walls with a green trellis-work paper put 
on in panels on a white background, and 
having found in the pattern-book of Messrs. 
Spoyiet and Sneerum an ivy-leaf frieze, she 
had had the original idea of cutting the gar¬ 
land out and applying it as a border round 
the panelling. The result was entirely happy. 
Then she had laid down a dark green velvet 




carpet with just a little sprig of lighter green 
thrown on it here and there, and the curtains 
were of pale green cashmere edged with 
broad bands of chintz over which roses of 
every shade of deep crimson and blushing 
pink bloomed almost as naturally as in an 
English garden. They only wanted fragrance 
to complete the illusion, and, after all, the 
fragrance was supplied by the bouquets of 
real roses which on the morning of the 24th 
stood on every one of the thirty little tables, 
ten in each room. 

The roses had all been sent up from 
Crossways, the girls" home in Sussex, where 
Mumsie and the kiddies had rifled the 
garden of every single blossom in order to 
help in the success of the C.C.T. 

For these tea-rooms were naturally a very 
great venture, and a great deal depended for 
the Stanley girls on their success. Each had 
put her whole fortune of a thousand pounds 
into the scheme, and while gentle Mrs. 
Stanley approved of it, as she would have 
approved of anything which her energetic 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














THE TRIALS OF THE TEA LADIES, 


5 2 5 


Eva and Muriel devised, while the kiddies 
were perfectly sure it was the most splendid 
idea in the world, all the family aunts had 
thrown up hands and eyes in horror, all the 
family uncles had loudly disapproved, all the 
cousins had deplored, criticised, and ridiculed, 
and most other people had cheerfully pre¬ 
dicted failure. 

“ Such a stoopid thing to do/’ Aunt Jane 
Fisher had told them. “You are sure to 
lose your money, and there you’ll be penni¬ 
less on my hands, I suppose. But I warn 
you beforehand, I shall do nothing for you 
whatever. I’ve too many claims on my 
purse as it is.” 

Mrs. Fisher lived in Chester Square, had 
three thousand a year, and, as she said, many 
claims, which took the shape of two fat 
carriage horses, a fat coachman, a fat poodle, 
and a still fatter pug. 

“ Never heard of such a preposterous idea 
in my life ! ” fumed Uncle Bentley. “ Louisa 
must be out of her mind to let the girls do 
such a thing. They might as well chuck 
their money into the Thames ; while if they 
would invest it in Consols they would get 
close on forty pounds a year apiece, and 
what more can a single woman need ? ” 

An old bachelor like Colonel Bentley, of 
course, needed a great deal more, since he 
lived at Walsingham House, paid the sub¬ 
scription of three clubs, and smoked more 
than twenty shillings’ worth of cigars in the 
course of a week. 

“ So low ! Why, it’s keeping a shop ! ” 
cried one of the Eltham girls; their father 
was a dean, but their mother was Mrs. 
Stanley’s sister. 

“Well, when Tom hears of this he will 
have nothing to do with Eva, I am sure,” 
declared the other. 

Tom Eltham was still with the Yeomanry 
in South Africa, but before he went out he 
had spent a great deal more time than his 
sisters approved of down in Sussex with the 
Stanleys. 

Willie Rhodes, the Harrow boy, however, 
was understood to have said he was jolly glad 
those plucky little Stanley girls were opening 
a grub-shop, and of course he would patronize 
them, and take the other chaps there, and no 
doubt, as he was their cousin, they would 
give him a long tick. 

His was the only approval they received, 
and it did really require a great deal of 
courage to persevere under the dribbling of 
so much cold water, and to believe in their 
ultimate success. 

But they were really plucky little girls, as 

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Rhodes major said, and very devoted to 
each other, so that when Eva’s high spirits 
momentarily failed her, Muriel would turn 
all her gaiety to the task of reviving them 
again, and vice versd. 

“ Do you think that we have enough of 
everything?” said Muriel, the night before 
opening day. “It would be simply awful if 
we ran short.” 

Eva counted over the fowls, the tongues, 
the hams ready cooked, the loaves of bread, 
the pounds of butter, the dozens of lettuces, 
the cucumbers, the cream cheeses, the jars 
of jam, the cakes, and the biscuits with which 
they had stored their larder against the great 
event. 

“ Let me see,” she said, “how many may 
we expect for luncheon ? Town is very 
full; there are thousands and thousands of 
foreigners, and Americans, and Colonials 
over, who all must be fed. Still, we’ll be 
modest, and not count on too many. Sup¬ 
pose we say twenty for luncheon ? ” 

“ Yes, twenty for luncheon at five shillings 
each. That makes five pounds, doesn’t it ? ” 
murmured Muriel, working out the intricate 
sum with pencil and paper. “ Now for tea 
we might reckon on a good many more. 
Lots of people who don’t have luncheon 
can’t do without tea. Let’s say sixty teas 
at half a crown, which makes—makes—oh, 
what on earth does it make, Evy ? ” 

It was delightful to find that it actually 
made twelve pounds ten, and then, reckon¬ 
ing on twenty people again for dinner, the 
girls found the takings of the day total 
twenty-seven pounds. 

June the 25th would certainly bring more 
customers still. They thought they might 
reckon the takings of that day at about 
thirty pounds. And if Coronation Day itself 
did not augment the numbers, it was at 
least reasonable to suppose these would 
not decline. So they put down the rest 
of the week at the low figure of twenty 
pounds a day. Say, just for the sake of 
round numbers, one hundred and forty 
pounds for the five days from Tuesday till 
Saturday inclusive. And after that an average 
of fifty pounds a week for the rest of the 
year. Very good interest surely on two 
thousand pounds ! Eva and Muriel were so 
enchanted with their arithmetic that they 
waltzed round the empty rooms and kissed 
each other ecstatically. 

When the great morning arrived, the morn¬ 
ing of the 24th, they dressed themselves in 
the dainty pale grey frocks which had been 
made for them ’from Eva’s designs, put on 
Original from * 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


526 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


the snowy lace and muslin bibs and aprons 
and sleeves, which lent them so business¬ 
like an air, and superintended the final 
touches. 

A whole array of cooks and waitresses in 
rather more serviceable aprons than the girls 1 
took final orders, cut sandwiches under their 
directions, set each little tea-table with an 


cook came bustling into the room with a 
scared face. 

“ Lor 1 , miss ! what do you suppose,the man 
as brought the salmon have just told us ? 
Why, there isn't going to be no coronation 
after all* It's put off deficiently*” 

The girls laughed. 

“ Nonsense ! What tales you get hold of, 



embroidered cloth, a Japanese tea-tray, blue 
and white china, and a glass bowl of roses, 
sweet and dewy as when they were plucked. 

The tea ladies walked through the room 
hand in hand, their pretty, fair heads held 
high with delight at the beauty and appro¬ 
priateness of their arrangements* 

41 Ten o'clock ! ” said Eva* 41 Well, I’m glad 
we are ready so early, but, of course, we can’t 
expect anyone to come for hours and hours 
yet” 

41 Sightseeing is awfully tiring work,” Muriel 
suggested. “ I dare say some of the people 
who are going round the decorations will 
just drop in for a sandwich or something*” 

44 What a heavenly morning ! Aren’t we 
lucky the weather has turned so fine ? 1 do 

really feel we are going to make a big 
success ! ” 

And while the words were on Eva's lip, 

Digitized' by GoO^Ic 


cook, you and the fish-man. Why should it 
be put off? ” 

41 They do say the King, God bless him, 
is ill*” 

lf Oh, people are always croaking evil! 
Don’t pay any attention, cook, but just get 
on with your work." 

At that moment a boy passed down the 
street selling second editions of the morning 
papers, and shouting, “Serious illness of the 
King ! Coronation postponed ! " 

Eva and Murid looked at each other in 
dismay. 

41 The poor King!" was Muriel’s first 
exclamation. “Oh, how I hope it isn't 
really much 1" 

|£ The poor people 1 ” sighed Eva* 
“Think how horribly disappointed theyll be 1” 

Then the same idea occurred to both 
girls* 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















THE TRIALS OF THE TEA LADIES. 


5 2 7 


“ And poor little us ! Whatever shall we 
do?” 

It was-a tragic moment, a shattering blow. 
But Eva perceived Muriel’s pretty mouth to 
be trembling towards tears, and this was a 
sign she must not give way herself. 

“ If the King only recovers, the rest won’t 
matter much,” said, she. “Cook, run out, 
like a dear, and get us a paper. And after 
all, Birdie,” this was her pet name for Muriel, 
“ after all we need not despair. People will 
have to eat just the same. Town is just as 
full as it was five minutes ago. Everybody 
is not going to run away instantly, you may 
be sure. On the contrary, they will want to 
remain on the spot to get news of the King. 
You may be sure that everyone who is here 
already will stay for the week. And perhaps 
even on Coronation Day (poor Coronation 
Day !) we shall do better business than we 
expected. For instead of people being on 
the stands all the time, and having their 
luncheon there, they will be wandering about 
and very likely coming in here to us. So 
cheer up, darling, and help me move this 
table nearer the window. There ! It looks 
prettier like that, doesn’t it ? ” 

It was dreadfully sad about the King, but, 
of course, as Eva said, people would want 
their luncheons just the same. So everything 
was prepared for the expected guests, and the 
sisters flitted about with an anxious eye upon 
the clock. 

Ten-thirty struck ; eleven ; eleven-thirty ; 
twelve. 

The tea ladies’ hearts began to beat, for 
now at any moment the first customer might 
arrive. 

Half-past twelve; one o’clock; half-past 
one. 

Not a single person had come into the 
Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms. The girls looked 
at each other in silent agitation. What could 
it mean ? For Bond Street was full of people 
passing to and fro, and for over an hour a 
steady stream had been pouring in and out 
of the tea-rooms opposite. 

2 p.m.— The door opened with a cling, 
and both girls moved forward to welcome 
the incoming guest. But it was only a tele¬ 
graph boy, who handed Eva the orange 
envelope containing a message from home. 

“ So sad about the dear King,” it ran, 
“ but how are things going with you ?— 
Mumsie.” 

“ Any answer, miss ? ” queried the boy, 
and Eva, compressing her lips, took a pencil 
and wrote: “ Awfully sad, but everything 
going splendidly here.” 

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Muriel, looking over her shoulder, nodded 
approval. They couldn't let the poor little 
mother know how miserably disappointed, 
how humiliated they felt. Time enough 
when they had to write to her, and, besides, 
by tea-time the position would be quite 
changed. Oh, by tea-time they would have 
their hands full; of that there could be no 
doubt! 

And piles of delicious sandwiches stood 
ready, platefuls of tempting cakes, dozens 
of pots of tea waiting only to be “wetted,” 
as cook expressed it; and meanwhile the 
hands crept round the little Louis Seize 
clock on the mantelpiece from two to three, 
from three to four, from four to five, and the 
street was always filled with people, but, as 
Muriel said, it seemed as though some 
malignant fairy had touched the Cosy 
Corner Tea-Rooms and made them in¬ 
visible, for not a soul so much as paused 
at the door. 

It was inexplicable, it was heart-breaking, 
and two pale, tired, pretty girls crept about 
the rooms they had prepared with such gay 
anticipations, and made a poor pretence of 
keeping up each other’s spirits, and feared to 
look into each other’s eyes lest they should 
burst into tears. 

When, breaking the silence, six strokes 
chimed out from the ormolu time-piece, 
Muriel gave way. She sat down by one of 
the unneeded tables, sank her little head on 
the snowy cloth, and wept into her hands. 

Eva bent over her, caressing her hair. 

“ Dearest Birdie, don’t cry ! ” she pleaded. 
“The day isn’t ended yet. Some people 
might come still. And whatever would they 
think if they were to find the tea ladies in 
tears ? ” 

“ They’d think the tea must have been 
horribly nasty to have had such an effect! ” 
said Muriel, suddenly smiling up, although 
her long eyelashes were all beaded with 
diamonds. “ And, oh ! Heavens! Here, 
actually, is a real customer at last! ” 

Breathlessly the girls sprang to attention 
as a young man entered the shop. 

He was a very tall young man, with 
splendidly broad shoulders, and strong, 
nervous hands, and a very sun burned face. 
He didn’t look quite English, and yet 
assuredly he was not foreign, but he might 
have been Canadian or Colonial. He bowed 
deferentially, and holding his hat in his 
hands said, with a little smile which showed 
milk-white teeth :— 

“ I wonder whether it would be possible 
for me to have any tea ? ” 

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528 

“You can have all there is,” murmured 
Muriel, ruefully. 

“ Which means, I fear, that there is very 
little? And I could drink up a pailful. 
Nor would it be the first time either. I have 
often drunk a pailful when sheep-shearing out 
at Worrabinda.” 

“ There are three dozen pots of tea waiting 
to be made,” said Muriel again, “ and if you 
like you can have them all.” 

“ Dear me, my luck has turned at last,” 
said the young man, gaily, putting down his 
hat and stick and choosing his chair. “I 
have been into a dozen different tea-shops 
and simply couldn’t get served, the crowd was 
so great, and I was almost afraid to come in 
here as it was past six, and I supposed the 
tea-hour would be over.” 

“ Here it has never begun,” announced 
Muriel, her mouth trembling again, and a 
dewdrop fell from her dark lashes on to her 
roseleaf cheek. “ We have not had a single 
human being all day.” 

And then because she was so unhappy, and 
because the young man was so sympathetic, 
and because Eva had gone to get the tea, 
she found herself telling the whole story of 
their great venture, their high hopes, and their 
frightful disillusionment. 

“ Well, that’s too bad! ” declared the 
young man. “ But just like Fortune. She 
plays us these tricks continually. Look at 
King Edward, for instance, and look at me. 
Here I am, home in England for the first 
time in my life, after a year’s hard work with 
the Australians in South Africa. I find my¬ 
self alone in London, among six million or 
so of people, without a soul to exchange a 
word with. I can tell you I have found it 
jolly dull all day, and what with this news 
about the King, and what with the prospect 
of having to go without my tea, I’ve wished 
myself back in Worrabinda more than once. 
But the thing is to buck up, and take the 
jade’s blows smiling. She gives them to 
try our mettle, I think, for when she finds 
it fairly tough she always relents in our 
favour. Now, if I had crumpled up as I had 
half a mind to do, and gone back to my 
hotel, I should not now be enjoying such 
a delicious cup of tea in such charming 
company. For I’m sure you’ll do me the 
kindness of taking tea with me ? I’m feeling 
so awfully lonely away from all my people, 
and it would be such a tremendous pleasure 
to me to be allowed to chat a little with you 
ladies.” 

Eva and Muriel, who themselves were 
weak from worry and want of food, couldn’t 

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resist his friendly petition. And he was so 
boyish, so open-hearted, and so outspoken 
that they were soon getting on with him as 
though they had known him all their lives. 

But Eva’s more practical mind was busy 
with housekeeping; she was thinking of all 
the stacks of food ranged round the larder, 
and she gave a little sigh. 

44 I wonder whether anyone will come in 
to dinner ? ” she said. 

But a great idea had occurred to the 
guest. 

“ I was just going to ask whether I might 
not dine here myself,” he replied. “And 
I shall probably bring a friend with me, or 
several friends. Perhaps as many as fifty. 
Could you accommodate fifty ? ” 

The tea ladies gasped a little, for had he 
not said that he knew no one in London ? 
But it was not for them to accuse a customer, 
and their only customer, too, of inconsistency 
of statement. Besides, he had already seized 
his hat and stick, and, with a friendly bow, 
was gone. 

“ Good gracious ! ” cried Muriel, rippling 
over now with laughter. “ What an extra¬ 
ordinary young man ! Why, he hasn’t even 
paid for his tea ! ” 

“ Do you think he is a little queer ? ” Eva 
wondered. “ You see, he’s so sunburnt that 
very likely he’s had sunstroke too.” 

But neither Eva nor Muriel accused him 
for one instant of anything worse than forget¬ 
fulness or eccentricity. There are certain 
faces one can never doubt. 

The tea ladies, however, would certainly 
have thought their only customer actually 
mad had they witnessed his next proceed- 
ings. 

A fat poodle had escaped from his mis¬ 
tress’s victoria as it stood drawn up by the 
kerbstone, and turned a deaf ear to her 
agonized pleadings and the blandishments 
of the footman seeking to cajole it back. It 
ran perversely between the feet of the 
pedestrians, calling forth opprobrious names 
upon its beribboned head. 

The young man laid a firm hand on the 
scruff of its neck, and carried it yelping to its 
owner’s knee. 

The old lady received it with tears of 
gratitude, displacing a still fatter pug in 
favour of the prodigal. 

“ If I could but do something for you ! ” 
she said, wistfully, to the poodle’s preserver. 

“ You can come and dine with me,” he 
retorted, promptly. “ I don’t know whether 
you have ever had a son, madam, but you 
are very like my own mother, and she, at this 

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN. 


THE TRIALS OF THE TEA LADIES. 


5 3 9 


moment, is fifteen thousand miles away, and 
Pm feeling lonesome.” 

He took out his card, wrote “ The Cosy 
Corner Tea - Rooms, 8 p,m.,” above his 
address, and put it into the old lady’s 


By the time James Bullen had once 
traversed the space between the Circus and 
Green Park he had invited quite a number 
of people, choosing each of them for his or 
her respectable appearance as well as fora cer 



hand. Before she had adjusted her glasses 
and read “Mr, James Bullen, Worrabinda, 
Australia, 51 that eccentric individual was out 
of sight 

As he turned into Piccadilly someone 
clapped him on the shoulder, 

“Halloa, jimmy, my blooming million¬ 
aire !” cried a “gentleman in khaki.” “ Come 
to see the show, eh ? But the show seems 
very much off.” 

“Good man, Elthani ! ” cried the Austra¬ 
lian, ‘ You’re the very chap I want 
Remember the last time we met in Pretoria, 
eh > Come and dine with me to-night at 
the Cosy Corner Tea - Rooms. Delightful 

place—awfully pretty girls-” 

“ Glad to hear the place is all right, but 
you needn’t tell me the girls are pretty. 
They are ihe Stanleys, my cousins, and I was 
going there this very moment to see Eva—I 
mean to say to see them both. ITl dine 
with you with pleasure, but don J t let me 
detain you now. I'll just run round and 
have a word with Eva—and, of course, with 
Muriel, at once, 

VoL KICIT,—67, 


tain gleam of humanity in the eye. Amidst 
hts invited guests was a bevy of charming 
girls under the escort of some attentive young 
men, a public school boy piloting two younger 
brothers, and an irascible old gentleman 
whom he had secured on the very steps of 
Walsingham House. 

“ My dear sir,” he had said in reply to the 
old gentleman’s peppery refusals, “ this is a 
unique occasion. Our King lies ill, we are 
all in consequence very much depressed, and 
it is our duty to keep up each other’s spirits, 
I am an Australian alone in London, and I 
am not going to believe my father’s people 
mean to give me the cold shoulder, If you 
were ever to come out to Worrabinda, you 
bet we’d put you up and do you well, and 
meantime you won’t allow me to dine 
alone ? ” 

But there seemed little chance of a solitary 
dinner for him. Between five minutes to 
eight and five minutes past the door of the 
Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms was perpetually on 
the click, and very nearly fifty people sat 
down to the jilting little tables. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


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53° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


A carriage with two fat horses, two fat 
servants, a fat poodle, and a fatter pug stood 
outside the door, and an old lady had bustled 
in and kissed the tea ladies very affably* 

44 Your young friend, Mr. Bullen, is ex¬ 
tremely eccentric,” she began, when 'l'om 
Eltham put in a word. “Very rich, do you 
say? An Australian millionaire? To be 
sure, that makes a difference. The vagaries 
of millionaires must be pardoned like those 
oF genius, I suppose. And I'm glad to see 
that you girls are doing such good business, 
1 always told your poor mother that the 
best thing was for you to show a little energy 
and work for yourselves.” 

Aunt Jane's memory was, like her stature, 
short. 

“ What, no cham¬ 
pagne ? ” stuttered 
Uncle Bentley, who 
had arrived at the 
tea - rooms actually 
holding Ins young 
host by the arm. 

14 No champagne, 

Eva? Must have 
champagne on an 
occasion like this. 

Here, let jane's 
servants take this 
card round to my 
man at Walsmgham 
Ho use. Let 'em 
bring back a couple 
of cases. Do 'em 
good to work 'em a 
bit.” 

The Eltham girls 
couldn't get over 


their astonishment and delight at meeting 
their brother Tom on his return from 
South Africa for the first time here ; and 
the Harrow hoy couldn't sufficiently express 
his admiration for his plucky little cousins* 
smart rooms, spiffin' tuck, and general 
jollity, 

Tom Eltham had already managed to tell 
Eva what was his first and foremost object 
in coming home, and the young Australian 
lost no opportunity to make Muriel under¬ 
stand clearly that having once seen her he 
intended to see her very often again. She 
blushed and smiled with happiness, for some¬ 
how he seemed to her the most charming 
young man she had ever met. 

If the luncheon 
and tea had been a 
failure at the C.C.T., 
at least the dinner 
was an enormous 
success. The family 
party was excessively 
gay, and the outside 
people were never for 
a moment allowed to 
feel themselves out* 
siders, owing to the 
tea ladies' attention 
and tact* And it 
was with feelings of 
the utmost cordiality 
and good-fellowship 
that all rose, on the 
invitation of Colonel 
Bentley, to drink the 
solemn and heartfelt 
toast, “ GodSav'e the 
King.” 



f 




UNCLE HENTt.EV ARRIVED AT i HE TEA-ROOMS ACTUALLY 
HOLD]NLi HIS YOU*G HOST BY TIME ARM." 



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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















The Athlete in Bronze and Stone. 


By C B. Fry, 


F an athlete in action the 
statue, perhaps, most admired 
in both ancient and modern 
times is the Discobolus, or 
discus - thrower, of Myron. 
The original was in bronze, 
but we know only copies in marble, Myron’s 
most successful human figures represented 
purely physical qualities ; he did not express 
the feelings of the mind. He delighted to 
seize for representa¬ 
tion “ the moment 
when the whole breath 
was held back for a 
final effort of strength 
— that moment, in 
fact, when the human 
figure is most truly 
statuesque; when the 
body is lifeless, so to 
speak, like the statue 
itself, and the spec¬ 
tator suspends breath¬ 
ing in sympathy*" Of 
another famous ath¬ 
letic statue of his, for 
instance, that repre¬ 
senting the Spartan 
Izidas, who, in win¬ 
ning a long-distance 
race at Olympia, fell 
dead at the goal, we 
read that the figure 
seemed about to leap 
from its base to seize 
the victor's wreath, 
the last breath leaving 
his lips. An ancient 
art - critic described 
Myron as the first 
maker of statues u to 
multiply truth,” and 
as being, compared 
with Polycletus, an¬ 
other famous sculptor of athletes, able to 
work more points into bis figures and 41 more 
careful in symmetry,” By multiplying truth 
was meant, it has been suggested, an ex¬ 
aggeration of Nature, in order to give effect 
to the momentary attitude oF the figure; 
and by symmetry, “the manner in which 
every member and part of the body was 


made to work together for the expression of 
the moment of action.” In the Discobolus 
Myron seems indeed to have been most 
successfully careful of symmetry in this 
sense, but not to have exaggerated truth so 
much as to have seized and portrayed all its 
points. 

It is a marvellous and a beautiful statue. 
The thrower is caught at the moment when 
the right arm, discus in hand and flat against 
the forearm, is at the 
extremity of its back¬ 
ward swing, and when 
also the right leg has 
been advanced, the 
foot turned outwards 
and firmly gripping 
the ground in antici¬ 
pation of the forward 
swing; the left arm 
has swung loosely 
across to the right, 
the left leg is loose 
for the imminent for¬ 
ward lunge, dragging 
the toes; the whole 
body stoops for the 
effort, half-turned for 
the circular sweep. 

The details of how 
the discus was thrown 
in the old Olympic 
games are not known. 
But in the Olympic 
games held at Athens 
in 1896 the method 
used is thus described 
by Mr. G. S. Robert¬ 
son, the Oxford 
ha m m er-th rower, 
who competed un¬ 
successfully in “ the 
disc,” but won first 

prize with his Greek 

Pindaric ode : u The discus is a sort of girdle- 
cake of wood, about S$£in. in diameter, with 
a brass core, and weighs about 4 * 4 lb. The 
thrower stands in a square of two metres 
(about and holds the discus in 

both hands above the left shoulder. 

The fingers of the right hand grip it 
tightly by the upper edge; those of the 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THEE DISCOBOLUS OP MYEtOH. 

Fr&m a Fhoio. fry Manxdl A Off. 









532 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


left merely support it. The left leg is 
advanced. Then the body is swung half 
round to the right, so that the face is turned 
towards the discus, the latter having been 
brought round by the right hand to a position 
above and behind the thrower’s head. At 
the same time the right leg is put forward. 
It is this attitude which is depicted in the 
celebrated statue. The left leg is then 
brought swiftly to the front again, and the 
discus is hurled with all the swing of the 
body.” He also remarks that the Discobolus 
really represents a snap-shot of the middle of 
the action, a notable achievement. 

It is most interesting to discover by trial 
that, in following the method described, one 
falls at the end of the backward swing into 
the precise attitude of the statue. One 
can then appreciate the fidelity of Myron’s 
details: the outward turn of the right foot 
and the vigorous grip of the ground with the 
toes, the tension of the muscles of the right 
thigh and calf, and especially the drag of the 
left foot with the toes turned over, for in the 
circular sweep of the backward swing the toes 
are inevitably turned over. Note, too, that 
only at the extremity of the backward swing 
is the head as much bent forward as in the 
statue: a moment before and the head is 
more upright, a moment after and the face is 
lifted for the eye to follow the flight of the 
missile. 

From an athletic point of view it is most 
interesting to perceive how perfectly the 
sculptor has caught the effort of throwing— 
an effort not of strained, contorted strength, 
but of smooth, quick, agile swing, an effort 
less of strength than of knack. In throwing 
the discus the power comes from the swing 
of the arm following the swift turn of the 
body on the hips, and the abetting lift from 
the thighs. In Myron’s statue it is the 
muscles behind the shoulder which swing 
the right arm, the muscles of the small of 
the back and of the waist which turn the 
body, and the muscles of the thigh which 
give the upward lift, that stand out con¬ 
tracted. 

One of the most perfect points about the 
statue is the slackness of the disengaged 
limbs. How loosely the left arm hangs! 
How loosely the left leg drags ! And one is 
reminded how in driving at golf or at cricket 
the perfection of style is attained by him 
who keeps all his muscles that are not 
directly engaged loose and free : while he 
who contracts his whole muscular system 
indiscriminately is stiff and ungainly, and 
makes a far greater effort than is needed 


for the full effect of his stroke. In the 
statue, too, even the throwing arm itself 
is loose, as it should be: a mere rope of 
flesh and sinew connecting the missile with 
the propelling force resident in the trunk and 
thighs. That ropey pull of the right arm is 
perfection ; so, too, is the mere suspicion of 
tightness—that and no more—in the face, the 
lips parted, the teeth not clenched. 

It is a figure of lissom, sinewy strength— 
no corded, exaggerated muscles: beauti¬ 
fully developed all over; but the deltoid 
muscles on the points of the shoulders, the 
muscles above the shoulder-blade, and of the 
waist are fine to see. You will notice the 
same in a great fast bowler. The chest is 
broad and deep, the ribs, roundly sprung. 
The thighs and lower legs are powerful and 
the knees and ankles, through strong, are 
shapely. Such a man should have been a 
shrewd combatant in the “ pentathlon ” at 
Olympia, the group of five events which com¬ 
prised throwing the discus and the javelin, 
wrestling, leaping, and running, and gave 
scope at once for adroit activity and 
strength. 

In contrast with Myron’s Discobolus, the 
perfect type of the athlete in action, Walter 
Pater selects as the beau ideal of athletic 
repose the Diadumenus of Polycletus, the 
athlete at rest, binding round his brows the 
fillet or diadem of victory. Of this statue 
there are several extant copies, two of them 
in the British Museum, not generally regarded 
as adequately representative of the original 
bronze; the one from which the illustration 
is taken is styled a Graeco-Roman copy. 

Polycletus was a native of the Peloponnesus, 
and in a way its artistic champion in rivalry 
with the great Phidias of Athens. Like 
Phidias, Polycletus executed statues of deities, 
notably one of Hera, which, in comparison 
with the former’s famous Zeus at Olympia, 
was said to have been superior in finish, 
though inferior in grandeur and imposing 
aspect. Another celebrated statue of Poly¬ 
cletus was his Wounded Amazon, “ in 
exquisite pain alike of body and soul ”; in 
contrast therefore with Myron he did express 
the feelings of the mind. But he delighted 
most in rendering the form of the ideal athlete, 
of which type, besides the Diadumenus, one 
called the Doryphorus, or spear-bearer, is 
celebrated. In comparing Myron and Poly¬ 
cletus, Pater says that “ Myron by patience 
of genius had mastered the secret of the 
expression of movement, had plucked out 
the heart of its mystery. Polycletus, on the 
other hand, is, shove all, the master of rest, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE ATHLETE IN BRONZE AND STONE , 


533 


of the expression of rest after toll, * * * He 
studied human form under such conditions as 
would bring out its natural features* its static 
laws in their entirety* their harmony ; and in 
an academic work* so to speak* no longer to 
be clearly identified in what may be deriva¬ 
tions from it, he claimed to have fixed the 
canon, the common measure of perfect 
man,” 

The Athlete with the Diadem strikes the 
eye of the observer less 
perhaps as an athlete 
than as a beautiful 
youth necessarily repre¬ 
sented in terms of 
athletic beauty. One is 
inclined rather to 
admire in him the 
beauty of a human form 
truly divine* with per¬ 
haps a sidelong remem¬ 
brance of the Apollo 
Belvidere, than to in¬ 
quire what feats of 
physical prowess he 
might be fitted for or 
have done. Tt is as 
though Polycletus 
idealized humanity in 
the shape of a youthful 
athlete where Myron 
caught the athlete as 
such and made him a 
perfect man. 

The figure is stand¬ 
ing charmingly at ease, 
with a slight inclina¬ 
tion of the body at the 
waist* as though accept* 
ing all the repose 
there may be in such 
an attitude. Indeed* 
this restfulness is one 
of the most affecting 
qualities of the statue ; the maker seems to 
have put all the relaxation of a figure reclin¬ 
ing into this figure standing. The languor 
of the turn of the right arm and hand raised 
to bind the fillet is most expressive; it is 
as though the binding of the fillet were too 
much trouble* The action* or* rather, the 
suggestion of action, is one of tired pleasure : 
rather as though the youth was lifting a cup 
to his lips, knowing he will enjoy the liquid, 
yet not eager to drink* and thinking of some¬ 
thing else. And about the inclination of the 
head and the rather thoughtful face there is 
an expression of detachment* as though he 
were not explicitly, but at tbe back of his 


mind* wondering whether the crown of victory 
were worth the dust of conflict* 

It is a beautiful figure, but of graceful, 
dignified strength rather than of swift activity* 
One cannot quite imagine the Discobolus of 
Myron looking like this even in repose or 
tired after the games; he would even then 
suggest more strongly the capacity for alert 
action. The Diadumenus, so shapely with 
his long limbs and long, slow, smooth curves, 
calls no attention to 
his muscular develop¬ 
ment : his muscles are 
relaxed and merged in 
his shapeliness : one 
alone catches the eye* 
the oblique fold of 
muscle leading to the 
groin* always notice¬ 
able when well deve¬ 
loped* There is just 
the suggestion about 
him of the athlete 
beautifully developed 
but not fully trained. 
His chest and shoul¬ 
ders are grand, but he 
scarcely tapers towards 
the waist and flanks 
with that slight taper¬ 
ing you notice in the 
trained man* the hard* 
sinewy Discobolus. His 
thighs and legs are the 
least bit lazy and lack¬ 
ing in vigour* Are the 
thighs full enough for 
the trunk above, full 
enough sideways ? Nor 
has he that smallness* 
almost delicacy of knee 
and ankle, the not dis¬ 
proportionate slimness 
or knee and ankle that 
marks speed and activity* He would walk 
beautifully, but would he run swiftly or leap 
far? In hurling the discus or the javelin and 
in wrestling he might be a match for the 
Discobolus* but not, surely* in running or 
leaping. He has the broad hips of the swift 
runner, but not the nicety of joint—at least, 
not in the copy we have here* 

A statue of some affinity from the athletic 
point of view with the Diadumenus of 
Polycletus is the Adorante, or Praying 
Youth* of Berlin, which has become famous, 
apart from its own intrinsic beauty, by reason 
of the high esteem in which it was held by 
the great aii> critic] this I discoverer, or at any 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



TUB DIADUMEMJS OF POLYCLBTUS 
From a Photo, by MonutU tt Co. 









534 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


rate the revealer, of Greek art, Wi nek el- 
man n. The Adorante is not directly con* 
nected with any idea of athleticism, except 
in so far as the beauty of virile youth must 
be in some degree athletic. 

Winckelmann admired this statue for its 
beauty, for its realiza¬ 
tion of what he con¬ 
sidered to be the true 
end of art. According 
to him, the artist, the 
sculptor, could only 
attain this end by sub¬ 
ordinating all individual 
and characteristic fea¬ 
tures to his general 
scheme. The true 
artist, selecting from 
Nature the phenomena 
fitted for his purpose, 
and combining them 
through his imagina¬ 
tion, creates an ideal 
type marked in action 
by 1 noble simplicity 
and calm greatness , 1 an 
ideal type in which 
normal proportions are 
maintained, particular 
parts, such as muscles 
and veins, not being 
permitted to break the 
harmony of the general 
outlines.' 1 

Selecti ve o bserva t \ on 
and constructive im¬ 
agination could, of 
course, evolve accord¬ 
ing to these principles 
a type of the athlete 
in action. Hut the very presence of action, 
at any rate of athletic action as portrayed, 
for instance, in the Discobolus of Myron, 
necessitates a certain emphasis on the muscles 
and limbs directly engaged. Hence it would 
seem that the beauty to be abstracted from 
athletic figures would most naturally, accord¬ 
ing to Winckelmann’s theory, find its ex¬ 
pression in the smoothness and harmony of 
such figures as the Diadumenus and the 
Adorante. 

Yet in the Adorante there is no missing 
tlie athleticism under its cloak of beauty. 
The figure is of a youth, almost a boy, 
younger at any rate than the Athlete with the 
Diadem: he stands with his weight firm on 
his left foot, with his right knee slightly bent, 
and his right heel raised a few inches from 
the ground. His face is inclined upwards 


and both bands are raised above his head, 
the palms spread open in supplication. Is 
he praying to Olympic Zeus for favour in 
the foot-race ? The gracefulness of the figure 
hides for a moment and then reveals the 
shapely power of the shoulders and hips: 

the round, smooth 
moulding of the trunk 
and limbs lightens a 
certain solidity of 
strength ; not an ounce 
of retarding weight, yet 
no trace of frailty. 

To gnarled muscu¬ 
larity there could be no 
greater contrast : the 
muscles are on him, 
but their surfaces flow 
into one another so 
that the total effect is 
smooth and harmoni¬ 
ous. The legs carry 
the body finely ; long, 
free-moving legs they 
might be. But, as in 
the Athlete with the 
Diadem, the knees and 
ankles seem just to 
miss the fineness of 
moulding that indicates 
extreme nimbleness 
and speed. With such 
perfect proportions the 
youth must have been 
a runner of grace and 
power j but he might 
just have missed super¬ 
lative excellence of 
speed. And had he 
been a hurdler he might 
have been just a trifle heavy of foot in alight* 
ing after clearing the obstacles in his stride. 
But in the feats of mingled activity and 
strength, wrestling and boxing and the like, 
he would, after training, have been a prince 
among his peers of age and ambition. 

The Discobolus at Rest of the Vatican is 
not so well known as Myron's masterpiece of 
athletic action, but it is, as representing the 
figure of an athlete, equally fine, if not finer. 
It is supposed to be a copy of an original by 
Alcamenes, a pupil of Phidias, who was 
particularly famous for the gracefulness and 
perfect proportion of his female forms; indeed, 
he was the maker of a celebrated statue of 
Aphrodite, of which the Venus of Milo, in the 
Louvre, is by some regarded as a copy. But 
there is nothing feminine about the Disco¬ 
bolus at Rest -a man if ever there was one, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



Til B A1KJHAMTK, OK PKAVING YOUTH. 
fV»m a Photo, bu Levy tt 






THE ATHLETE IN BRONZE AND STONE. 


535 


Strictly speaking, the athlete is only at rest 
in the sense that he is not engaged in throw- 
ing the missile; he appears to be moving 
into position for the throw, planting his right 
foot carefully as though on a mark, and 
looking down slightly as though to make 
sure. The attitude of the figure reproduces 
almost exactly that of a runner carefully 
adjusting his toe on the mark before the 
start of a race. He has his right hand 
raised, and a careful fore finger, somewhat in 
front of him exactly as one sees in a 
runner who is taking pains 
in setting his foot to the 
mark. 

It has been suggested 
that the watchfulness and 
attention expressed by the 
raised hand are directed 
to the throw of another; 
but the athlete seems 
rather to be looking down 
at his own foot and en¬ 
tirely engaged with him¬ 
self. A notable detail of 
the figure is the hang of 
the left arm, the hand of 
which carries the discus; 
you can feel the weight 
of the discus in the hang 
of that arm; there is just 
a trace of contraction of 
the biceps as though the 
muscle anticipated the 
lifting of the weight pre¬ 
sently. 

The muscular develop¬ 
ment is that of a fully- 
trained athlete in his 
athletic prime. Compared 
with Myron's Discobolus 
he is more muscular, but 
less lithe and sinewy. 

Indeed, the marking of 
the muscles would be 
almost exaggerated were 
it not for the perfection 
of the muscular propor¬ 
tion of the figure; and 
it may be said of the whole body as 
of the left arm that there is a sugges¬ 
tion of action, of muscular effort, almost 
eagerly anticipated ; and with this anticipa¬ 
tion a kind ©f contraction par avaiue of the 
muscles is conformable. The limbs are long 
and active ; but there is about the figure 
a certain squareness, though this without 
angularity. 

The almost assertive power of the upper 


part of the body makes the thighs—though, 
no doubt, they are in proportion—look a 
trifle as if they were not quite up to the 
weight. The knees and ankles are strong 
rather than nice—a point mentioned pre¬ 
viously, There is no suspicion of languor 
of movement, as with the Athlete with the 
Diadem, but the quickness is of alert, 
ready strength rather than of smooth, graceful 
agility. 

The man is, for certain, not essentially a 
runner or leaper ; he is a strong—very strong 

— man, with all the sheer 
strength that is possible 
without verging into the 
Hercules type of strength, 
terrible, but slow : he 
stands midway between' 
the almost feminine grace 
of the Adorante and the 
muscle-plated, overgrown 
strength of the Farnese 
Hercules, As such he is 
a golden mean and very 
beautiful. With the 
Adorante and the Athlete 
with the Strigil he shares 
the perfect athlete's head 

— the round head, rather 
small, covered with crisp, 
close curls and set on a 
splendid neck, the head 
that is truly a crown for 
the body that bears it. 

Of all the ancient 
statues, the best from a 
purely athletic as against 
a purely artistic stand¬ 
point is that known as 
the A poxy omen us, or 
Athlete with a Strigil (*>., 
a flesh - scraper). Here 
we have the perfect prize¬ 
man for the “ pentathlon," 
who might win all the 
five events, for he would 
be as first-rate a runner 

— at any rate of short 
distances — as he would 

be first-rate at wrestling and the discus. 

The original statue of Lysippus was in 

bronze; there is a marble copy in the 

Vatican. Pliny narrates that the statue was 
brought from Greece by Agrippa to adorn 
the baths he built for the people, and that 
the Emperor Tiberius so admired it that he 
carried it off to his palace, but was forced to 
restore it by the outcries of the populace the 
next time he jlgflBarletl in public, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE DfSCOPOI-US AT KiLST. 
From a Fholc. by 1 X 



53& 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


The reason this athlete strikes a modern 
eye as so perfect a type is that we find in 
him what we do not see even in the 
Discobolus oF Myron, the thoroughbred 
knees and ankles of the born runner. 
With all his splendid strength, the A poxy o- 
menus is perfectly made for speed over 
short distances; he would be too heavy 
for long distances; but nowhere among the 
most famous masterpieces do we see the 
long-distance runner specialized as we 
know him. 

It is interesting to learn that Lysippus was 
one of the first sculptors who attempted to 
modify the canon of athletic proportions 
worked out by Polycletus. 

In seeking this modifica¬ 
tion he is said to have 
introduced a smaller 
head and a slimness of 
the arms and legs which 
gave a greater lightness 
to the figure. But the 
slimness of limb, or, 
rather, the appearance 
of lightness of limb, was 
gained chiefly by making 
the joints, especially the 
knees and ankles, more 
delicate. And it is pre¬ 
cisely this modification 
that renders the Apoxy- 
omenus so pleasing to us 
as an athletic type. He 
is obviously a runner, 
whatever else he may be, 
and most of us know the 
runner when we see him, 
few the wrestler or the 
discus-thrower; and it is 
the runner’s points we 
miss in the Discobolus 
at Rest, for instance, 
and in the Athlete with 
the Diadem. 

It is said of Lysippus that, though he 
studied the works of Polycletus, he found 
himself compelled to abandon u the dignity 
and repose by which the older masters sug¬ 
gested the possession of physical power in 
favour of new attitudes in which the exercise 
of physical power should be made apparent 
by its effects on the body and on the face." 
For this reason he was fond of studies of 
Hercules, who could always be represented 
under the effects of his huge labours. Yet 
Ins type of athlete, curiously enough, was 
farther than those of Polycletus and Myron 
from the “mere strong man." 


The Apoxyomenus represents an athlete 
scraping the oil from his extended right 
arm. The trainer of ancient Greece was 
a believer in anointing the athlete with 
oil as a means to suppleness ; in fact, he 
was called the “aleiptes," or anointer. The 
statue expresses most beautifully the happy 
vigour, the delicious semi-languor of an 
athlete in perfect condition, not tired but 
fresh after exacting exercise. The small 
round head, with its close curls and beautiful 
round face, is slightly withdrawn from the 
outstretched arm in a most attractive poise. 
And the whole figure is redolent of the 
“contagious pleasantness" so characteristic 
of the Greek athletic 
youth in bron/e and 
stone. 

The athletic points of 
the figure are the thick, 
round chest, not too 
broad, the hips broad 
and powerful but not 
heavy, the tapering of the 
trunk to the waist, the 
fine outward sweep of the 
thighs and lower legs, 
and the straight line 
inside the leg from thigh 
to ankle. No doubt the 
tapering or the trunk was 
another attempt at light¬ 
ness, but it is very true 
to athletic perfection as 
we see it. Minor but 
telling points arc the 
sm 11, quick wrists and 
the manly, capable hands; 
the thin, shapely, yet 
capable feet, with the 
arched instep, betoken¬ 
ing springiness and light¬ 
ness of tread. It is a 
pity Lysippus has not 
given us, or we have not 
inherited fiom him, such another athlete 
represented in motion, starting for a race or 
in the act of running, to be a companion 
statue for Myron’s Discobolus. 

The artist who made the swift strength oi 
the Athlete with the Strigil is supposed also 
to have evolved that type of colossal, heavy 
strength of which the most notable example 
is the Farnese Hercules of Glycon in the 
Museum at Naples, This Herculean type is 
not athletic according to the Greek ideal of 
beauty and strength combined. A man 
built on such lines would hardly have been 
suited even to the fctfjmputilion at the Olympic 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE ATHLETE WITH A STHIGIL. 
Fnjm a }‘huU>. by £i>FFiFH«r*. 




THE ATHLETE IN BRONZE AND STONE * 


537 


games called the “ pancratium,” a combination 
of boxing and wrestling. Victory in this 
contest was reserved for men of the greatest 
strength, but the skill and adroitness required 
in boxing and wrestling would put out of 
court mere unwieldy muscle. 

The boxing, at arty rate, was scientific and 
skilful; the boxers were not allowed to bind 
their hands with lea¬ 
thern straps, much less 
to wear the cruel 
cestus, a binding of 
iron-studded straps, of 
Roman times. Armed 
with a Roman cestus, 
the Farnese Hercules, 
reduced to mortal 
dimensions, would 
have been a terrible 
adversary if allowed to 
plant one blow home; 
but in skilful boxing 
such muscular develop¬ 
ment as his would be 
far loo slow. 

As an athlete he 
might have been a 
champion lifter of 
heavy weights, but not 
much else* In a boat, 
with all his strength 
he would scarcely have 
pulled his own weight 
He is, of course, a 
representation of the 
colossal strength, slow 
and persistent, that 
accomplished the 
colossal labours of the 
legends* He is a 
deity-hero, not beauti¬ 
ful but imposing, In his right hand he holds 
the golden apples of the Hesperides, indi¬ 
cating the accomplishment of the eleventh 
of the labours imposed on him by King 
Eurystheus, and leans weary upon his dub. 
The whole figure seems to represent, in some 
degree, the exhaustion of great muscular 
strength* 

Rut the effort of the artist to express 
muscular strength is overstrained ; those 
huge, bulging muscles seem almost as 
though they had been riveted on to the 
frame in gnarled lumps* The suggestion of 
heavy contraction of the muscles in an 
attitude of weariness and repose is incon¬ 
gruous, though this would not seem a defect 
were Hercules lifting his club for a gigantic 
blow, or even intending to do so. 

Yol xxiv-Q$ 


Huge as are the thighs and calves of the 
figure, they are scarcely powerful enough for 
the huge trunk they support* The hips seem 
not broad enough in comparison with the 
chest. And the trunk strikes one as not 
only too Heavy, but too long for the legs. It 
is a grand and imposing statue, but as a type 
of the sheer “strong man ” it cannot be com 
pared with the bronze 
athlete found in the 
Tiber, and now in 
one of the museums 
in Rome. 

More in keeping with 
the ideal of strength 
required in the “ pan¬ 
cratium ” are the two 
figures of the famous 
Wrestlers in the Uffizi 
Gallery in Florence, 
But struggling on the 
ground, as shown in 
this group, was not 
allowed in the Olympic 
games. Wrestling both 
among the Greeks and 
the Romans was held 
in much higher estima¬ 
tion than it is by us; 
indeed, with them it 
seems to have been 
the favourite athletic 
exercise. 

The methods of the 
Greek and Roman 
wrestlers appear not to 
have differed much, 
hut the Romans cha¬ 
racteristically, as also 
in boxing, allowed all 
sorts of cruel practices 
which were not tolerated in Greece-—at least, 
in the great games* If a combatant in the 
“pancratium ” killed his adversary he was not 
only disqualified, hut severely punished* The 
Roman wrestler in the public games was 
honoured all the more if he succeeded in 
maiming or killing his adversary* One 
esteemed trick was to seize your opponent’s 
fingers and bend them back till broken; 
another, to choke him by encircling his neck 
with your arm from behind, or else by press¬ 
ing up his chin with your elbow ; in fact, the 
greatest brutality was the highest art. But 
wrestling was also practised in Rome, as in 
Greece, as a pastime* 

The popularity of the exercise may be 
judged from the name “paUestra," or wrestling- 
ground, gtvei) tfh#|%cW en ' air gymnasium, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









538 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




one is forcing, the other resisting, 
yet with that reserve of force or 
resistance which the wrestler must 
warily maintain lest his own effort 
carry too far and be turned against 
him by his adversary. 

Two statues which have no direct 
connection with purely athletic 
ideals, and less with one another, 
but which are not without athletic 
interest, are the immortal Apollo 
Belvidere and the Dying Gaul. 

The Apollo is famous for the 
disdainful beauty of his head and 
face, the divine dignity of his atti¬ 
tude, and the exquisite perfection 
of his proportions. It has been 
said that in him the perfect beauty 
of man and of woman are blended 
and spiritualized to make the god. 
But from the antique statues he 
has been selected by one of the 
best-known judges of rowing, in 
special contrast to the strong 
man ” of exaggerated muscle, as a 
perfect type of what the heavy¬ 
weight oarsman should be. He is 
the sun-god terrifying with his ^gis 
the enemies of his client city ; but 
his great shapely shoulders, back, 
and hips, and the sweep and freedom 
of his limbs, are of the athlete. 


THE APOLLO DHiAMDLkh. 
u f*hotfr hft D. 

Original r un 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


The body of the wrestler was anointed with 
oil, and then sprinkled with sand or dust to 
give a grip. 

The Wrestlers of the Uffizi Gallery are not 
regarded as quite satisfactory because the 
heads do not belong to the original and 
the greater part of the legs and arms is 
modern : the right arm of the man who 
seems to be victorious is supposed to be 
erroneously restored. But both figures are 
fine specimens of the heavy-weight athlete 
who is not ponderous. The build and the 
limbs are massive, but well within the limits 
of activity. The victor displays a splendid 
breadth of back, with its large folds of 
muscle on each side of the spine, making 
a rivulet in between : muscles not knotty 
or angular, but sweeping and round. He 
is admirably shaped, too, in the small 
of the back and the flanks, and has a 
magnificent thigh. The interlocking of the 
thighs and ankles catches the eye at 
once. 

The man underneath is turning a wary 
head, and, while straining tensely up from 
the ground against the downward pressure of 
his opponent, present or expected, is alert in 
every muscle to reverse the position. The 
wary strain of both men is finely suggested: 


trutn u.J 


Hit IN THfc UPM£I [jALLEKY. 














THE ATHLETE IN BRONZE AND STONE * 


539 



Greek sculptor of athletes) that may be 
given to us, subjects truly ‘made to his 
hand 151 ? You may see, too, if your eye 
can penetrate and abolish the unsightly 
shirt and knickers, the hideous shin guard 
and boot, all that is athletic of the 
Gaul, and, through him, of the Disco¬ 
bolus, ready made to the sculptor’s hand, 
in at least some of the professional 
football-players of today. 

To discover that the 
art of congealing the 
athlete into bronze is 
not unknown among 
modem sculptors, one 


The Dying Gaul as a work of art is cele¬ 
brated as an expression of the pathos of 
manly death, and the meaning of the marble 
has been immortalized by Byron. But 
whether a warrior or a gladiator, he is dis- 


Frwm a Ffwtv, bf J 


THE UVJNti CAUL, 





tinctly an athlete, and most interesting, 
because he represents the athlete of Northern 
Europe as distinguished from, or identified 
with, the athlete of Greece and Olympia. 
If not a Gallic warrior but a gladiator, he 
might be a Dacian or a German, and he 
might in truth be an Englishman. Yet, set 
the round Greek head 
upon his shoulders and 
he differs scarcely at 
all from the Greek 
prizeman, the Disco¬ 
bolus of Myron, He 
is less rounded-off, a 
trifle angular, perhaps, 
in comparison with the 
Greek type, but he has 
the same freedom and 
length of limb, the 
same union of strength 
and activity. 

Suppose him an 
A nglo - Saxon, and 
might he not be an 
elder brother of the 
youthful English athlete 
of whom Walter Pater 
has written that t( in 
England also, in 
Oxford, we have still, 
for any master of such 
art (the art of the 


ATH LKTK 5T\RUrifiLTNO WITH * PYTHON.— BV 
/'Vvm a htt KHU it Haifittirtf. 


need only visit the Tate Gallery in London 
and look at the two beautiful statues by Lord 
Leighton, “ The Athlete Struggling with a 
Python ” and " The Sluggard*" 

It is difficult for the lay or, shall we say, 
the athletic eye to detect wherein the former 
statue is inferior to anything among the 
antiques* It represents 
an athlete struggling in 
the folds of a huge 
snake, yet not so huge 
as to destroy our hope 
that the man may win* 
With his right hand 
driven at arm's length 
he grips the serpent's 
neck and holds off the 
gaping fangs. The tail 
of the beast is hooked 
round his right ankle, 
and its length passing 
between his legs coils 
over his left thigh and 
then round The small of 
his back, and then clings 
up his right side to the 
angle of the arm-pit and 
along the extended right 
arm. With his left arm 
behind his back he is 
trying to release his 


body from the coil. 

anginal from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















54° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


The figure of the ath¬ 
lete is magnificent, the 
perfection of agile 
strength, deep - chested, 
lissom, and muscular, 
with most adequate 
thighs and legs. Every 
muscle and every proper 
vein and sinew stands 
out to the eye, not ex¬ 
aggerated, but perfectly 
expressive of the tension 
of the struggle. The 
composition of the statue 
strikes one as most 
artistic in this, that the 
strain against the circling 
coils is in nil directions : 
the powerful legs are set 
firmly wide apart, the 
arms press opposite ways, 
and the whole body 
strains, it seems, all ways 
at once. 

Such a centrifugal 
struggle, so to speak, 
justifies the contraction 
and stress of every fibre 
of the body. And the 
anatomy of the figure is said to be remark¬ 
able in truth. In physical beauty the athlete 
might be compared to the Adorante, trained 
and more muscular and with more capable 
legs. 

“The Sluggard” is beautiful as such, 
expressive of a youth 
sleepily stretching him¬ 
self with head inclined 
over one arm doubled 
up towards it with open 
hand, while the other 
arm is doubled higher 
over the other shoulder 
with clenched fist. The 
mingled tension and 
relaxation of the 
“stretch” is admirable. 

But in the sluggard 
wakened against his will 
there is the^athlete, and 
the athlete of a type 
interesting particularly 
because not found in 
the more famous an¬ 
tiques; the deep chest, 
spare frame, and 
light limbs, though 
the legs are, perhaps, 
not too light, are 


those of the long-distance 
runner. 

Here we have the 
youth who might have 
won the long race at 
Olympia, about three 
miles. Over such a dis¬ 
tance the Athlete with 
the Strigil, one conjee' 
tures, would not have 
lived with him, for the 
former is built for pace, 
the latter for stamina, as 
these terms are applied 
in running. The Slug¬ 
gard would move with the 
long stride, easy and un¬ 
hurried, and the lift from 
the back of the thighs ; 
the other with the grip¬ 
ping front foot, the pull 
from the front leg, as 
well as with the quick 
push from the rear foot, 
of the sprinter. 

Among the antiques, 
perhaps the statues most 
in harmony with the type 
to which one refers the 
athleticism of long-distance running are 
the much-admired bronzes of Naples, the 
Mercury in Repose and the two so-called 
Discoboli. 

Mercury is, of course, a god, and the 
messenger of the gods, with his winged 
sandals bound to his 
ankles. But he has 
the wayfaring foot and 
the sturdy lightness of 
build of the distance- 
runner. Perhaps he is 
just too sturdy for the 
long-distance type, and 
might be a better 
competitor in the 
4t cliaulus at Olympia, 
about a quarter-mile; 
still, he would not be 
a sprinting quarter- 
mi ler, but the runner of 
any distance from that 
to a full mile. He has 
the hips and back 
almost of the sprinter, 
but the legs are the 
striding legs of the 
mi ler. 

The bronze Discoboli, 
Origin; Wm lled - of Na P les 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE SLUGGARD —1)Y LEIGH TOW, 
From a Phot*. b]t d ftaywrd- 



MLKClHV IS »El k OSfL 

Frunt n Fkijto, by Sommtf, 













THE ATHLETE JN BRONZE AND STONE. 


54i 



ONE OF THE BRONZE DIsCoBOLt OF NAPLES. 
f'lTOi a I'koto. bp So p p 1 uif. r. 


have been variously interpreted. They may 
be discus-throwers watching intently the 
flight of the missile now well on its way, 
having followed on to the left foot advanced 
again after the stride of the right foot, with 
which, it seems, the discus was thrown. Or 
they may be wrestlers about to engage, 
which would account equally well for the 
intent, watchful look on the faces, the atti¬ 
tude of the bodies, and the position of arms 
and hands, and better for the fact that there 
are two of them, both in the same attitude. 
They are not on the mark ready to start 
for a race, because the arms are incorrectly 
held for this; in starting the natural position 
is for the arm on the side of the advanced 
foot to be advanced with it, while the other 
is withdrawn behind the body. But they 
remind one closely of high-jumpers with eyes 
fixed on the bar and stooping to gather 
momentum for the run up to it: the hands and 
arms are right for this. The figures are pro¬ 
bably, however, of wrestlers about to engage. 

But with their long, dean limbs and light, 
strong build they make excellent types of 
the long-distance runner. They have the 
proper leg and back. No doubt the light¬ 
ness of the figures and their slimness of limb 
are meant to express youth. But imagine 
them a little older, with the same bodies, 
and they are ihree-mtiers to the life, or rather 
better than life. 

Digitized by kiOOO 


Younger than these is the Spinario, the 
boy drawing a thorn from his foot, a figure 
famous not only for its artistic beauty, but 
for its preservation in the real antique bronze. 
He, too, has been variously explained. In 
the Capitol!ne Museum he is called the 
Shepherd Marti us, and one story made for 
him is that he was a shepherd boy who, 
having been sent to reconnoitre an 
enemy, returned from his errand without 
stopping to extract a thorn which had 
wounded his foot. Others have seen in 
him a boy-athlete who has finished the 
course before extracting the thorn ; or one 
who stopped in the middle of the race for 
this purpose. 

It has been remarked that there is nothing 
athletic about him and that the subject is 
pastoral and arcadian. But at his boyish 
years he might be an athlete without showing 
it; he would be just a boy, not a miniature to 
scale of the muscled A poxy omen us. Pater 
sets him beside “ the larger, the full-grown, 
physical perfection of the Discobolus, one 
of w'hose alert younger brethren he may 
be. 11 

He may well have been a competitor in 
the races for boys at the games, and might 
have won, for his shapely, half-grown limbs 
and smooth, spare frame are those of the 
true boy-athlete. At any rate, he is extract¬ 
ing the thorn very carefully, with lips pursed 
for the delicate work like one threading a 
needle with a tiny eye. 





THE SPlN'AftlO. 

UHIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













S there any inoculation pos¬ 
sible to avert autograph fever? 
It is a disease always prevalent 
in the United States, but of 
late years has become quite an 
epidemic in England. Tattoo¬ 
ing the patient's own autograph on the arm 
suggests itself to a Pasteur of graphology. 
The worst of this disease is that it is 
not painful to those attacked by it, 
but punishes those they correspond with* 
In the case of those who worry artists 
for sketches as well as autographs, a picture 
might be pin - pricked on the arm as well, 
to cure them of pin - pricking their fellow- 
creatures. It is flattering to me that I am 
being constantly hunted by the autograph 
fiend. And in return for the compliment I 
do not hesitate to send an autograph when 
the hunter accompanies the dart by a stamped 
and directed envelope. Others 1 quickly 
dispatch to the W.P.B. One of the latter 
just to hand I have saved from destruction 
to keep as a curiosity—after fumigation —for 
its contents are startling :■— 

14 Sick Room, Monkton School. 
u Dear Sir,—A squad of us are down 
with German measles, and we are trying Lo 

Digitized by CiOO^Ie 


run a * Monkton Measles Chronicle 1 to cheer 
us up a bit. Can you very kindly send us 
something for this week's number? We are 
trying to make it funny, and a little sketch 
from you would be awfully jolly. 

“ Yours truly, 

‘‘The Occupants of the Sic k Room. 

" Please send answer to the Editor, 4 Monk- 
ton Measles Chronicle/ etc.” 

The funniest description of an autograph 
was given at my own house* My daughter 
was entertaining some little gills at tea when 
1 overheard the following conversation be¬ 
tween two of her small guests i— 

Winnie (aged eleven) : “ Do you collect 
autographs ? ,J 

(iirlie (aged nine) : u No, I would not 
collect them on any account; they are 
nasty, horrid things. 11 

Winnie : *‘1 don't think you know what 
an autograph is.” 

(iirlie : “ Oh, yes, I do. Ibs a nasty, green, 
slimy thing that grows in water.” 

Well, it is quite as difficult to get 11 a green, 
slimy actinia off a rock under water as it 
is to get an autograph off some celebrities, 
Those whom the autograph hunter chases 
are generally very busy people indeed. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



■ 














THE AUTOGRAPH HUNTER. 


543 




\vX 


wP 

* *A, oSSlii ^ 

C-» —c^*j\. V. 



MY LITTLE JOKE. 

Still, not too busy to sign their names, pro¬ 
vided a stamped and addressed envelope is 
sent with the request. Some of those hunted 
are humorists, others are practical, others 
eccentric. Mr. Dan Leno is a humorist 
unequalled on the hoards, and, judging from 
a note I received from a schoolboy a short 
time ago, he carries his jokes on just as 
successfully in private life : “ Dear Sir,—Will 
you kindly favour me with your autograph, 
and, if not asking too much, will you add a 
funny little sketch ? You must not be as 
funny as Mr. Dan Leno, for in reply to my 
request he sent his autograph, as he always 
does, by telegraph ! ” But I had my 
little joke with the little stranger who 
asked me for a little sketch. My reply 
was something like the above, which 
a looking-glass will render legible. 

The practical side of* giving auto¬ 
graphs cannot be better illustrated 
than by the system practised, and, I 
believe, originated, by Miss Ellen 
Terry. The hunter must send a 
shilling (or is it half a crown?) for 
Miss Terry’s charity fund, and the 
delightful actress’s autograph is received 
in return. A cheap bargain for the 
hunter, and an excellent idea of this 
clever and charitable lady. The eccen¬ 
tric list is a long one. To illustrate 
the pretty side of eccentricity, and 
at the same time the difficulty there 
is in obtaining some autographs, I 
cannot do better than refer my reader 

Diqilized by GoO<J 1c 

* o 


to the following incident which was 
recently reported as follows: “ Autograph 
hunters are very keen about getting the 
Sultan’s signature. It is said that both 
the German Emperor and the Duke of 
Edinburgh tried in vain. But a few days 
ago the Sultan entertained the American 
Minister, his wife, and daughters at dinner, 
and, at the request of Mrs. Leishman, wrote 
his signature on her fan. It was only 
scribbled in pencil, and the next day he sent 
for the fan, on the pretence of rewriting it in 
ink. But on its return it was found that the 
pencil marks had been carefully erased, and 
a tiny ‘ A. H.’ (Abdul Hamid) set in diamonds 
had taken its place.” It is interesting to 
note that where a German Emperor and an 
English Duke had failed, those from the 
country of autograph hunters succeeded. 

In America one is besieged by autograph 
collectors perfectly startling in their per¬ 
sistency. On arrival at the hall or theatre to 
give an entertainment, one finds a row of 
autograph books and their owners waiting for 
your autograph. Some books are too pre¬ 
cious to be left, so the owner calls personally 
at your hotel; many appeals are sent through 
the post. Others have their appeal printed in 
neat type. Here is a specimen. Compliment¬ 
ary to a degree; but what the sender means 
by “ something better than an autograph ” 
is somewhat vague. A photograph, how¬ 
ever, will suffice if — as I take it the 
writer infers—one has not a full-length 
portrait in oils ready to be dispatched 
immediately to Texas. This reminds me 
that a cousin of mine in South Africa when 
on a visit to England asked me for my 


i- 

! - 

C ^UAAUAJ* 


30 i8gW 


I WOULD U»c* VSXY MUCH TO PLAC* A LkTT** 

o« other Patch written tv you m my Collection or Autographs. Something 

BSTTCR THAN THR SIGNATURE ALON* WOULD BR GRSATLV APPRECIATED. A PHO¬ 


TOGRAPH or Portrait also, ip you can spar* one. 


WOULD ADO VERY MUCH TO 


TH* INTEREST OP THK COLLECTION. 


Sincerely Your* 


AN AMERICAN AUTOGRAPH-HUNTERS FORM OF APPLICATION. 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















544 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 




jphotograph and autograph for 
his little girl “ I have brought 
you cousin Harry's portrait and 
autograph/ 1 he 
told her on his 
return to Africa* 

“Oh, we have 
had them, father, 
for ever so long*” 

“Indeed! 

Where ? ” 

come 
the 
He Is 
there, 
portrait 
by 


“Just 
u p t o 
nursery, 
framed 
and his 


soap 

have 


is signed 
himself.” 

In all earnest¬ 
ness my cousin 
was shown by 
his children an 
advert isement 
(which was, un¬ 
known to me, 
taken for that 
purpose by the 
proprietors of a 
soap, from a 
drawing of mine 
in Punch ): 11 1 used your 

two years ago ; since then I 
used no other.” 

The most extraordinary auto¬ 
graph I was ever presented with 
(I never asked for one in my life) 
was years ago while making a 
sketch of the most beautiful actress 
of that time—Mrs, Rousby. She 
was afraid I would miss one of 
the points upon which she greatly 
prided herself—her small and ex¬ 
quisitely-formed ears; and in order 
that I might do full justice to 
them she took a plaster cast of 
one of them out of a case in her 
dressing - room, and previous to 
presenting it to me wrote her 
autograph upon it. This was in 
1876, when Tom Taylor's accom¬ 
plished protegee^ although still very 
beautiful, was quickly losing the ear 
of the public. 

Judging from the number of 
autograph-hunters* books I have 
looked through, actresses arc very 
easily scalped of theirs. Even I 
who never ask have frequently 
been honoured by them. Miss 


COUSIN HARRY 


A FAMILY POSTS AIT OK MVSEU-. 


Mary Anderson 
sent me a photo¬ 
graph of Mr, 
Watts's beauti¬ 
ful portrait of 
her, with her 
autograph on 
the back. 

Mrs, Brown 
Potter writes 
much in the 
same bold style, 
and gracefully 
knelt at the 
table in her 
dressing-room at 
Her Majesty's 
Theatre during 
the r u n o f 
“The Three 
Musketeers ” as 
she flattered me 
—and spelt my 
name wrongly l 
B y the way, 
nearly all ac¬ 
tresses write a 
hold hand. Talk 


Photo, hft Minlumt J.aMifl CJlffrtoi 


• Rlks. liftOWN roTlER FUA yi SI-KLT MY NAME VVFlONGLy. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























THE AUTOGRAPH HUNTER. 


545 



is 



Up fa! 


“SET TO MUSIC”—SIR ALEXANDER MACKENZIE. 

of u filling the stage,” I cannot recall any of 
our charming actresses—particularly those 
hailing from America—that would not fill a 

paper equal in size to_ 

th.e largest stage with 
their autograph alone! 

Not so with the 
critics. The critical 
mind is content in 
writing the most modest 
and neatest of hands. 

Writers of all kinds, 
as a rule, write the 
smallest, even the cynic. 

Taking one at haphazard, I find an 
autograph of George Bernard Shaw, 
which fully illustrates this fact. It is, 
however, not so eccentric as the writer 
of it. Eccentric autographs often 
emanate from the artistic mind. The 
artist embellishes his with a sketch to 
the musician, who returns his set to 
music, from the seriously clever Sir 
Alexander Mackenzie to the ever 
humorous George Grossmith. 

Authoresses run actresses very 
hard in their eccentricity in writing. 

The Comtesse de Martel, better 
known by her now de phone “ Gyp,” 
writes very much the same hand as 
the fair actress whose letter I have 
just referred to. Here is a fac¬ 
simile of a note written by that 
charming authoress to her London 
publisher. 

I came across the following in an 


SET TO MUSIC —MR. GEORGE GROSSMITH. 


always very witty, outspoken, 
human, occasionally impertinent, and 
frequently flippant.” And I venture 
to say that you need not be a grapho¬ 
logist to read the truth of this by one 
glance at her autograph. I must 
not, however, introduce autographs 
in general; I am merely in this short 
chapter dealing with a few of personal 
interest to myself. 

. The common practice of signing 
menus at public dinners is a modern 
nuisance also copied from America. 
To have to sign dozens of cards 
after one has sat through a long 
dinner and dreary speeches is any¬ 
thing - but a pleasant occupation to 
wind up with. 

I shall never forget one request 

for my autograph. I was playing 

lawn tennis on the lawn of a country 
house — a real match for a prize. 
It was the semi-final, and the score was 
“ love all ” ; I was the favourite. Excitement 
I was opposed by the youngest 

_ daughter, aged twelve, 

and had only her 
uncle, an M.P., with 
a poor idea of the 
game, to meet in the 

final. I had just 
defeated one of the 
young ladies who gave 
me thirty, and the 
German governess who 


ran 


high. 


Fi?j| rr j f . 


V 


appreciation 

VoL xxiv. —60. 


of “ Gyp ” : “ She 

ailized bvGoOQle 



GYPS AUTOGRAPH. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















































THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 




played me even, when at that critical 
moment the head gardener, Mr. Mao 
Pherson, walked straight cm to the tennis 
lawn with his autograph book wrapped 
up in tissue paper, and, provided with 
a gardener's pencil — something like a 
builder’s—about an inch wide, and having 
a stubby point one-eighth of an inch 
long, there and then demanded my auto¬ 
graph, u with just a wee bit of the lace of 
the Grand Old Mair 51 

I lost the mateh- 

Sketching at Lord's one Eton and Harrow' 
match day some years ago, a sheet of my 
sketch-book fell out- A very young lady I 
had just sketched picked it up. 41 Will you 
kindly sign this and give it to me?” Could 
1 refuse after her politeness in bringing it to 
me ? But these are trifles among the trials 
of those autogmphically hunted. 

I have discovered a not very uncommon 
manoeuvre of the autograph collector, who, 
finding that writing for autographs does not 
always meet with a response, writes to ask 
some business question: the price of a 
picture; your fee to give an entertainment ; 
and may, in fact, should his family be 
collectors too, carry on a corresfKmdence 
till the autographs are obtained. Then one 
hears no more. This cool impertinence I 
have known carried still further. Some 
artists cannot resist adorning their letters 
with sketches. To obtain that sketch 
requires more careful fishing on the part of 

Digitized by Google 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


the stranger. The sport to 
him is, therefore, all the 
greater. On more than one 
occasion L have received 
letters from well - to - do 
strangers asking me to accept 
a commission lor a drawing, 
U A slight sketch of the 
subject will oblige.” I take 
the bait ; the slight subject 
sketch is sent, and there 
the correspondence ceases. 
But my sketch is not re¬ 
turned. 1 have a letter to 
this effect which may ex^ 
plain the reason why. It is 
adorned with a coat of arms 
and three separate addresses 
after the following fashion :— 

11 HavVm Hall, DoVm 
shire, 

“ The Rookery, Chisle- 
hurst. 

“6, Bounder Court, 
Mayfair, 

M Sir,—L ady Sharper and I have changed 
our minds. We fear your price for the 
drawing is more than w*e care to give; and 
as we only wanted a specimen of your work 
for our collection, you will be glad to learn 


‘pnnBKK.v in a i it a Ate. 


A LITTLE IfiCinBNT at lord's. 










THE AUTOGRAPH HUNTER. 


547 




that we have 
decided to frame 
your autograph 
letter, including 
the sketch.” 

The frame- 
maker at least - 

earns something 
for his family* 

One should 
be careful in 
sending an auto- 
graph. For in¬ 
stance, a pretty 
little note from 
“Miss M a y 
Melrose” or 
from “Miss 
Lottie Light- 
foot,” written on 
primrose - tinted 
paper, enclosing 
a stamped and 
addressed en¬ 
velope-care of The Creamery, West End 
Villas, Highgate — is not always from an 
enthusiastic young lady in her teens who is, 
in spite of her parents’ protests, collecting 
the autographs of celebrities. It is just 
possible that that 
flattering little note 
is penned in the 
coffee - shop or 
public - house next 
door to the 
“Creamery” by a 
thorough - paced 
blackguard, who 
either sells the 
autograph or, worse 
still, uses your 
signature to rob 


THE YOUNG LADY IN HER TEENS. 


you or yours. It 
is therefore most 
unwise to sign 
your autograph 
carelessly tn the 
centre of paper. 

What is to 
prevent u Miss 
May” or “Miss 
Lottie” — in 
other words, the 
practised thief; 
as practised, no 
doubt, in imi- 
tating hand¬ 
writing as an 
Ireland or a 
Pigott — placing 
over your sig¬ 
nature “ I O U,” 
or even some¬ 
thing more ela¬ 
borate, to be 
presented to 
your executors after your death, if not 
actually manipulated at once? It is, there¬ 
fore, well to bear this in mind, and when 
writing your signature do not leave a space 
above it, but place it well on the top of the 

page. A safe form 
is as follows ; “ Mr. 

S- has much 

pleasure in com¬ 
plying with the 
request for his 
autograph.” 
(Here sign the 
name.) 

There can be 
no hanky - panky 
tricks played with 
that. 


M MtSS MAY MELROSE." 


Digitized by 


Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



&S7 



TRENGTH and goodnature 
— said the night-watchman, 
musingly, as lie felt his biceps 
—strength and good - nature 
always go together* Sometimes 
you find a strong man who 
is not good-natured, but then, as everybody 
he comes in contack with is, it comes to 
the same thing. 

The strongest and kindesb’earted man 
I ever come across was a man o' the name 
of Bill Burton, a shipmate ot Ginger Dick’s. 
For that matter ’e was a shipmate o’ Peter 
Russet’s and old Sam Small’s too. Not over 
and above tall ; just about my height, his 
arms was like another man’s legs for size, 
and 'is chest and his back and shoulders 
might ha’ been made for a giant. And with 
all that he'd got a soft blue eye like a gal's 
(blue’s my favourite colour for gals' eyes), 
and a nice, soft, curly brown beard. He was 
an A.B., too, and that showed ’ow good- 
natured he was, to pick up with firemen. 

He got so fond of ’em that when they was 
all paid off from the Ocean King he asked to 
be allowed to join them in taking a room 
ashore. It pleased everybody, four coming 
cheaper than three, and Bill being that good- 
tempered that Vd put up with anything, and 


when any of the three quarrelled he used to 
act the part of peacemaker* 

The only thing about ’im that they didn't 
like w-ns that ’e was a teetotaler. He’d go 
into public-’ouses with ’em, but he wouldn't 
drink ; leastways, that is to say, he wouldn't 
drink beer, and Ginger used to say that it 
made ’im feel uncomfortable to see Bill put 
away a bottle o’ lemonade every time they 
’ad a drink. One night arter ’e had ad 
seventeen bottles he could ’ardly get home, 
and Peter Russrt, who knew r a lot about pills 
and such like, pointed out to ’im 'ow bad it 
was for his const it uslion. He proved that 
the lemonade would eat away the coals o’ 
Bill’s stomach, and that if ’e kept on ? e might 
drop down dead at any moment. 

That frightened Bill a bit, and the next 
night, instead of living lemonade, ’e had fne 
bottles o’ stone ginger-beer, six of different 
kinds of teetotal beer, three of soda-water, 
and two cups of coffee. I’m not counting 
the drink he ad at the chemist’s shop a iter- 
wards, because he took that as medicine, but 
he was so queer in ’is inside next morning 
that T e began to be afraid he’d ’ave to give 
up drink altogether. 

He went without the next night, but *e 
was such a generous man that ’e would pay 


Copyt glit, 190?, (»y W. W. Jins Aa$ in the United of Ani<|r 

1 by t^OOgie UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





















BILL'S LAPSE. 


549 


every fourth time, and there was no pleasure 
to the other chaps to see 'im pay and ’ave 
nothing out of it It spoilt their evening, 
and owing to 'aving only about 'arf wot they 
was accustomed to they all got up very 
disagreeable next morning. 

“ Why not take just a little beer, Bill ? ” 
asks Ginger. 

Bill 'ung his 'ead and looked a bit silly. 
“ I’d rather not, mate,” he ses, at last. 
“I've been teetotal for eleven months now.” 

“Think of your 'ealth, Bill,” ses Peter 
Russet; “your 'ealth is more important than 
the pledge. Wot made you take it ? ” 

Bill coughed. “I 'ad reasons,” he ses, 
slowly. “ A mate o’ mine wished me to.” 

“ He ought to ha’ known better,” ses Sam. 

“ He 'ad 'is reasons,” ses Bill. « 

“ Well, all I can say is, Bill,” ses Ginger, 
“all I can say is, it's very disobligin’ of you.” 

“ Disobligin' ? ” ses Bill, with a start; 
“ don't say that, mate.” 

“ I must say it,” ses Ginger, speaking very 
firm. 

“ You needn't take a lot. Bill,” ses Sam ; 
“nobody wants you to do that. Just drink 
in moderation, same as wot we do.” 

“ It gets into my 'ead,” ses Bill, at last. 

“ Well, and wot of it ? ” ses Ginger; “ it 
gets into everybody’s ’ead occasionally. 
Why, one night old Sam 'ere went up behind 
a policeman and tickled ’ira under the arms ; 
didn’t you, Sam ? ” 

“I did nothing o' the kind,” ses Sam, 
firing up. 

“ Well, you was fined ten bob for it next 
morning, that's all I know,” ses Ginger. 

“ I was fined ten bob for punching ’im,” 
ses old Sam, very wild. “ I never tickled a 
policeman in my life. I never thought o' 
such a thing. I'd no more tickle a police¬ 
man than I'd fly. Anybody that ses I did is 
a liar. Why should I ? Where does the 
sense come in ? Wot should I want to do it 
for?” 

“ All right, Sam,” ses Ginger, sticking 'is 
fingers in 'is ears, “you didn’t, then.” 

“No, I didn't,” ses Sam, “and don’t you 
forget it. This ain’t the fust time you've 
told that lie about me. I can take a joke 
with any man ; but anybody that goes and 
ses I tickled-” 

“ All right ',” ses Ginger and Peter Russet 
together. “You'll 'ave tickled policeman on 
the brain if you ain’t careful, Sam,” ses Peter. 

Old Sam sat down growling, and Ginger 
Dick turned to Bill agin. “ It gets into every¬ 
body’s 'ead at times,” he ses, “and where's 
the 'arm ? It's wot it was meant for.” 

Diqilized by CtOOQ Ic 

¥ O 


Bill shook his 'ead, but when Ginger 
called 'im disobligin’ agin he gave way and 
he broke the pledge that very evening with 
a pint o' six 'arf. 

Ginger was surprised to see the way 'e took 
his liquor. Arter three or four pints he’d 
expected to see 'im turn a bit silly, or sing, 
or do something o’ the kind, but Bill kept on 
as if 'e was drinking water. 

“ Think of the 'armless pleasure you’ve 
been losing all these months, Bill,” ses Ginger, 
smiling at him. 

Bill said it wouldn’t bear thinking of, and, 
the next place they came to he said some 
rather ’ard things of the man who’d per¬ 
suaded 'im to take the pledge. He ; ad two 
or three more there, and then they began to 
see that it was beginning to have an effect on 
'im. The first one that noticed it was 
Ginger Dick. Bill 'ad just lit ’is pipe, and 
as he threw the match down he ses : “I 
don't like these 'ere safety matches,” he ses. 

“Don’t you, Bill?” ses Ginger. “I do, 
rather.” 

“Oh, you do, do you?” ses Bill, turning 
on 'im like lightning ; “ well, take that for 
contradictin',” he ses, an' he gave Ginger a 
smack that nearly knocked his 'ead off. 

It was so sudden that old Sam and Peter 
put their beer down and stared at each other 
as if they couldn't believe their eyes. Then 
they stooped down and helped pore Ginger 
on to 'is legs agin and began to brush 'im 
down. 

“Never mind about 'im, mates,” ses Bill, 
looking at Ginger very wicked. “ P’r'aps he 
won't be so ready to give me 'is lip next 
time. Let’s come to another pub and enjoy 
ourselves.” 

Sam and Peter followed 'im out like lambs, 
'ardly daring to look over their shoulder at 
Ginger, who was staggering arter them some 
distance behind a 'olding a handkerchief 
to 'is face. 

“It’s your turn to pay, Sam,” ses Bill, 
when they'd got inside the next place. 
“ Wot’s it to be? Give it a name.” 

“ Three 'arf pints o' four ale, miss,” ses 
Sam, not because 'e was mean, but because 
it wasn’t 'is turn. 

“ Three wot ? " ses Bill, turning on im. 

“ Three pots o’ six ale, miss,” ses Sam, in 
a hurry. 

“That wasn't wot you said afore,” ses Bill. 
“ Take that,” he ses, giving pore old Sam a 
wipe in the mouth and knocking 'im over a 
stool; “ take that for your sauce.” 

Peter Russet stood staring at Sam and 
wondering wot Bill ud be like when he’d 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




55 ° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



’ad a little more, Sam picked hisself up 
arter a time and went outside to talk to 
Ginger about it, and then Bill put ’is arm 
round Peters neck and began to cry a bit 
and say ’e was the only pal he’d got left in 
the world. It was very awkward for Peter, 
and more awkward still when the barman 
came up and told ’im to take Bill outside, 

“ Go on/’ he ses, “ out with ’im,” 

** He’s all right,” ses Peter, trembling; 
"Vs the truest-’arted gentleman in London* 
Ain't you, Bill ? 1 

Bill said he was, and ’e asked the 
barman to go and hide ’is face because it 
reminded ’im of a little dog ’e had ’ad once 
wot ’ad died* 

“ You get outside afore 
you’re hurt,” ses the bar¬ 
man. 

Bill punched at ’im over 
the bar, and not being able 
to reach ’im threw Peter’s 
pot o’ beer at ’im* There 
was a fearful to-do then, 
and the landlord jumped 
over the bar and stood in 
the doorway, whistling for 
the police* Bill 
struck out right and 
left, and the men in 
the bar went down 
like skittles, Peter 
among them. Then 
they got outside,and 
Bill, arter giving the 
landlord a thump in 
the back wot nearly 
made him swallow 
the whistle, jumped 
into a cab and pulled 
Peter Russet in arter 
’im* 

1£ i ll talk to you by-and-by,” he ses, as the 
Cab drove off at a gallop ; “ there ain't room 
in this cab. You wait, my lad, that’s all* 
You just wait till we get out, and I’ll knock 
you silly* 1 ’ 

" Wot for, Bill ? ” ses Peter, staring. 

“ Don’t you talk to me,” roars Bill “ If 
1 choose to knock you about that’s my busi¬ 
ness, ain't it ? Besides, you know very well.” 

He wouldn’t let Peter say another word, 
but coming to a quiet place near the docks he 
stopped the cab and [lulling ’im out gave ’im 
such a dressing down that Peter thought ’is 
last hour ’ad arrived* tie let ’im go at last, 
and after first making him pay the cabman 
took ’im along till they came to a public- 
’ouse and made ’im pay lor drinks. 


They stayed there till nearly eleven o’clock, 
and then Bill set off home ’olding the unfor- 
tunit Peter by the scruff o’ the neck, and 
wondering out loud whether 'e ought to pay 
'im a bit more or not. Afore ! e could make 
up ’is mind, however, he turned sleepy, and, 
throwing ’imself down on the bed which wa£ 
meant for the two of ’em, fell into a peaceful 
sleep. 

Sam and Ginger Dick came in a little 
while artenvards, both badly marked where 
Bill ’ad hit them, and sat talking to Peter 
in whispers as to wot was to be done. 
Ginger, who ’ad plenty of pluck, was for 
them all to set on to ’im, but Sam wouldn’t 


’ear of it, and as 
for Peter he was 
so sore he could 
’ardly move* 

They all turned in to the other bed at last, 
’arf afraid to move for fear of disturbing Bill, 
and when they woke up in the morning and 
see ’im sitting up in ’is bed they lay as still 
as mice. 

" Why, Ginger, old chap,” ses Bill, with a 
’earty smile, “ wot are you all three in one 
bed for?” 

“We was a bit cold,” ses Ginger 

“Cold?” ses Bill* “Wot, this weather? 
We ’ad a bit of a spree last night, old 
man, didn’t we? My throat’s as dry as a 
cinder.” 

“ It ain’t my idea of a spree," ses Ginger, 
sitting up and looking at ’im* 

“ Good 'eavens, Ginger! ” se$ Bill, starting 
back, “ wotever ’ave you been a-doing to your 


BILL JUMPED INTO A CAM AXU PULLED PETEH KDSsET IN 
AK1 Ek ‘lit/' 


Digitized by 


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Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







BILL 7 S LAPSE . 


55 1 


face? Have you lieen tumbling off of a 
’bus?” 

Ginger couldn’t answer ; and Sam Small 
and Peter sat up in bed alongside of 'im, and 
Bill, getting as far back on ? i$ bed as he 
could, sat staring at their pore faces as if 'e 
was having a orrihle dream. 

“And there’s Sam, 1 ’ he ses* 14 Where ever 
did you get that mouth, Sam ?” 

“Same place as Ginger got ’is eye and 
pore Peter got *is face ,’ 1 ses Sam, grinding 
his teeth. 

“You don’t mean to tell me,” ses Bill, in a 
sad voice—“you don’t mean to tell me 
that I did it?” 

“ You know well enough,” ses Ginger. 

Bill looked at ’em, and ’is face got as long 
as a yard measure. 

“ I’d ’oped I’d growed out of it, mates,” he 
ses, at last, “ but drink always takes me like 
that. I can’t keep a paL” 

“ You sur-prise rue,” ses Ginger, sarcastic- 


for ’em, and IVe never met three chaps I 
like better than wot l do you. Three nicer, 
straightforrard, free 'anded mates Fve never 
met afore.” 

“Why not take the pledge agin, Bill?" 
ses Peter Russet 

“ No, mate,” ses Bill, with a kind smile ; 
“it’s just a weakness, and I must try and 
grow out of it. PH tie a bit o’ string round 
my little finger to-night as a reminder.” 

He got out of bed and began to wash ’is 
face, and Ginger Dick, who was doing a bit 
o’ thinking, gave a whisper to Sam and Peter 
Russet 

“All right. Bill, old man,” he ses, getting 
out of bed and beginning to put his clothes 
on ; “ but first of all we’ll try and find out 
’ow the landlord is.” 

“ Landlord ?” ses Bill, puffing and blowing 
in the basin. “ Wot landlord ?" 

“Why, the one you bashed,” ses Ginger, 
with a wink at the other two. “He ’adn’t 



like. 

“ Don’t talk like that, Ginger,” ses Bill, 
’arf crying. “It ain’t my fault; it’s my 
weakness. Wot did 1 do it for ? ” 

“I dorrit know,” ses Ginger, “but you 
worrit get the chance of doing it agin, I’ll 
tell you that much.” 

“ I daresay I shall be better tonight. 
Ginger,” ses Bill, very humble; “ it don’t 
always take me that way.” 

“Well, we don’t want you with us any 
more,” ses old Sam, ’aiding his 'ead very 
high. 

“ You’ll ’ave to go and get your beer by 
yourself, Bill,” ses Peter Russet, feeling ’is 
bruises with the tips of ’is fingers. 

“ But then I should be worse,” 
ses Bill. “I want cheerful com¬ 
pany when I’m like that I should 
very likely come ome and 
’arf kill you ail in your beds. 

You don’t ’arf know wot Pm 
like, 
else 

bered it.” 

44 Cheerful company ? ” ses 
old Sam. “’Ow do you think 
company’s going to be cheer¬ 
ful when you’re carrying on 
tike that, Bill? Why don’t 
you go away and leave us 
alone ? ” 

“ Because pve got a ’art,” 
ses Bill. “/ can't chuck up 
pals in that free - and - easy 
way. Once l take a liking 
to anybody Pd do anything 1 Vhe’uack! 


got ’is senses back when me and Sam came 
away.” 

Bill gave a groan and sat on the bed while 
’e dried himself, and Ginger told ’im ’ow he 
’ad bent a quart pot on the landlord’s ’ead, 
and ’ow the landlord J ad been carried up¬ 
stairs and the doctor sent for. He began to 
tremble all over, and when Conger said he’d 
go out and see ow the land lay ’e could 
’ardly thank ’im enough. 

Ginger was gone about two hours, and 
when *e came back he looked so solemn that 


Last night was nothing, 
I should ’ave remcm- 


PATTtll BILL Q.’f 
VERY C1EJCTLE/* 


Di 


litlzed 



Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







55 * 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


old Sam asked 4m whether he 'ad seen a 
ghost Ginger didn't answer 'im; he set 
down on the side o’ the bed and sat thinking. 

“‘I s’pose—I s'pose it’s nice and fresh in 
the streets this morning ? ” ses Bill at last, in 
a trembling voice. 

Ginger started and looked at 'im. “ I 
didn't notice, mate,” he ses. Then 'e got up 
and patted Bill on the back, very gentle, and 
sat down again. 

“Anything wrong, Ginger?” asks Peter 
Russet, staring at 'im. 

“It's that landlord,” ses Ginger; “there's 
straw down in the road outside, and they say 
that he’s dying. Pore old Bill don't know 'is 
own strength. The best thing you can do, 
old pal, is to go as far away as you can, at 
once.” 

“ I shouldn't wait a minnit if it was me,” 
ses old Sam. 

Bill groaned and hid 'is face in his 'ands, 
and then Peter Russet went and spoilt 
things by saying that the safest place for a 
murderer to 'ide in was London. Bill gave 
a dreadful groan when 'e said murderer, but 
'e up and agreed with Peter, and all Sam and 
Ginger Dick could do wouldn't make 'im 
alter his mind. He said that he would shave 
off 'is beard and moustache, and when night 
came 'e would creep out and take a lodging 
somewhere right the other end of London. 

He stayed in the bedroom all day, with 
the blinds down, and wouldn’t eat anything, 
and when Ginger looked in about eight 
o’clock to find out whether he 'ad gone, he 
found 'im sitting on the bed clean shaved, 
and ’is face cut about all over where the 
razor 'ad slipped. 

“ It’ll soon be dark,” ses Ginger, “ and your 
own brother wouldn't know you now, Bill. 
Where d’you think of going ? ” 

Bill shook his ’ead. “ Nobody must know 
that, mate,” he ses. “ I must go into hiding 
for as long as I can—as long as my money 
lasts ; I’ve only got six pounds left.” 

“That’ll last a long time if you're careful,” 
ses Ginger. 

“ I want a lot more,” ses Bill. “ I want 
you to take this silver ring as a keepsake, 
Ginger. If I 'ad another six pounds or so 
I should feel much safer. 'Ow much 'ave 
you got, Ginger ? ” 

“Not much,” ses Ginger, shaking his 'ead. 

“ Lend it to me, mate,” ses Bill, stretch¬ 
ing out his 'and. “ You can easy get another 
ship. Ah, I wish I was you ; I'd be as 'appy 
as 'appy if I hadn't got a penny.” 

“ I’m very sorry, Bill,” ses Ginger, trying 
to smile. “ but I’ve already promised to lend 

Digitized by Google 

* o 


it to a man wot we met this evening. A 
promise is a promise, else I’d lend it to you 
with pleasure.” 

“ Would you let me be 'ung for the sake 
of a few pounds, Ginger?” ses Bill, looking 
at 'im reproachfully. “ I'm a desprit man, 
Ginger, and I must 'ave that money.” 

Afore pore Ginger could move he suddenly 
clapped 'is hand over 'is mouth and flung 'im 
on the bed. Ginger was like a child in 'is 
hands, although he struggled like a madman, 
and in five minutes 'e was laying there with 
a towel tied round his mouth and 'is arms and 
legs tied up with the cord off of Sam’s chest. 

“ I'm very sorry, Ginger,” ses Bill, as 'e 
took a little over eight pounds out of Ginger's 
pocket. “ I'll pay you back one o’ * these 
days, if I can. If you'd got a rope round 
your neck same as I 'ave you’d do the 
same as I've done.” 

He lifted up the bedclothes and put Ginger 
inside and tucked 'im up. Ginger’s face was 
red with passion and 'is eyes starting out of 
his 'ead. 

“Eight and six is fifteen,” ses Bill, and 
just then he 'eard somebody coming up the 
stairs. Ginger 'eard it, too, and as Peter 
Russet came into the room 'e tried all 'e 
could to attract 'is attention by rolling 'is 'ead 
from side to side. 

“ Why, 'as Ginger gone to bed ? ” ses 
Peter. “ Wot's up, Ginger ? ” 

“ He’s all right,” ses Bill; “just a bit of a 
’eadache.” 

Peter stood staring at the bed, and then 'e 
pulled the clothes off and saw pore Ginger 
all tied up, and making awful eyes at 'im to 
undo him. 

“ I 'ad to do it, Peter,” ses Bill. “ I 
wanted some more money to escape with, 
and 'e wouldn’t lend it to me. I 'aven't got 
as much as I want now. You just came in 
in the nick of time. Another minute and 
you’d ha' missed me. 'Ow much 'ave you 
got ? ” 

“ Ah, I wish I could lend you some, Bill,” 
ses Peter Russet, turning pale, “ but I’ve 'ad 
my pocket picked ; that's wot I come back 
for, to get some from Ginger.” 

Bill didn’t say a word. 

“ You see 'ow it is, Bill,” ses Peter, edg¬ 
ing back towards the door ; “ three men laid 
’old of me and took every farthing I’d got.” 

“ Well, I can't rob you, then,” ses Bill, 
catching 'old of 'im. “ Whoever's money 
this is,” he ses, pulling a handful out o’ 
Peter’s pocket, “ it can’t be yours. Now, if 
you make another sound I'll knock your 'ead 
off afore I tie you up.” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


BILL'S LAPSE. 


553 



“ Don’t tie me up, Bill,” ses Peter, strug¬ 
gling- 

I can’t trust you,” ses Bill, dragging 1m 
over to the washstand and taking up the 
other towel ; “ turn round.” 

Peter was a much easier job than Ginger 
Dick, and arter Bill J ad done 1m 'e put 1m 
in alongside o’ (linger and covered ’em up, 
arter first tying both the gags round with 
some string to prevent 'em slipping. 

u Mind, I’ve only borrowed it,” he ses, 
standing by the side o J the bed; “ but I 
must say, mates, I’m disappointed in both of 
you. If either of you 'ad ’ad the misfortune 
wot I’ve J ad, Fd have sold the clothes off my 
back to 'dp you. And I wouldn't lave 
waited to be asked neither.” 

He stood there for a minute very sorrow¬ 
ful, and then ’e patted both their 'eads 
and went downstairs. Ginger and Peter 
lay listening for a bit, and then they 
turned their pore bound-up faces to each 
other and tried to talk with their eyes* 
Then (linger began to wriggle 
and try and twist the cords off, 
hut ’e might as well 'ave tried to 
wriggle out of Is skin. The 
worst of it was they couldn’t 
make known their intentions to 
each other, and when Peter 
Russet leaned over 1m and tried 
to work Is gag off by rubbing it 
up agin Is nose, Ginger pretty 
near went crazy with temper. 

He banged Peter with his 'ead, 
and Peter banged back, and they 
kept it up till they'd both got 
splitting 'eadaches, and at last 
they gave up in despair and lay 
in the darkness waiting for Sam. 

And all this time Sam was 
sitting in the Red Lion, waiting 
for them. lie sat there quite 
patient till twelve o'clock and 
then walked slowly ’ome, won¬ 
dering wot T ad happened and 
whether Bill *ad gone. 

Ginger was the fust to ’ear is 
foot on the stairs, and as he 
came into the room, in the 
darkness, him an p Peter Russet 
started shaking their bed in a 
way that scared old Sam nearly 
to death* He thought it was Bill 
carrying on agin, and T e was out 
o’ that door and 'arf-way down¬ 
stairs afore he stopped to take 
breath. He stood there trembling 
for about ten minutes, and then, 

VoL ijtiv.—70, 


as nothing 'appened, he walked slowly upstairs 
agin on tiptoe, and as soon as they heard the 
door creak Peter and Ginger made that bed 
do everything hut speak. 

“Is that you, Bill?” ses old Sam, in a 
shaky voice, and standing ready to dash 
downstairs agin. 

There was no answer except for the 
bed, and Sam didn’t know whether Bill 
was dying or whether 'e 'ad got delirium 
trimmings* All ’e did know was that ’e 
wasn't going to sleep in that room* He 
shut the door gently and went downstairs 
agin, feeling in Is pocket for a match, and, 
not finding one, 'e picked out the softest 
stair he could find and, leaning his 'ead agin 
the banisters, went to sleep. 

It was about six o'clock when 'e woke up, 
and broad daylight He was stiff and sore 
all over, and feeling braver in the light *e 
stepped softly upstairs and opened the door* 
Peter and Ginger was waiting for 1m, and as 
he peeped in 'e saw two things sitting up in 


**'& PICKED OUT THE SOFTEST ETA IH ME COULD FIND. 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





















554 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


bed with their ’air standing up all over like 
mops and their faces lied up with bandages. 
He was that startled ’e nearly screamed, and 
then stepped into the room and stared at 
'em as if he couldn't believe ’is eyes. 

“Is that you, Ginger ? ” he ses* “ Wot 
d'ye mean by making sights of yourselves 
like that? *Ave 
you took leave of 
your senses?" 

Ginger and Peter 
shook their ’e.ids 
and rolled their 
eyes, and then Sam 
see wot was the 
matter with ’em, 

Fust thing ’e did 
was to pull out ’is 
knife and cut 
Ginger's gag off, 
and the fust thing 
Ginger did was to 
call 'im every name 
’e could lay his 
tongue to* 

11 You wait a mo¬ 
ment," he screams, 

’arf crying with 
rage. ** You wait 
till I get my ’ands 
loose and I’ll pull 
you to pieces. The idea o’ 
leaving us like this all night, 
you old crocodile, 1 ’card 
you come in* I’ll pay 
you,” 

Sam didn’t answer s im, 

He cut off Peter Russet's 
gag, and Peter Russet called 
’im ’arf a score o 1 names without taking 
breath. 

“And when Ginger’s finished I’ll ’ave a go 
at you,” he ses. “Cut off these lines," 

“ At once, d’ye 'ear ?” ses Ginger. “Oh, 
you wait till I get my ’ands on you." 

Sam didn't answer ’em ; he shut up % 
knife with a click and then ’e sat at the foot 
o’ the bed on Ginger’s feet and looked at 
’em. It wasn’t the fust time they’d been 
rude to ’im, but as a rule he’d ’ad to put up 
with it. He sat and listened while Ginger 
swore ’imself faint. 

“That’ll do,” he ses, at last; “another 
word and I shall put the bedclothes over 
your ’ead, Afore I do anything more I want 
to know wot it’s all about," 

Peter told ’im, arier fust calling ’im some 


more names, because Ginger was past it, and 
when Vd finished old Sam said ’ow surprised 
he was at them for letting Bill do it, and told 
’em how they ought to ’ave prevented it* 
He sat there talking as though ’e enjoyed 
the sound of ’is own voice, and he told Peter 
and Ginger all their faults and said wot 


sorrow' it caused their friends. Twice he 
’ad to throw the bedclothes over their 'ends 
because o’ the noise they was making. 

“ Are —you —going — to undo — us ? ” ses 
Ginger, at last. 

" No, Ginger,” ses old Sam ; “in justice to 
myself I couldn’t do it. Arter wot you’ve 
said—and arter wot Fve said — my life 
wouldn't be safe. Besides which, you’d want 
to go shares in my money." 

He took up ’is chest and marched down¬ 
stairs with it, and about ’arf an hour arter- 
wards the landlady’s ’usband came up and 
set ’em free. As soon as they’d got the use 
of their legs back they started out to look 
for Sam, but they didn’t find 'im for nearly 
a year, and as for Bill, they never set eyes on 
’im agin, 



OLD SAM SAID OW !LKI'JIISED UK WAS AT THEM FOR LETTING BILL VO IT.* 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













Bv E. D. CUMJNG AND J. A. SHEPHERD. 



WO complaints have reached me 
concerning these papers: one 
(whose justice I should regret¬ 
fully admit did it extend to every 
species of which mention has 
been made), that the snails have not received 
their meed of attention ; the other, that 
“ the writer displays an almost morbid 
antipathy to 
scientific termin¬ 
ology.” Again I 
plead guilty : I 
feel shy in the 
company of these 
great words ; do 
not understand 
them ; experience 
none of that ex¬ 
altation of spirit 
their society in¬ 
spires in some 
people. But if 
scientific termin¬ 
ology be desired 
let us face it 
boldly. Limelight, 
please, for Miss 
Polly Syllables : 

“ The Pneumono- 
ch la my da, repre¬ 
sented in England 
by the common 
genus Cycios- 

Digiti 


toma, have a twisted visceral nerve-loop, an 
operculum on the foot, a complex rhipi- 
doglossate or tEenioglossate radula, and are 
of distinct sexes: they are, in fact, Ozygo- 
branchiate Streptoneura.” I know this is so, 
because I copied it out of the Encyclopedia 
Britannka , myself; the writer is describing 
certain snails. The snails ought to have 

gone to bed for 
the winter by 
this time, closing 
their doors with 
a home-made 
stopper of lime- 
like material, 
which hardens 
quickly to keep 
the cold out; any 
snail who happens 
to hear such re¬ 
marks as the fore¬ 
going about his 
relations will, no 
doubt, promptly 
retire. You re¬ 
member the in¬ 
dignation of the 
Dublin apple- 
woman who was 
called a parallelo¬ 
gram ? Let us 
turn to more 
popular themes. 




THU IKmCNANT StfAU,, 


by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


SS 6 


The First of November sees every vixen's 
son promoted. Yesterday he was a cub ; 
to-day he is a fox and every foxhound’s 
lawful prey. If fortunate in h!s parents he 
has received plenty of good advice, and the 
crowning lecture, we may suppose, was 
delivered last night 

The duly of the fox is this— 

To run with all celerity ; 

Don’t dally when you hear a hound, 

He speaks to let you know you’re found, 

And ere you can get safe to ground 
Are ten—or twenty—miles to go 
To that snug head of earths you know ; 

Start, then, with prompt temerity* 

His history who tarries long 
Is writ with painful brevity : 

Safest the fox that runneth straight ; 

He whoM be master of his fate 
Beginneth soon and stoppeth late. 

His refuge gained, he hears men say, 

11 Leave him to run another day,” 

With pardonable levity. 


ing the magpie equivalent for "Tally-ho!” 
Why he should do this, unless with the idea 
of currying favour with his worst enemy— 
man—it is hard to say, for he has much less 
reason to hate the fox than have many other 
birds. The rooks, on the other hand, are 
often helpful and obliging. In autumn and 
winter they assemble in great flocks in the 
pastures, and the scent of a fox is almost as 
hard to follow over ground on which rooks 
are feeding as it is through a flock of sheep. 

It is against the principles of the hare to 
run straight; she makes a “bee-line” for a 
few fields—a mile or so—then, bethinking 
her that she does not know the country 
ahead, makes a tremendous leap to right or 
left, and start* off again at right angles to her 
original path, eventually coming back to the 
field she lives in. It is a paradox to say a 
hare is not hare-brained, but nobody who has 
hunted with harriers will deny her intelli- 



tl THK UL'TY OP A POX." 


If legs should fail and breath l>e spent, 

Then use your rare sagacity. 

Turn, twist and creep, climb, crouch, and leap, 
Poke up a friend, run through the sheep, 

Who'd keep his brush A is head must keep ; 

The dullest fux that ever ran 

Can baffle hounds—unhdped of man— 

By cunning and audacity. 

And when at last you go to join 
The brushless great majority, 

There shall arise to sing your fame, 

As one who really knew the game 
Ami well and truly played the same, 

Some one among the sons of men 
Whose life-won lore and ready pen 
Have crowned him an authority. 

It is at this season that the thievish mag¬ 
pie exhibits another ugly side of his character. 
When the fox is trying to escape from hounds 
the magpie enjoys nothing so much as to 
follow him from tree to tree overhead, shriek- 

Digitized by Google 


gence ; she has as many dodges as a fox: a 
favourite trick is to run back in her own 
track, spring to one side, and crouch down, 
laughing at the hounds as they sweep past. 
When they are gone she hops away in the 
opposite direction. Generally speaking, a 
hare only runs straight for a long way 
when in strange country. The fallow deer, 
who is occasionally hunted by harriers, has 
a trick something like the hare's : hearing 
hounds in his rear and feeling disinclined for 
exercise, he will canter past a clump of bush, 
and with a big, sidelong jump alight in the 
middle of it; there he crouches down, 
spreading himself out so flat on the ground 
that anyone who did not know the device 
would be almost sure to overlook him. 

After a month's holiday, to permit the red 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


557 


deer to attend to their private affairs, hind- 
stalking begins during the first ten days of 
November, Some people pretend to hold 
hind-shooting lightly as a poor form of sport, 
but those having knowledge approach the 
hind with even more scrupulous respect 
than they stalk the stag: he is wary enough, 
but his wives sus¬ 
pect an enemy 
even sooner than 
he does, and don’t 
wait to ascertain 
particulars. 

The ptarmigan 
has donned his 
white dress by the 
middle of the 
month* He has 
been changing his 
clothes continually 
ever since June ; 
in fact, this child 
of vanity only wears 
the same suit for 
more than three 
months together in 
winter; by March 
he begins to 
change his white 
for his wedding 
dress, w hich is per¬ 
fect by April; in 
June the ornitho¬ 
logical eye detects 
the beginning of 
new alterations, 
which go on till 
August, when he 
begins to wear the 
blue - grey suit 
which gradually 
gives way to white. 

The mole takes 
up quarters in his 
winter fortress, or 
monastery—a won¬ 
derful system of 
circular galleries in 
some hillock with 
passages to one 
central chamber, 
whither he retires from time to time to sleep 
on a bed of dry grass and leaves. This estab¬ 
lishment is distinct from the summer resi¬ 
dence and the nursery, and seems to he 
shared by a community; at all events, no 
private right of way is acknowledged, for as 
many as twenty-four moles have been trapped 
at the same point in one tunnel When 


frost comes and drives the worms deep 
into the earth the mole simply turns up his 
sleeves and digs straight down after them* 
There is reason to suppose that the otters 
generally talk of love and marriage about 
this season ; young ones have been found 
as early as October and as late as February ; 

but the otter does 
not encourage any 
display of interest 
in his private 
affairs — it would 
be strange if he 
did when you re¬ 
member that he 
has been hunted 
assiduously all the 
summer, and only 
owes his survival 
to his superior 
swimming and 
diving powers* His 
wife brings up her 
children, three, 
four, or five, in a 
hole in the river- 
bank : the passage 
slopes gently up¬ 
wards from the 
front door, which 
is at the water’s 
edge, so the 
nursery is not in 
danger of flood: 
the otters are 
always coming in 
w r et, so the house 
cannot be a very 
comfortable habi¬ 
tation* Mrs* Otter 
is a careful mother; 
when her children 
are able to go out 
she always goes 
first to make sure 
there are no ene¬ 
mies lurking near ; 
a strict disciplin¬ 
arian, she has been 
seen to take a re¬ 
fractory child by 
the neck and duck it, kindly but thoroughly, 
to bring it to its senses. 

The hedgehog puts on his nightcap when 
beetles disappear, snails dose their doors, 
and frost drives the earth-worms to the 
deeper depths where he cannot get them ; 
hence his bed-time depends much on the 
character of the season. He makes his winter 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



“THE OTTEK5 TALK t>P LOVE. ’ 













55 * 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


dormitory in a 
dry bank, under 
brushwood, or— 
very commonly— 
inside the hollow 
trutik of some 
decayed tree. He 
arranges his en¬ 
veloping blanket 
of withered moss 
and leaves so 
cleverly that it is 
impossible to dis- 
cover where he 
got into it, and 
there he sleeps, 
rolled tightly up 
in a ball 
The weather 
has still great in¬ 
fluence on the 
arrangements of 
migratory birds. 

The fieldfares 
usually flock 
southward late ir> 

September or in 
October; but on 
the 24th of November, 1897, the keepers of 
the Flam borough Lighthouse reported a 
great rush of fieldfares, which lasted all 
night, and it was remarked that this rush 
followed a heavy snowfall in Scotland. 
Happy fieldfares ! No packing up, no trouble 
about houses, not even half an hour’s trial of 
temper with u Bradshaw " ; the same simple, 
sensible idea, “ Let’s go where ids warmer,’ 1 
enters their ten thousand minds at the same 
instant, and with beautiful unanimity they 
start with windy roar of wings. A cold snap 
farther north always brings birds of one 
species or another southward, and thus 
migration movements go on intermittently all 
through the winter. Swallows and martins 
leave a few of their number behind every 


autumn, particu¬ 
larly if the weather 
be mild; then 
they sometimes 
linger in the South 
of England even 
to December. The 
snow-buntings are 
among the later 
birds to seek 
refuge with us; a 
few spend the 
whole year in this 
country, but 
choose the coldest 
situation possible 
for residence—to 
wit, the moun¬ 
tains in the High¬ 
lands. Mr. Abel 
Chapman remarks 
that the flocks of 
snow - buntings 
which appear so 
punctually on the 
1 st of November 
on the border 
moorlands are 
almost all young birds ; the grown - up 
ones come later, but are never very 
numerous. Perhaps the seniors are hardier, 
and allow the youngsters to winter with 
us as a concession to youth and delicacy. 
Comes also the short-eared or woodcock owl, 
who differs from most of his relatives in that 
he very often hunts by day ; he prefers the 
open moorland to more civilized localities, 
but regulates his preferences by the facilities 
for marketing ; and where field - mice and 
field-voles are plentiful there will you find 
the short-eared owl. They stay and bring up 
their children in this country when sufficient 
inducement offers. Thus, when the vole 
plague was ruining farmers in the Scottish 
border counties in 1892-93, these owls 



THE H ELKiEHCKJ I'L'TS OW Hl> NIGHTCAP. 



PATHER OWL! '‘VOLES At,A|S ! REALLY, M.V L) EAR, THE llOVSBKBErtNG J * 

Original from 

od by v.tV k i L UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


559 




A FATAL COLD. 


declared for man in the war he was waging, 
and rose to the occasion splendidly. Depart* 
ing from their usual routine, they mobilized 
their forces and settled down in the dis¬ 
turbed area in hundreds, building their 
nests and quartering themselves on the 
district as an army of occupation. Instead 
of rearing their usual half- 
dozen children, they nobly put 
personal considerations out of 
sight and went to the trouble 
of rearing ten or a dozen; 
and they and their children 
ate voles day and night, till 
you would have thought the 
very sight of a vole must 
make them ill They rendered 
yeoman's service in stamping 
out these guerilla bands of 
mice, and they had their re¬ 
ward—the people didn’t shoot 
them. 

Some of the birds who nest 
in colonies consider this a 
favourable season to call and 
see how things are going on 
at their old nurseries. The 

led by Google 


rooks assemble at the rookery 
and spend an hour or two, 
talking a good deal but 
doing nothing so far as 
human eyes can see. Of 
course, it may be that they 
are a building committee 
settling sites in advance for 
next spring ; but if this be 
their mission, one can only 
conclude that their decisions 
are subject to much 
revision when business 
begins in March. Occa¬ 
sionally, if the season be 
mild, a pair of rooks are 
seized with a craving to 
plunge into family affairs at 
once. They may succeed 
in bringing off their ill- 
timed family, but a few days 
of frost will probably give 
the eggs a fatal cold. The 
black-headed gulls go in 
a body to the gullery and 
swoop around and scream 
at one another, but do not 
linger very long ; their visit 
seems to be a duty visit and 
might as well be omitted 
altogether. The cheery dip¬ 
per leaves the sheltered 
streams and low grounds and betakes him¬ 
self to the hills. The dipper’s demeanour 
suggests consciousness 
of wrongdoing, for he 
sits very close, as though 
trying to hide. 

The humble sprat 


□ jgili^ 


j *■ i 


’SOLD LIKE SHRIMPS TO A CARTER 

tfEFOHB THE JEYKS QV WFSTAkT SMELT," 

urigmaTfnom 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















56 ° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


1 Cheap 


appears in heaps on 
the fishmonger’s 
slab. In his youth 
he masqueraded as 
whitebait, and the 
reception accorded 
him at a riper age 
must be a terrible 
blow to his self¬ 
esteem :— 

“ Why are we treated 
in this way ? 

It is not what we’re 
used to. 

Grown - up whitebait are 
to-day * ! 

Is this what we’re reduced to ? 

“ Of being cheap, though we com¬ 
plain, 

What we feel far more deeply 
Is, you a dainty fish disdain 

Because they sell him cheaply. 

“ Ah ! The pangs that the sprat 
has felt 

Sold like shrimps to a carter 
Before the eyes of upstart smelt— 

Bought for Knights of the Garter. ” 

Good little fish, with hearts bowed 
down, 

That is the world its way ; were 
Twopence a pound made half a 
crown, 

Then you should feed all Mayfair. 

The pike is at his best in 
winter; that is to say, he is 
readier in cold weather to take a bait, for 
his merits on the table, in the present 
scribe’s opinion, depend entirely upon the 
stuffing wherewith he shall be stuffed. The 
pike has fallen from a high estate. In 
Edward I.’s time 
he was set above 
the salmon and 
everybody was 
eager to get 
him. In H.M. 

Edward VI I.’s 
time angling 
associations set 
a price upon his 
head as for ver¬ 
min. There be 
those who say 
that the pike, 
like the eel, can 
work his way 
overland ; but 
the water must 
fall low indeed 
before he pre¬ 
fers to get out 
and walk. The 




eel does do this: 
like the famous 
American river- 
steamer he can go 
where it is damp: 
but stories like that 
of the gardener who 
declared he had 
caught eels in the 
kitchen garden steal¬ 
ing his young peas 
must be accepted 
with reserve. Many 
fish, both sea and 
river, seek an 
equable climate in 
the deep waters as 
winter draws near; 
the carp goes a long 
step farther, for he 
hibernates ; if it be 
cold at this time of 
the year, he calls his 
friends and neigh¬ 
bours round him, 
and they huddle to¬ 
gether in the mud. 
The carp is, more¬ 
over, eccentric in 
his unfishlike inde¬ 
pendence of water; 
he can live for hours 
Three ten-pound carp 
were once sent from Windsor to Southport, 
packed in wet moss; they were thirteen hours 
on the journey, but two arrived fresh and 
cheerful, while the third, though a little 

faint, speedily 
recovered when 
put into water. 
The barbel, a 
“ sweete fysshe 
but a quasy 
meate,”as Dame 
Juliana Berners 
calls him, does 
not hibernate 
like the carp, 
but when the 
weeds die off in 
the cold the 
barbel congre¬ 
gate in large 
numbers under 
some tree-root, 
log, or sunken 
boat in deep 
water, and there 
remain in a 


THE PIKE HAS A PRICE UPON HIS HEAD.” 


out of his element. 


“ TWO OF THE CARP ARRIVED FRESH AND CHEERFUL. 

Jriginal from 
v ,UU 8 K UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



























THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR . 


lethargic state till spring. Whether fish 
sleep or not is a debated point 

It was supposed formerly that the badger 
stayed in bed all winter; he does so in colder 
climates than ours, Sweden for example, but 
in England he regulates his arrangements by 
the temperature; hating cold, he won’t go 
out for a walk m the snow if he can help it, 
but stays abed sucking his fingers—a childish 
habit which he perhaps gets from liis distant 
cousin, the bean If disturbed in his repose 
he soon demonstrates that he was not very 
sound asleep, for he is quite ready to fight; 
and here it may be remarked our seventeenth- 
century friend, Mr. Topsell, was wrong when 
he said of the badger: u Her manner is to 
fight on her back, using thereby both her 


561 

satisfied in the matter of accommodation ; a 
hole in a rubbish heap suits him nicely; 
but he will gratefully accept permission 
to put up for a few months in the coal¬ 
hole and take his chance of being brought to 
untimely light by the cook turning over the 
slack, into which he luxuriously sinks as it 
were a feather'bed. The young dormice, 
having made the most of their first summer, 
yawn and get to work to prepare their winter 
nests : sometimes the dormouse sleeps on 
hts hack with his nose in the air, but his 
usual attitude is curled up with his hands 
pressed against his cheeks, his tail turned 
forward towards his head, and his back 
uppermost, A tame dormouse who weighed 
thirty-seven grains when she went to sleep on 



teeth and her nails, and by blowing up her 
skin above measure after an unknown manner 
she defendeth herself/’ Any self-respecting 
badger would be horrified at the idea of 
fighting like that. 

Reptiles retire now, if they have not gone 
before ; the vipers are said to assemble and 
twine lovingly together for their winter sleep. 
If they do it is the only time these un¬ 
attractive creatures display any taste for 
society. The frog and toad retire to their 
respective bedrooms: the latter is easily 

Vol, xxW.— 7t, 


the 2nd of October {apparently she approved 
early hours) had lost eleven grains, or nearly 
a third of her weight, when she was weighed 
on the 27th of March, She finally awoke on 
the 9th of April, having slept six months and 
eleven days, with one brief interval : she got 
up on the 31st of December—presumably to 
see the Old Year out. 

The squirrel dons his warm winter coat 
with bushy tail and those long ear “ pencils” 
which do so much to improve his appearance. 
He is too Uptiye and |estless a being to 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






562 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



squander the winter months in idle sloth, 
and though, hating rain and damp, he some¬ 
times stays in bed for days together in wet 
weather, you may see him any fine day in 
winter, racing and jumping about the trees in 
the best of spirits : — 

* 4 What ! Go to l)«V* the squirrel said, “because 
it’s wintry weal her ! 

Stay up with me and you shall see what panics we’l] 
play together. 

“ You fear the cold ? That plea is old \ my friend, 
you’re talking folly. 

If you come out and jump about, you 1 !I soon be 
warm and jolly* 

“ Look ! here’s a hall for what they call ‘ Ping Pong* 
or * Table Tennis*; 

What's in a name? It is a game that much admired 
of men is. 

‘ Here come the rats who bring their hats, also the 
moles and rabbits ; 

Dear hedgehog stay with us and play, renouncing 
lazy habits ! ” 

** Nay ! I’ll to bed/* the hedgehog said, u For you 
the cold all right is; 

Not so Jor me, because, you see, I’m subject to 
bronchitis* 

" I might liear cold, but must be told where food is 
and the way there \ 

I must have meat or, I repeat, I’ll go to bed and 
stay there.** 

By the end of November the birds who 
left us in autumn have taken up their resi¬ 


dence where they mean to spen^ the winter. 
The spotted fly-catcher has been found late 
this month at Newcastle, in Natal; so has 
the willow warbler; while quail have been 
reported as “swarming 19 near Mari tz burg, in 
which locality they breed. The red-backed 
shrikes winter in Mashonaland and in other 
parts of Central South Africa, and, some¬ 
times at least, bring up families there before 
they come back to confer the benefits of 
their society on Europe in the spring; the 
greater number of shrikes appear to prefer 
the Nile Valley and East Coast route when 
southward bound. The common white-throat 
is easily pleased as to winter quarters ; any 
part of Africa from Algiers to the south- 
centra! regions of the continent suit him* 
The swallows are abundant in many parts of 
South Africa bv this time: whether they 
turn their attention to domestic affairs is not 
certain, but some individuals may do so. 
The robin is common now in Palestine; the 
winter climate there agrees with him; and as 
the people there do not eat him he is quite 
as forward and self-confident in the Holy 
Land as he is in England* 



Original from 

UH S 1 k UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













The Guardian of the Pulwani. 

By Frank Savile. 


OOD-BYE, old chap, good¬ 
bye ! ” 

The train had already 
begun to move before Man- 
nering jumped aboard. He 
leaned on the rail, waving 
his hand and shouting cheerily. 

“ Before next hot weather, then, I shall 
expect you,” he cried. “ I’ll take no denial. 
I dare say we shall raise no end of entertain¬ 
ment out of the cattle-lifters.” 

“ I don't doubt that,” I answered, at the 
top of my voice, for the mail was already 
thundering over the points outside the station. 
As I watched the red tail-lights fade into the 
night I smiled to myself. Entertainment 
was little likely to be lacking where Arthur 
Mannering was concerned. More extra¬ 
ordinary incidents happened to him in a 
month than to most slow-going individuals in 
the course of their natural lives. It was the 
nature of the man to be the storm-centre of 
his surroundings. His whole life had been 
a tacit revolt against the commonplace. 

His start at the age of fourteen was 
in the Navy. He was in Egypt, saw fight¬ 
ing, and won the Distinguished Service 
Order After that a year on survey duty 
wearied him of the piping times of peace. 
He left the sea to study engineering on the 
land, but by the time he was seventeen he 
began to yearn again for the companionable 
life of the servants of the Crown, and 
deserted the machine shops and chemical 
laboratories to cram for Woolwich, into which 
he passed with honours. When he left he 
took a place that entitled him to a commis¬ 
sion in the Sappers. He was sent out to 
India. 

He brought all his hard-won knowledge of 
mechanics to bear upon his profession, and 
nearly broke his heart in battering against 
the many departmental doors which the War 
Office has barricaded with fold on fold of 
red tape. It is possible that he would have 
thrown up the Service within a year of his 
appointment had not six months’ active cam¬ 
paigning given him a vent for his activities. 
During the Manzai Expedition, at least, he 
was perfectly happy. He passed through 
many perils, won no further distinctions, but 
endeared himself to all with whom he came 
in contact. He was left as part of the small 
army of occupation that held the conquered 
district. 

Here the extraordinary ascendency he had 
gained over his fellow-countrymen was trans- 

Digitized by OOOO Ic 

* o 


ferred to the frontier caterans. Alone, and 
practically unarmed, he would stroll out into 
the hill fastnesses, and return, jauntity assur¬ 
ing his superiors that much education and 
entertainment were to be had for the asking 
within rifle-shot of the barrack-yard to which 
they clung. He reappeared, now and again, 
with some swarthy tribesman, to whom he 
would offer weird hospitalities, and with 
whom he would converse in strange jargons. 
And now he had just received the Deputy 
Commissionership of the Pulwani, that 
restless district along the borderlands of 
Tibet and the Pamirs. Before we parted 
at the station he had given me a warm invita¬ 
tion to spend part, at least, of my next leave 
with him. 

And so it came to pass that about the 
middle of the March following our farewells 
I found myself on the back of a Cashmeri 
pony, attended by half-a-dozen Luzai cut¬ 
throats, stumbling up the long ravine that 
cuts the Pulwani like the slash of a sabre. 

It was near the falling of the dusk as we 
rounded a corner of the cliff and discovered 
ourselves to any watchers on the walls of 
Fort Nagar— the grey stone ramparts of 
which crown a precipitous peak in the centre 
of the ravine. I noted the preposterous size 
of the flagstaff that towered above the com¬ 
pound, and was about to make a remark to 
one of my followers in my halting Luzai 
when I received an unexpected interruption. 

There was the report of an explosion from 
the cliffside upon my right, and a column of 
smoke swirted up from the crag top. My 
attendants dropped to their knees, bowed 
towards it, and, as they sprang again to their 
feet, regarded me with increased respect. 
Before I could speak a second report fol¬ 
lowed—this time from the left. Again my 
attendants prostrated themselves, and with 
even deeper obeisances. 

“ Do they shoot blank cartridge in sign of 
welcome?” I asked. The headman smiled. 

“ That was no gunshot, sahib. The djinns 
of the Commissioner Sahib welcome you 
and assure you of their protection. They 
are everywhere abroad upon the hills.” 

I stared at him blankly. 

“ What foolish talk is this ? ” I asked. 
“Djinns? Who can control the spirits of 
the earth and air?” 

“They are the servants of Mannering 
Sahib,” said the man, confidently. 

I looked at him with no little surprise. I 
knew, of course, that it would be impossible 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


S 6 4 



to convince a Mohammedan, much less a 
Luzai, that such things as djinns and 
afreets—the spirits that are supposed to 
control all natural phenomena —do not* 
exist. But even from the point of view of 
a Mussulman I could not understand how 
an Englishman—a dog of an unbeliever— 
could he credited with such powers. But 
the question that hovered on my lips was 
anticipated by a third report* Azim Khan 
turned and waved his hands excitedly* 

** Look, sahib ! ** he cried, “ Look well! ** 

I wheeled round to see again a slender 
column of smoke that wavered off into the 
still evening air. The sunset was behind it 

u The sahib has seen?'* 
he murmured* 

I shrugged my shoulders. 
41 1 saw—smoke/* I ad¬ 
mitted* 

“ Even so, sahib. They 
have no bodily presence — 
these servants of Mannering 
Sahib* Yet it cannot be 
denied—our eyes tell us— 
that they exist. 5 * 

I smiled doubtfully, and 
then* for the fourth time, 
the strange report echoed 
among the boulders* This 
time I felt that any theory 
of coincidence was futile. 
Most Starkly distinct I saw 
the misty presentment of a 
human form arise among 
the hillside rubble, float for 
appreciable seconds, and dis¬ 
solve* Azim Khan coughed, 
triumphantly. 

I dropped my switch upon 
my pony's withers and rode 
forward. No doubt there 
was an explanation ■ but 
it was no use attempting to 
extract it from my present 
following while they clung 
so resolutely to ideas with 
which common sense for¬ 
bade sympathy* 

Mannering appeared upon 
the walls of his fortress, 
waving cheerily as our little 
procession drew up- For 
ten minutes we stood ex¬ 
changing answer and ques¬ 
tion like schoolboys meeting 
after the holidays. But from 
the very first I was sur- 


It was distinctly outlined by the gold and 
crimson glories of the sky* 

I rubbed my eyes. It seemed quite 
certain that it was an exact profile that had 
hovered over the stones before it dissolved 
into nothingness, and just as certain that the 
profile had been a human one. This I told 
myself could only be a coincidence, but at 
the same time I was mightily puzzled to 
explain the presence of the smoke at all. 
The plateau from which it arose was bare 
and coverless* There was no shelter from 
which a shot could be fired* 

I stared at Azim. With a good deal of 
confident satisfaction he stared back. 


11 1 LOOK, &AHI& ! ' HE CklED* ' LOOK WELL ! ' * 0M Q iffijf'^OW CXCCCd^ 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








THE GUARDIAN OF THE PUL WANT 


S^S 


ingly up-to-date his knowledge of passing 
events was. It was a six-days* ride from 
Assourah, the nearest telegraph-post, to Fort 
Nagar, yet I found him already primed with 
all the items of general intelligence which I 
had expected him to regard as news. In 
fact, he himself informed me of events which 
had occurred in the outside world since my 
start from Peshawur. 

It was not till after dinner, when we had 
taken our cigars to the veranda, that I made 
any allusion to the events of the afternoon. 
My thoughts were turned to it by a somewhat 
surprising circumstance. There was a great 
silence over the valley below, broken only by 
the distant purr of the torrent, yet so faint 
was a click that echoed out of Mannering’s 
office behind us that it almost escaped my 
attention. But my friend rose at once and 
left me. He returned in a minute or two, 
lighting a fresh cigar. 

“Cambridge has won the boat-race,” he 
remarked, with the same nonchalance that 
he might have used to a fellow-clubman in 
Pall Mall. 

I bounced in my chair. 

“ What ? ” I cried. “ Why, to-day—yes, 
to-day — is the date of the race ! ” He 
nodded. 

“This afternoon,” he agreed. “By five 
lengths.” 

“ But—but where is your telegraph wire ? ” 
I exclaimed. 

He smiled complacently as he pointed to 
the great flagstaff that soared above the roof. 

“Have you never heard the name of 
Marconi ? ” he inquired. 

A light broke over me. 

“Why, of course,” Tanswered. “I might 
have thought of that. You certainly are 
marvellously up-to-date. So you have one 
of his installations ? ” 

“You are partly right and partly wrong. 
I have what I suppose I must call a 
Mannering installation. The Italian inventor 
and I happened to strike upon the same idea 
more or less simultaneously.” 

“ Look here,” said I, “ as we are on the 
subject of mysteries, do you mind explaining 
those fog-signal explosions that welcomed 
me? They seemed to impress my body-guard 
mightily. Did you fire them? ” 

He nodded, still smiling. 

“How?” 

“ By means of another of my inventions, 
which X was sorry to see has again been 
forestalled by a fellow-investigator only a few 
months ago.” 

“What is it?” 

Digitized by GoOQ (c 
¥ o 


“ * Armorl.’ * Have you heard of it ? ” 

I shook my head. 

“ Then you will in the immediate future. 
It is merely a method of utilizing earth 
currents, as Marconi uses those he sets astir 
in the air. So far, though, it has a more 
restrained radius.” 

“ But you must at least plant your 
explosives? ” 

“ Of course. And to do that—as well as 
for other reasons—I saw to it that my reputa¬ 
tion for mystery should be established as 
soon as I arrived here. A few easy conjuring 
tricks, a demonstration or two with the 
electric battery, and I was immediately placed 
upon the pedestal of superstition that I 
desired. Now I can go where I will un¬ 
attended. In fact, I doubt if one of my 
men—who worship me—could be got for 
any reward that you could mention to attend 
me abroad after dark. There is nothing like 
a notoriety for supernatural powers if you 
want a peaceful district about you. The 
threats of my wrath are sufficient to quell 
blood-feuds that date from past centuries.” 

“ But why should scattered explosions 
here and there appear so marvellous to 
them ? ” I demurred, for by now I had 
returned to the conclusion that the shadowy 
forms I had seen wavering against the sunset 
could only be creations of my own imagina¬ 
tion. Many matters take on a different 
complexion after a good dinner. 

He grinned. 

“ Did you not see as well as hear ? ” he 
asked. 

I hesitated. 

“ I saw some smoke,” I said. 

He rose and made off in the direction of 
his office. 

“ Come with me,” he said, briefly. 

I followed him into his office. Ranged 
along the wall I found two rows of metal 
rods, thrust through the boarding into the 
earth. Communicating with them were the 
wires of what looked like an electric battery. 
Mannering turned one of the rods in its 
socket and bade me look westwards through 
the window. I heard a click from behind me. 

Instantly out of the night came the same 
dull report that had welcomed me that after¬ 
noon. A crimson light shone in the distant 
darkness, glimmered vividly against the back¬ 
ground of the hill, and vanished. I looked 
at Mannering with curious eyes. For, out¬ 
lined against the sudden glare, transparent 
but distinct, I again saw a dim presentment 
of a bodily form. 

* The Armstrong-Orling process. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




566 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“ An amusing trick, isn’t it ? ” said my 
friend. 

I looked from Mannering to the row of 
metal rods, and back again from the rods to 
his impassive face. I was absolutely beaten 
for an explanation, and I said so. 

“It is really rather simple,” he replied. 
“ You haven’t had my special training, or you 
would understand. Come out on the veranda 
again.” 

When we had seated ourselves in our 
chairs he began to pull steadily at his 
cheroot. As soon as he had got a bright, 
glowing ash upon it he turned to me with a 
smile. 

“ Watch ! ” said he. 

He sucked hard, thrust the tip of his 
tongue from his mouth, and lightly licked 
his lips. Then he sent a great solid oval 
of smoke swinging across the stillness of the 
shadow. 

“That is the principle,” he said. “Now 
look again ! ” 

This time he twisted his lips and tongue 
strangely. Another lump of smoke shot out 
—like a rough figure of eight. He looked 
across at me and laughed cheerily. 

“ A regular schoolboy trick,” he admitted. 
“ I learned it at the engineering college. 
But lots of things like that turn out useful if 
you only wait your opportunity.” 

“ I see that you can blow elaborate smoke- 
rings,” I answered. “ I may add that I have 
seen an American professor of the art do the 
thing considerably better,” I went on, for his 
mysteries were growing a little raw upon my 
nerves. “But that is no explanation of how 
you bring it about here, there, and every¬ 
where within a couple of miles or more.” 

“ If you had been in the Navy,” he replied, 
“you would know that middies often get 
magnificent smoke-ring effects by greasing 
the muzzle of a gun before a salute. That 
notion stayed by me, too.” 

“ Then you have planted guns upon the 
hillside?” 

“ Not exactly guns. I don’t mind showing 
you the device, if you particularly want to 
understand it.” 

He went back into the house and returned 
carrying half-a-dozen little wrought-iron pots. 
Their rims were compressed into various 
shapes. 

“I put a pinch of blasting powder and 
a handful of powdered charcoal into each 
of these. Look at this—this little round 
one is the head. This oblong, set below it, 
is the body. These four slender tubes pro¬ 
duce the arms and legs at exact intervals. So 

Diqjlized byC lOOQle 
* o 


arises my smoke jack-in-the-box, illuminated 
at night by the packet of Greek fire which is 
exploded at the same time.” 

“ Great heavens ! what an idea ! ” I cried, 
admiringly. “Though I can’t think of any¬ 
one but yourself with ah imagination suffi¬ 
ciently diseased to have evolved it So these 
crackers are planted all over the country¬ 
side to frighten the insubordinate tribesmen 
into obedience ? ” 

“ Precisely. I let them off intermittently, 
quite certain that they will have their due 
effect. Someone somewhere is sure to be 
plotting some sort of devilry, at no matter 
what hour of the day or night. Then my 
djinns upon the hillside arise to warn me; at 
least, that is what these Luzai have settled 
in their great minds.” 

I lay back and laughed heartily. It was 
so entirely like Mannering to deal in such 
out-of-the-way artifices, and the cool way in 
which he mingled fireworks with political 
administration touched my sense of the 
humorous vastly. Azim Khan, bringing 
coffee, eyed me with grave disapproval. I 
followed his train of thought. Was it decent, 
he was considering, that anyone should laugh 
in the face of his omnipotent master? 

“ You see,” went on Mannering, “ it doesn’t 
seem to have occurred to anyone else as yet 
that a current can be made to flick a needle 
against a scrap of fulminate and cause an 
explosion quite as easily as it can indicate 
the signs of a message. I just ramble about 
at nights, plant an ‘ armorl ’ bar here and 
there, syntonize it to one of those rods you 
have seen in my office, connect it with one 
of these crackers, and any one of my twenty 
djinns can ‘ make a report ’ whenever I touch 
my battery.” 

“Twenty?” I repeated. “I counted two 
dozen rods?” 

“ Four of them have other uses,” he said. 

“ What, then ? ” 

He hesitated. Then he rose, walked for¬ 
ward a pace, and leaned his elbows on the 
parapet. I followed. He was staring down 
into the valley below us, which was faintly lit 
by the crescent moon. 

“ Do you observe my defences ? ” he asked. 
“They are good, but not quite impregnable 
as they stand.” 

I stared slowly round me. The cliff 
behind the residency was absolutely sheer 
into the ravine. No attack was to be feared 
there. On the right, too, the crags were 
plainly unsurmountable. On the left they 
were more rugged. It was conceivable, 
though improbable, that a trained cragsman 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE GUARDIAN OF THE PUL WANT. 


567 


might have won a way up from ledge to 
ledge, but the only obvious way of assault 
was in front. The road rose by fairly easy 
slants from the river, to end upon a rocky 
platform a few feet below the outer fringe of 
fortifications. It was not a naturally sloped 
ascent In places it had been hewn and 
blasted through the solid 
rock, "It'S a hard nut 
to crack,” said L 44 1 
would rather defend it 
than attack it any day,” 

“ Yes/ 1 he said, slowly. 

44 Hut you over¬ 
look two things. 

The first is the 
size of the forti¬ 
fications. This 
pinnacle, though 
a splendid site, 
is too small. My 
forty Dogras are 
inconveniently 
crowded as it is, 
and the servants 
have to camp 
outside the walls, 

A force that 
could afford to 
waste a few lives 
might rush us by 
sheer weight of 
numbers." 

44 Perhaps,” I 
agreed, “ What 
is your other 
weakness ? ” 

“ Water/’ he said, simply* “ We are sup¬ 
plied from the river two hundred feet below.” 

I looked down at the stream. The eddies 
were w'hite in the moonlight and seemed 
near enough, but I realized what an im¬ 
measurable distance away they might appear 
if bullets were sweeping the hillside between 
them and the crag top. I nodded, 

“I think I understand,” I said, “Those 
four extra rods are syntonized to something 
rather more powerful than mere crackers. 
You have mined the slope ?” 

“With something like 2Dolb. of gun¬ 
cotton,” he said, tersely. 

“I guessed as much,” said I. “Let us 
hope you will never have to use it. After 
all, the tribesmen are never likely to assault 
the stronghold of such a magician as your¬ 
self, The djinns and afreets of the mountain 
would sw-eep them away to destruction,” I 
added, with a smile. 

For a moment or two he was silent, staring 


meditatively across the void of the ravine at 
the ranges opposite. Then he sighed. 

“As long as I pose as a magician, as you 
say, all is well. But-” 

“ But-? JI 

41 There are always 1 buts/ The 4 but ! in 
this case calls himself Ferisht Alla Khas, 
wears a filthy sheepskin 
coat over a vile yellow 
tunic, and is squatting in 
a hovel beside a notorious 
hill - shrine not fifteen 
miles away.” 

I laughed, 

44 The local 
mullah ?” I cried. 
“ I suppose he 
was the one and 
only necroman¬ 
cer before you 
arrived, and your 
tricks outshine 
his immeasur¬ 
ably, It is a case 
of two of a 
trade ? ” 

For the second 
time bis answer 
hesitated. Then 
he drew himself up, and 
turned towards me with 
a decisive gesture. 

44 Ixiok here, Strange,” 
he said, “I have—quite 
involuntarily—asked you 
to join me at a very 
critical moment. It is 
possible—in fact, it is likely—that you may 
see active service before you leave me.” 

I took off my terai and waved it, 

44 Three cheers for that! ” I cried, “ Don’t 
waste apologies. But in the name of good¬ 
ness—why ? ” 

44 Because,” he said, slowly, 41 in a little 
cellared hiding-place in this tin-pot fort of 
mine is a collection of documents which one 
big Empire would squander a thousand men 
to steal, and which another big Empire 
would do as much to keep. Also because 
Ferisht Alla Khas is no more a mullah or a 
Mohammedan than I am. Again, because 
the Pul wan i is the natural route for any 
invaders of India coming from the Pamirs.” 

1 looked at him with a dim suspicion 
forming in my mind, 

44 Is this mullah——” I began, but lie 
interrupted me, 

44 He settled hereabouts five years ago, in 
my preduces^^i|pp r ( JJe began to perform 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



FEkLsv.lT ALLA KHA-S." 







568 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


the usual little cheap-jack miracles which 
impress these simple hillmen; he gained 
influence. He was joined from time to 
time by disciples who professed to be drawn 
by wondrous reports of his miraculous 
powers. He has a little colony now of a 
dozen of them. It is to be noted that they 
all came from the North.” 

“Then he is-” 

“A Russian spy, of course,” said Man¬ 
ner!* ng. 

I whistled. Things grew very clear, though 
there was one more question to be put. 

“ But about these documents ? ” I asked. 

He answered my query with another. 

“ You heard of the Vassiloff Zoological 
Expedition ? ” 

“Yes. It left Assourah only a fortnight 
before I did.” 

“Just so,” said Mannering, drily. “And 
now Vassiloff is dead, and the whole of his 
collection—which had nothing to do with 
zoology, but contained many excellent survey 
and sketch maps—is hidden within thirty feet 
of where you stand.” 

“ You didn’t kill the beggar?” I asked, 
blankly. 

“ No. The whole thing was luck—the 
sort of luck that always attends this blunder¬ 
ing old Empire of ours. Of course I was 
watching him, or certain Luzai friends of 
mine were. He camped beside our friend 
Mr. Fensht Alla Khas for the best part of a 
week, and from my later investigations I 
think the two must have pooled their collec¬ 
tions for Vassiloff to take home with him. 
Three days ago one of my men came flying 
hot-foot to tell me that the expedition, after 
leaving Ferisht’s village, had been over¬ 
whelmed by an avalanche not five miles from 
here.” 

I looked at him keenly. “ By accident ? ” 
I asked. 

He gave the ghost of a grin. 

“ I didn’t inquire. My fellows knew that I 
didn’t look on Vassiloff with favour, and it 
is a fact that in their intertribal feuds the 
simple trick of dislodging an avalanche on 
an opposition village has been most success¬ 
fully practised. But, on my word of honour, 
I had nothing to do with it. Of course, from 
motives of mere humanity, I and my Dogras 
were at the scene of the disaster within less 
than an hour, digging for all we were worth.” 

“ In mere humanity,” I agreed,“ you could 
do no less.” 

“ Ferisht and his men turned up later in a 
great state of excitement, to find us still dig¬ 
ging, and continued the good work at our 

Diqilized by C iQOQlC 
* o 


side. We left them still at it, having dis¬ 
interred everything except, oddly enough, two 
mules, that had been laden with oilskin- 
covered baskets. There was no trace of 
these.” 

“And Ferisht has suspicions that they 
have found their way to Fort Nagar ? ” 

“Yes,” said Mannering, “and he means 
getting them.” 

“ But why on earth haven’t you sent them 
down to Peshawur ? ” 

“ For the very simple reason that any force 
that I could collect would be wiped out on 
the way. Ferisht controls eight hundred 
men. 1 could spare ten Dogras and enlist, 
perhaps, fifty Luzai irregulars. They would 
be murdered to a man.” 

“Then ask for an expedition to fetch 
them,” I exclaimed. 

“I have been dinning that request into 
the ears of Gresham, who has the Marconi 
instalment at Assourah, for the last eight-and- 
forty hours.” 

“ Well?” 

“ It is not at all well. To begin with, I 
doubt if the Department entirely believe me. 
For political reasons they are very averse to 
sending any considerable body of troops this 
way to upset the tribes. In the third place, 
till the Agra manoeuvres are over, which 
won’t be for three weeks, there are no troops 

available for-” He broke off suddenly, 

rose to his feet, and stared over the parapet. 

“ By Jove ! ” he murmured. 

A white-clad figure was stumbling hastily 
up by the path through the moonlight. So 
noiselessly did his bare feet fall upon the 
pebbles that it was the sound of his laboured 
breathing that first made his presence known. 
We heard the Dogra sentry challenge. A 
moment later Azim Khan introduced the 
panting messenger on to the veranda. He 
made a deep obeisance. 

“ What is this haste ? ” demanded Manner¬ 
ing, in the Pulwani dialect. 

The man rolled his eyes and waved his 
arms with extravagant gestures. I could not 
understand his jerky sentences, but Manner¬ 
ing followed them with close attention. I 
could see his eyes harden and his fingers 
close tensely upon the arms of his chair. As 
the man finished he rose and clapped his 
hands. Azim Khan answered the summons, 
to be told to see to the messenger’s comfort 
and to summon the sergeant of the Dogras, 
Ullah Das. 

“ They are out upon us already ! ” said 
Mannering, as his under officer came hurry- 

in s in ' Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE GUARDIAN OF THE PULIVANL 


5 6 9 



u 1 WHAT IS THIS HASTE?" DEMANDED MANNERING.” 


The sergeant, a lean, 
wiry, wolf-faced little 
man, listened in grim 
silence, showing his 
teeth in fierce pleasure 
now and again. He 
saluted and left swmly when Mannering dis¬ 
missed him, I could hear his hoarse words 
of command a few instants later in the outer 
courtyard. 

“Our friend who arrived in such dis¬ 
ordered haste,” said Mannering, “is a most 
gentlemanly cattle-lifter, whose broken arm T 
happened to set successfully a month or two 
back. He was out to-night—cattle-lifting 
again, I dare swear. At any rate, he was 
moving with such exemplary caution that he 
ran almost into the arms of a couple of 
hundred men with Ferisht Alla at their head, 
stealing down the gorges in this direction.” 

“Then he is going to attempt a surprise ?” 

“ Evidently. But what is especially annoy¬ 
ing is the fact that he has apparently won 
over some of my own Luzai to join him by 
proclaiming that he is waging a jehad —a 
holy war—against my infidel arts. He has 
called upon them as true believers to aid him 
against the giaour,” 

“ What are you going to do ? ” 

“The first and most obvious thing is to 
get in water. I have sent every coolie in the 
place down to the river with casks and 
cans-” 

A shot rang out from the valley, followed 
quickly by half-a-dozen more. We could see 
the red flashes flare across the night. There 
was an answering volley from immediately 
below us, the faint sound of a yell or two, 
and then a great clattering or tin. 

“Good Lord ! ” said Mannering, anxiously, 
“ I don’t like the empty sound of those cans.” 

Vol, jcxiv.—72 


Two score camp-followers, escorted by a 
reluctant Dogra guard, came flying up the 
path to report that they had found the river- 
bank already held in strength. They thumped 
their empty tins resoundingly to give emphasis 
to the explanation that they had got no water 
—not a drop. * 

Even as they spoke a bullet thudded into 
our midst against a coolie's chest. The man 
flung up his arms, spun round, and fell dead 
across my feet. A dozen more reports pro¬ 
duced as many white splinter marks on the 
veranda roofing, The servants scurried to 
shelter like so many rabbits, while we and 
our fighting men settled down behind the 
parapet for the defence in earnest. 

Before an hour was over we recognised 
that the attack was wanting in enthusiasm. 
If the false mullah wanted to annihilate us 
in one first desperate onset he was wofully 
disappointed in his men. Their fighting 
fervour was at a low ebb. They crouched 
and skipped among the boulders at the hill- 
foot ; they yelled insults; they fluttered 
ragged skirts derisively in the moonlight, but 
not one of them attempted to leave the cover 
of the stones for the last hundred bare yards 
of hillside that lay between them and the 
platform outside the parapet gate. 

They pelted their bullets at us from their 
long jezails. Here and there the sharper 
crack of some stolen or smuggled rifle was 
heard. Uproar was with us ceaselessly, and 
as the moon sank nearer the hills our anxiety 
grew. But Blitn wiiih the lessening light the 

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570 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


peril was no more acute, and as the hours 
passed, and gradually the faint illumination 
of the stars gave place to the pale birth of 
dawn, we realized that an assault in the dark¬ 
ness was beyond the courage of Ferisht Alla’s 
men. The terrors of Mannering Sahib, the 
magician, were not to be dared in the djinn- 
haunted night. 

We on our side wasted little ammunition, 
and after the first anxiety grew dull our 
leader left us to sit anxiously in his office, 
vainly endeavouring to get into communica¬ 
tion with Assourah, where no doubt Gresham, 
his correspondent, was healthily asleep. 

It was as the first vivid rays of the sun shot 
out upon the summit of Mount Thanipura 
opposite that the long wait came to an end. 
Ullah Das, crouching at my elbow, was 
peering like mvself across the bastion with 
his rifle cocked. Suddenly he rose to his 
feet, scarcely took time to aim, and fired. 
A yellow-clad figure leaped into the air and 
sprawled back upon the boulders. Ullah 
Das grunted contentedly. 

“ A fool and the son of a fool, sahib ! ” 
he ejaculated. “His brainless poll was ex¬ 
posed ! ” 

A yell of rage went up from the besiegers. 
A dozen wrathful faces glared from above as 
many rocks and brown fists were furiously 
shaken. Two of the more reckless paid for 
their temerity as a volley from the lower 
parapet rang out; yet, to my ears, there 
seemed something of exultation rather than 
of defeat in the defiant roar that followed. 

My instinct had been right. Suddenly 
Ullah Das leaped to his feet again, brought 
up his rifle, and began to empty his magazine 
towards the left side of the rock platform at 
the road head. He shouted to his men 
below. Then I saw where our peril lay. 

In twos and threes, looking like a long 
line of ants as they followed one another, a 
horde of hillmen was pouring over the top¬ 
most ledge of the precipitous ascent, 
scrambling to their feet, and racing for 
shelter beneath the outer wall of the fort. A 
good percentage fell beneath the Dogra fire, 
but this slackened swiftly and with good 
cause. Thrusting the muzzles of their jezails 
through the loopholes of the outer parapet 
the besiegers covered all who stood upon 
their feet within. We could no longer 
direct a fusillade upon the bare slope below 
without exposing ourselves as easy marks to 
their fire. With a howl of delight the main 
body of the enemy rose from their hiding- 
places and came sweeping up to join their 
comrades in the hard-won position above. I 

i 

* O 


gave a shout. Mannering came out of his 
office in two strides, took in the situation in 
one comprehensive glance, and then stuffed 
a corner of his handkerchief into a rifle- 
muzzle and waved it above his head ! 

I clutched at him in my amazement. 

“ Good heavens ! you don’t mean a sur¬ 
render ? ” I yelled. 

He shook his head impatiently. 

“My God!—no!” he answered. “It is 
for their own sakes that lam going to parley 
with them—there are scores of my own 
villagers among them, carried away by that 
Russian devil’s tongue. I must save them if 
I can ! ” 

He raised his voice into a shout. 

“ Ferisht Alla Khas ! A word with you !” 

There had been a hoarse roar of triumph 
as the soiled white flag was waved. Then a 
hush fell as a tall figure stepped out into the 
open and motioned his followers to silence. 

“ Here am I, sahib ! ” cried the man, in 
an accent that even my untutored ears could 
tell was faltering Luzai. 

“ Draw off your men, renegade ! ” com¬ 
manded Mannering. “ Draw off these fools 
that you have lashed to madness before my 
vengeance falls ! ” 

The man laughed, sneeringly. 

“ Does the panther flee the trapped or 
wounded deer ? ” he asked. “ Why has not 
the vengeance of the sahib fallen in these 
last midnight hours ? ” 

Mannering made a gesture towards the 
hills. 

“ In my mercy I have stayed my hand,” 
he said. “ Will you have a sign from me ? 
Watch ! ” 

I was suddenly aware that he had left my 
side. I heard the familiar click from the 
office behind me. Two reports followed 
each other from the opposite crest. The 
atmosphere of the dawning was so stagnant 
still that the two smoke figures that rose into 
view hovered appreciable minutes before they 
dissolved, and hesitating murmurs broke out 
in the ranks below us. 

Half-a-dozen hillmen threw down their 
weapons and covered their eyes. Comrade 
yelled to comrade that it was ill work to fight 
against Mannering Sahib and the trained 
servants of devildom, and not a few began to 
sidle furtively down the hillside. But Ferisht 
Alla was equal to the occasion. He leaped 
to the head of his men. 

“ Forward upon this hireling of the Pit! 
Forward ! ” he cried. “ By God’s Holy 
Prophet I swear that His protections shall 
be about you if y<p|i- ( |clestroy the dealers in 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE GUARDIAN OF THE PUL WAN! 


57 T 


dearly as might be, and 
began to empty the maga¬ 
zine into the brown tur 
moil of the charge. 

And then, in the twink¬ 
ling of an eye, the whole 
foreground was blotted out. 
With a thunderous roar 
the earth shook, the rocks 
dissolved, the red soil, 
the boulders, the tangled 
tumult of ravening men 
disappeared into nothing 
more substantial than a 
swirling cloud of dust—a 
cloud through which sicken¬ 
ing fragments rained that 
even the stolid Dogras 
shuddered to look upon ! 
Two hundred men had 
been blown out of the very 
semblance of humanity 
more swiftly than the 
autumn gust flicks the 
leaves from its path 1 



accursed arts 1 Follow me and kill !— 

kin r 

Mannering raised himself to his full height 
and vainly endeavoured to gain a second 
hearing, Ferisht Alla denied it him, ignoring 
the white flag that still fluttered above our 
heads. He threw up Ins jezail and fired, 
Mannering clutched his arm, staggering, I 
sprang to catch him. 

u it is nothing—nothing ! ” he shouted, 
and waved me impatiently aside. Gathering 
himself together* he lurched back into the 
building. At the same moment the whole 
mob of maddened caterans made a rush for 
the walls. 

I caught up my rifle to sell my life as 


An hour later Manner¬ 
ing, his arm bandaged, his 
face pale to the lips, was 
wandering with me through 
the massed horrors before 
the walls. He halted 
before a body less dis¬ 
membered than most I 

looked down upon the 
sheepskin-clad figure with 
dawning recognition. It 
w r as the coat worn by the 
leader of the attack, 

“ His blood be on 
his own head 1 M said 

Mannering, solemnly. “ I gave him his 

chance 1 ** 

The body lay face downwards, A morbid 
impulse made me turn the shattered features 
to the sun. Disfigured though they were, 
they were recognisable. It was Ferisht Alla 
himself. His yellow tunic was open at the 
breast and a silver chain shone round his 
throat. It held a tiny pendant—an image 
roughly wrought in bronze. Mannering 

pointed at it as I held it up into the light. 

“ There is proof enough, if you want it, of 
what the man was/ ? said he. “ T)o true 
mullahs, faithful sons of Islam, wear idols ? 
It is an eikon, and worn by a devout servant 
of the Orthodox Russian Church ! 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


l 







Jupiter and His System. 

By Sir Rorert Ball* 


HE eight important planets 
which revolve around the sun, 
deriving therefrom their sup¬ 
plies of light and heat, are 
naturally divided into two 
groups of four each. The 
first of these groups is composed of the 
planets nearest the sun, while the second 
group consists of the four outer planets. 
But the distinction between the two divisions 
into which the planets are thus separated is 
of much more significance than would be 
implied merely by the fact that the one group 
consisted of bodies which are closer to the 
sun than are those of the other group. It 
is remarkable that the four interior planets 
are comparatively 
small bodies, while 
the four outer planets 
are very large bodies. 

The physical differ¬ 
ences in other re¬ 
spects between the 
group formed by 
Mercury, Venus, the 
Earth, and Mars, and 
the group formed by 
Jupiter, Saturn, 

Uranus, and Nep¬ 
tune, are also signi- 
* ficant Not only are 
these latter bodies 
much more huge 
than the former, but 
their structure is 
essentially different. 

The four inner 
planets arc objects 
which, for our present 
purpose, may be regarded as typified by 
the earth. They appear to be to a great 
extent solid globes, the total mass of each 
atmosphere being quite inconsiderable in 
comparison with the great mass of the globe 
which it surrounds. But the four outer 
planets are evidently bodies very different 
from the earth in their physical nature. 
They cannot be regarded as solid globes 
covered with an atmosphere whose total 
amount is insignificant relatively to the solid 
globe within. These outer giant planets have 
atmospheres which certainly form a very large 
part of the entire orb. Indeed, it may well 
be doubted whether any portions whatever of 
the giant planets are to be regarded as solid 
in the same sense in which we think of the 
earth as a solid body. 


Of these four outer planets there is one 
which is specially accessible to our observa¬ 
tions, Jupiter is greater than either Saturn, 
Uranus, or Neptune, and therefore on that 
account alone it would obviously be easier 
to observe Jupiter than any of the other 
three, even if they all had been at equal 
distances from us. Jupiter is indeed so'vast 
that if the other planets of our system had 
all been rolled together into one their united 
volume would not be so great as is that of 
Jupiter. But Jupiter also happens to be 
much nearer to the earth than are any of 
the other great planets. It therefore follows, 
fora double reason, that this vast globe offers 
to the terrestrial astronomer a surpassingly 
interesting object 
whose details he can 
examine under ex¬ 
ceptional advantages. 

We may first put 
down some numerical 
facts with regard to 
the dimensions of 
this splendid globe 
and the track in 
which it moves. Like 
all the other planets, 
Jupiter, of course, re¬ 
volves in an elliptic 
path around the cen¬ 
tral luminary. The 
average distance of 
the great planet from 
the sun 18482,000,000 
miles. The course 
which he follows is, 
therefore, rather more 
than five times as 
great in diameter as is the path pursued by 
the earth. The elliptic track of Jupiter, how¬ 
ever, departs appreciably from the circular 
form, inasmuch as we sometimes find the 
distance of the planet from the sun to be as 
great as 5’45, and sometimes as little as 4 95, 
if in each case wx* take the average distance 
from the earth to the sun as the unit. 

The most favourable circumstances for 
observing the planet will be found when the 
earth lies directly between the sun and 
Jupiter, while at the same time the earth is 
at its greatest possible distance and Jupiter 
at its least possible distance from the sun. 
But even on the rare occasions when these 
conditions are fulfilled Jupiter must still be 
nearly four times as far from the earth as the 
earth is froui tfirpi^Bhfronn 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




rUOTtXiKAI'H OF THE ri.ASteT JUtITER. 












JUPITER AND HIS SYSTEM 


573 


It is a rule in the celestial movements 
that the more distant is the track of a 
planet from the sun, the slower is the pace 
at which the orb moves forward on its 
mighty journey. The earth has to hurry on 
at the rate of eighteen miles a second in 
order to accomplish its journey round the 
sun within the allotted year. But Jupiter, 
though it has a much longer circuit to 
accomplish, is much more leisurely in its 
procedure. The great planet, in fact, moves 
only eight miles in each second. This no 
doubt seems a very high speed when 
measured by our ordinary standards of 
velocity, such as those possessed by express 
trains or rifle bullets. There is, however, 
another way of judging of the speed of a 
planet which is perhaps more appropriate to 
the case than any comparison with the move¬ 
ments of relatively small objects like railway 
trains or rifle bullets. Let us think of the 
time that Jupiter would require to move 
through the length of his own diameter. 
The equatorial diameter of the planet is 
87,500 miles, being about eleven times 
that of the earth. As Jupiter moves eight 
miles per second, or about 480 miles a 
minute, it is easy to see that the 
planet requires a period of not less than 
three hours to move through a distance 
equal to its own diameter. Looked at in 
this way the speed of Jupiter seems slow 
enough. We should not consider a missile 
to be moving quickly which required three 
hours to advance through a distance equal 
to its own length. 

One of the most remarkable features con¬ 
nected with the great planet is the abnor 
mally high speed at which he rotates around 
his axis. Notwithstanding the huge bulk of 
Jupiter we find that he requires much less 
time to accomplish a revolution than does 
the earth. For while our globe takes about 
twenty-four hours to complete each turn, we 
see that Jupiter goes round in less than half 
the same time. Indeed, the period of rota¬ 
tion of the great planet is not more than 
9hrs. 55*4 mm. With this rapid spin about 
his axis another remarkable feature of the 
planet is connected. 

It is obvious to anyone who looks at Jupiter 
through a good telescope that the form of 
the planet is not circular. The great orb is 
bulged out at the Equator and it is flattened 
at the poles. The figure of the earth, it will 
be remembered, manifests a feature of the 
same kind. But the departure from the 
circular outline is much more pronounced 
in the great planet than in our own earth. 

Digitized by C iQOqIc 

* o 


This certainly depends upon the high speed 
at which Jupiter revolves. The planet, not 
being made of solid materials, but rather of 
substances which for the present we may 
speak of as pliant, gradually yields to the 
centrifugal action connected with its rapid 
rotation. The equatorial regions are conse¬ 
quently bulged out, and thus the characteristic 
form of Jupiter finds its explanation. 

The most noteworthy feature of Jupiter, as 
well as of each of the other exterior planets, 
is the apparently gaseous character which 
they exhibit. In this respect they are sharply 
contrasted with the robust globes of which 
our earth is the type. This point is so 
fundamental that unless it be understood the 
actual appearance of the great planet will 
hardly be intelligible. 

Among the most remarkable achievements 
of astronomers an important place must be 
assigned to their discovery of the weights of 
the planets. At first it might seem a problem 
of almost insuperable difficulty to ascertain 
the tons, or rather the myriads of tons, of 
matter in a globe situated at such a distance 
from the earth as is the planet Jupiter. But 
the fact is that such a problem can be solved 
with all needful accuracy. We now know 
the mass of the planet Jupiter certainly to 
within the hundredth part, and probably to 
within the thousandth of its total amount. 
It seems useless for our purpose to express 
this weight in billions of tons; it will 
suffice if we compare the weight of Jupiter 
with the weight of the earth. The result is 
that we find Jupiter weighs as much as 310 
bodies would do if each of them had the 
same mass as the earth. 

But though, no doubt, this illustrates in 
an impressive manner the great mass of the 
biggest planet of our system, yet from other 
points of view it seems a matter of surprise 
that the mass of Jupiter should not have 
turned out to be even greater than is thus 
indicated. For knowing the average diameter 
of Jupiter, as well as that of the earth, it can 
be shown by a little calculation that, so far 
as bulk is concerned, no fewer than 1,230 
globes, each as large as the earth, should 
be rolled together into one to form a single 
globe as big as Jupiter. Here, then, 
\\ v e find a remarkable contrast between 
the great planet and our earth. If 
the two globes had been composed in the 
same manner and of like materials, then as 
Jupiter was 1,230 times as large as our 
earth it would be necessary that it should 
have been also 1,230 times as heavy. It 
would be obvious, for instance, that if of two 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


574 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


globes of cast-iron one was 1,230 times as 
large as another, then the weights of the two 
globes would also be in the same proportion 
But what we actually find is that, though 
Ju[liter is 1,230 times as big as the earth, 
yet he is only 310 times as heavy* It is thus 
plain that the great planet possesses only a 
quarter of the weight that it would have been 
entitled to if it had been made of materials 
of the same kind and in the same physical 
condition as the materials of which the earth 
is made. This is an instructive result, inas¬ 
much as it shows us plainly that Jupiter 
must be a globe of a totally different nature 
from this earth on which we dwell. 

At first it might be supposed that the great 
planet was built out of some materials not 
known to us on this earth, and whose density 
was much below that 
of the actual ele¬ 
ments out of which 
our earth has been 
formed. But it has 
been the triumph of 
modern science to 
have demonstrated 
by the help of the 
spectroscope that 
the elementary sub¬ 
stances of which the 
sun and even the 
stars are constituted 
are essentially the 
same as the sub¬ 
stances of which our 
earth is composed. 

This being admitted, 
we are now very close 
to the explanation of 
the remarkable dis¬ 
parity between the 
bulk of the giant planet and its weight. 
There cannot be the least doubt that Jupiter 
is very much hotter than the earth. It 
must be understood that in this statement 
1 am not referring to the heat derived from 
the sun. In so far as that is concerned, 
Jupiter receives much less heat than the earth, 
so that if we were only considering sun heat 
we should find that Jupiter was much colder 
than the earth. It can, indeed, be shown 
that the share of sunbeams which arrive at 
such a distance as that at which Jupiter is 
placed is only about the twenty-fifth part of 
the share of sunbeams which we enjoy. The 
heat of Jupiter to which I now refer is of 
quite a different kind. It is what is known 
as internal heat. 

We believe that the interior of the earth 


is very hot, hotter, indeed, than molten iron, 
though the temperature of the surface of our 
globe is now but little influenced by the 
internal heat. On the other hand, the sun 
is not only extremely hot in the interior, 
but the outer regions of the great luminary 
are obviously in a state of fierce incandes¬ 
cence. Let us imagine the condition of a 
globe somewhat intermediate in condition 
between the earth and the sun. Let us 
suppose it hot enough at tile surface to trans¬ 
form any water into steam, though not hot 
enough to make solid matter glow with 
any visible light as a sun-like body. In 
this way we might produce a globe which 
would apparently possess the same physical 
character as Jupiter. In such a body the 
quantity of matter jn the vaporous form 
would swell the bulk 
of the globe in com¬ 
parison with that of 
a colder globe which 
might contain quite 
as large an amount 
of actual material. 
In this consideration 
we can no doubt 
find the reason why 
Jupiter, though only 
310 times as heavy 
as the earth, is cer¬ 
tainly 1,230 times as 
large. Jupiter has 
certainly very much 
more internal heat 
than our globe. The 
outer parts of the 
great planet consist 
of layers of dense 
vapour thousands of 
miles in thickness, 
which have increased the bulk of Jupiter 
enormously without adding to his weight in 
anything like the same proportion. 

These considerations will explain the 
peculiar aspect which Jupiter presents to the 
observer. It is obvious that in the great 
planet the astronomer finds before him an 
object of a widely different character from 
the earth on which he stands, or from such 
bodies as the moon and the planet Mars. 
The telescope shows the features on these 
objects to be of a permanent character. The 
craters and mountains on the moon are 
evidently solid, and time reveals little or no 
change 111 them. It is perhaps not quite so 
true to say that the features of Mars are 
permanent. But the fact that charts of Mars 
have been prepared and that the leading 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




JUPITER AND HIS SYSTEM. 


575 


objects thereon can always be recognised 
shows us that this planet is to be regarded in 
many essential respects as a solid body like 
our earth. A map of Jupiter depicts, how¬ 
ever, a very different scene. With the excep¬ 
tion to be presently noted we do not find on 
the great planet any permanent feature. 
Marks of various kinds there are, no doubt. 
35 ut most of these have but little more perma¬ 
nence than is possessed by the clouds on our 
own sky. The marks by which Jupiter's sur- 
face is diversified are but little more than our 
views of the clouds which so thickly surround 
him. No doubt an observer in the depths 
of space who was endeavouring to survey our 
earth would find at all times that a large 
part of the surface of our globe was effectually 
hidden from his scrutiny by clouds. But we 
must suppose that with due patience he 
would be able to seize a moment when each 
tract that he desired to inspect was free from 
cloud, so that by careful watching he would 
doubtless succeed in the lapse of lime in 
obtaining some fair notion of the geographical 
conditions of our globe. But the clouds on 
Jupiter are so much more dense than the 
clouds which encompass our earth that we 

a re ne\ ei able to ob- _ 

tain any view of what 
Jupiter below its 
clouds may be like. 

There are objects 
on Jupiter which, 
though hardly to be 
described as per- 
manent features of 
the planet, yet still 
subsist sufficiently 
long to enable them 
to be observed for 
months, or, in at 
least one case, for 
years. Let us sup¬ 
pose that the atten¬ 
tion of the astro- 
nomer has been 
concentrated on 
some mark of this 
kindwhi ch poss c sse s 
the necessary quali¬ 
ties of sharpness 
and definiteness to 
admit of accurate 
observation. The 
chosen point is 
watched as it seems 
to move across the 
planet, or, rather, is 
turned around the 



globe in consequence of the planet’s rotation. 
After the object has made its first appearance 
at one edge of the planet, a period of five 
hours will suffice to convey it across the 
visible disc and to allow it to disappear by 
retreating to the other side. For another 
period of five hours the selected mark will 
be upon that side of the planet which is 
averted from the observer, and therefore, 
of course, it will not be seen. In due 
time it will, however, make its reappearance 
at the visible side of Jupiter and will again 
.move across the disc, only to disappear when 
the margin is again reached. lime after 
time this observation may be repeated, and 
at last, after some hundreds of revolutions 
have been accomplished, the period required 
for the planet to make one complete turn 
about its axis is determined with all desirable 
accuracy. 

There are several marks on the great globe 
which are available for this purpose, and 
thus we have what might seem at first many 
different methods of discovering the exact 
period which the globe requires for one 
revolution. Of course, if these different 
marks had all been engraved upon a solid 
object and were 
permanent features 
on that object, then 
the period of rota¬ 
tion as determined 
by any one mark 
could not be differ¬ 
ent from that deter¬ 
mined by any other 
mark. J udge, there¬ 
fore, of the surprise 
with which astro- 
nomers found that 
the period of the 
planet J upiter as 
determined by some 
of these marks 
differed from that 
which was indicated 
by others. 

We are indebted 
to many careful ob¬ 
servers for having 
contributed to this 
curious result \ but 
I may specially 
acknowledge the 
very interesting dis¬ 
cussion of the sub¬ 
ject which has 
been given by Mr. 


views of JVfi itit- Qf-inl u Willn m c 

From a CMj. lent by Pmfwtor Holden^ formerly of the LirX ObrrrKtvry - icy 1 111 a m S . 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





576 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


He has shown that we can divide the whole 
surface of the planet, both northern hemi¬ 
sphere and southern, into zones, charac¬ 
terized by the different periods which are 
indicated by the marks they contain. If we 
were to judge of the period of the planet’s 
rotation by the spots near the Equator, it 
would seem to rotate in 9brs* 50min, zosec* 
If, however, we take zones at some 
distance from the Equator, north or 
south, the period indicated would he about 
five minutes longer. To this statement 
there is, however, one very remarkable 
exception. There is a zone in the northern 
hemisphere where the marks, instead of 
requiring a longer time than suffices for a 
rotation at the Equator, accomplish their 
journey in a shorter time, the period being 
about a minute and a half less. The expla¬ 
nation of these several varieties in the 
periods as indicated by different spots is 
indeed a remark - 
ab 1 e one. It 
proves that be¬ 
sides the general 
movement of the 
planet as a whole 
there must be 
special currents 
in the different 
zones parallel to 
the Equator* A 
mark which we 
observe is thus 
not alone carried 
round by the 
general motion 
which belongs to 
the planet as a 
whole, but it is 
also affected by 
the particular 
current circling 
round the planet 
in that zone in 
which the mark 
lies* It would thus seem that round the 
Equator of Jupiter a current hurries on¬ 
wards in the direction in which the planet 
is itself moving, and that owing to this 
current any object associated with it will 
be so swept along that it completes a revolu¬ 
tion round the planet in five minutes less than 
the spots would do which lie in the tem¬ 
perate latitudes north and south. As already 
intimated, however, the movement in the 
zone which lies between 2odcg. and 24deg. 
north latitude is even more rapid than in the 
equatorial current, and therefore, of course, 


much more rapid than in the zones which lie 
adjoining it to the north and south. These 
currents of gaseous or vaporous material on 
the great planet open up questions of much 
interest for future investigation* 

The most remarkable feature of the great 
planet during recent times has undoubtedly 
been the great red spot which is the one mark 
on Jupiter that may be said to possess some 
permanence. We are specially indebted to 
that assiduous astronomer, Mr* Denning, for 
having brought together the various facts 
relative to this remarkable object* It would 
seem that attention was first specially 
directed to a notable reddish mark on Jupiter 
in 1878, and from that time to the present it 
has been constantly present on the great globe, 
though its hue, as well as its distinctness, has 
varied from time to time. One of the most 
enigmatical circumstances connected with the 
great red spot is that its period of rotation 

has perceptibly 
lengthened. In 
1879 the period 
was 9hrs* 550110* 
34'2sec., while at 
the present time 
the period is cer¬ 
tainly six seconds 
longer. It is 
difficult to under¬ 
stand this change 
if, as has been 
supposed, this 
particular object 
was some portion 
of the more solid 
interior of the 
planet which pro¬ 
truded itself into 
visibility through 
the surrounding 
layers of atmo¬ 
sphere* Mr. 
Williams, in call¬ 
ing attention to 
the fact that the surrounding matter on the 
planet moves faster than the red spot, speaks 
of the latter as an ** island ” protruding 
through the current, which rushes to it and 
round it at the rate of about sixteen miles 
an hour. 

The beautiful system of moons of which 
Jupiter is the centre is connected in a 
remarkable manner with the history of 
astronomy. The four well-known satellites 
lie just on the confine which divides objects 
which are visible to the unaided eye from 
objects which reqpjre M^copic assistance to 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



JUriTER—SHOWING THE HR BAT RED ^FGT, 
/Jrutrfi l># Fiyfewmr Barnard at the Lick Qbtermtury, 



577 


JUPITER AND HIS SYSTEM, 


render them visible. The discovery of the 
satellites of Jupiter was one of the earliest 
fruits of Galileo’s newly-invented telescope. 
The possessor of even the smallest tele¬ 
scope can derive much pleasure from 
repeating Galileo’s famous observation and 
watching the exquisite system of four moons. 
Their movements and changes are so rapid 
that the relative positions of Jupiter and his 
attendants offer endless variety. The inner¬ 
most of the four satellites makes a complete 
circuit round Jupiter in less than two days, 
while even the outer of the four does not 
require quite so much as seventeen days. We 
thus see that the periods in which these lunar 
attendants of Jupiter complete each of their 
revolutions are much less than the period 
required by our own satellite for its leisurely 
performance. The distance of our moon from 
the earth’s centre is not quite so great as the 
distance from the centre of Jupiter t^the 
nearest of his moons. The notable fay that 
Jupiter’s first satellite can accomplish in less 
than a couple of. days a journey round an 
orbit actually greater than that which the 
moon requires a month for completing is 
due, of course, to the vast mass of Jupiter. 
The greater the mass of the planet the more 
rapidly does a satellite revolve if the distances 
in each case be the same. Indeed, it is by 
the circumstances of the satellite’s motion 
that we have the means of discovering the 
mass of the planet. 

Features which make the satellites of 
Jupiter of special interest to the observer are 
found in their eclipses. Indeed, the first 
satellite has to submit to an eclipse at every 
revolution. The frequently recurring dis¬ 
appearances of a satellite by its plunge into 
the shadow of Jupiter, followed in due course 
by its emergence, afford most interesting 
material for the student of the heavens. 
The careful observer will also frequently be 
gratified by noting the transit of the satellite 
across the surface of the planet, and upon 
this same background the shadow of the 
satellite will be seen as a sharply-marked 
deep black spot. As to the sizes of these 
four companions to Jupiter, the first proceed¬ 
ing outwards from the planet is about the 
same size as the moon. The other three 
satellites are all larger, the third being the 
greatest of all. 

Owing to the remoteness of the satellites, 
it can hardly be expected that we shall ever 
be able to learn much with regard to their 
actual character as physical globes. We are, 
however, indebted to Professor E. E. Barnard 
for an interesting observation which has 

Vol. xxiw—73. 

Digitized by C^OCQle 

* o 


certainly brought to light some details with 
regard to the structure of the innermost of 
these objects. We have the more satisfaction 
in mentioning this as it may be taken as an 
illustration of one of the most delicate tele¬ 
scopic observations made by a consummate 
observer. On November 19th, 1893, the 
transit of the first satellite over the face of 
the planet was observed with the great 
telescope of the Lick Observatory, and 
a photograph then taken showed both 
the satellite and its shadow, a portion 
of the latter being hidden behind the 
satellite. In intervals of specially “fine 
seeing” the globe of the satellite stood 
out distinctly in a circular form, and it was 
then perceived that “ this little attendant ” 
on Jupiter has distinct polar caps that are 
dusky like those of Jupiter and that it has a 
bright equatorial belt, as bright as the 
brightest portion of Jupiter’s surface. The 
conclusion is at once suggested that the 
satellite also rotates on an axis nearly perpen¬ 
dicular to its orbit, as Jupiter itself does. 

■ We are indebted to the same skilful 
astronomer, using the same superb refractor 
of thirty-six inches aperture, for one of the 
most interesting discoveries which have been 
made during the century in adding to the 
known members of the solar system. 

On September 9th, 1892, Professor Barnard 
was engaged in a careful study of the en¬ 
virons of Jupiter with the great equatorial of 
the Lick Observatory. He perceived on this 
occasion a very small star-like object which, 
as he says, must certainly have been as faint 
as a star of the thirteenth magnitude, and 
probably much less. Of course, it might 
have been quite possible that the star-like 
object was really a star, in which case it 
would be only one of the unnumbered host 
of minute points which, though they may 
and doubtless do possess much intrinsic 
interest, are still so entirely beyond our 
range that we are obliged to pass them 
without special notice. But Professor 
Barnard thought that this star-like point 
might really be an attendant of the great 
planet, and accordingly he submitted it to a 
careful scrutiny. Let us first of all see how 
the satellite, if such it should really prove, 
might be discriminated from a star. Its 
appearance would afford no reliable indica¬ 
tion. It would be utterly beyond the 
capability of even the great Lick equa¬ 
torial itself to pronounce from the appear¬ 
ance of the little object whether it was, 
indeed, a satellite to the planet or a star. 
In the former case it would merely be an 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


57« 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



object rendered visible by the sunlight 
which falls upon it. In the latter case it 
would be itself a sun, only, perhaps, a 
hundred thousand or a million times as far 
off as Jupiter. Hut this difference in physical 
constitution, profound though it be* could 
not be detected by the telescope in so far as 
mere appearance is concerned. The test 
which Professor Barnard applied depended 
on the movements of the body. This iqay 
need a few words of explanation, as it so 
happens that in the present case the matter 
is a little complicated* 

The most obvious method of proving that 
the older satellites of Jupiter are not stars is 
derived from the fact that they accompany 
Jupiter in his great orbital movement. In 
addition to this grand progress which they 
share in common with the great planet they 
also perform their revolutions around him. 
The satellites and the stars in the back¬ 
ground are thus sharply contrasted by the 
circumstance that the satellites advance night 
after night with the planet, so that though 
their situations, relative to each other and to 
the great globe, may be continually altering, 
yet they always 
remain in his 
vicinity. The 
stars, on the 
other hand, are, 
of course, left 
behind as the 
planet sweeps on 
night after night, 
bearing along the 
system of satel¬ 
lites. It was, 
therefore, by the 
movements of 


the little object that Professor Bar¬ 
nard essayed to discover its real 
character. With the help of a 
certain appliance possessed by every 
good telescope it was possible to 
measure carefully the distance from 
the star-like point to the adjacent 
edge of the great planet. This 
distance would no doubt change 
whether the little object were a star 
or whether it were a satellite. The 
character of the changes would, 
however, be widely different in the 
two cases. Had the point been a 
star it would have been left behind 
altogether in a few hours, while if 
it were a satellite it would certainly 
advance with Jupiter, though with 
an independent motion of its own 
around the planet It was soon seen that 
the latter was indeed the case. Professor 
Barnard was so fortunate as to observe 
the new object on three consecutive 
nights—namely, the 9th, 10th, and 1 ith of 
September, 1892. Several times 00 each 
night the relative positions were carefully 
measured. The movements of the little 
body were found to be so rapid that the 
alterations in its place were quite perceptible 
in measurements made at intervals not ex¬ 
ceeding a few minutes. The accumulated 
observations speedily cleared away certain 
doubtful points that had at first arisen, and 
the existence of this new companion to 
Jupiter had been established as one of the 
leading telescopic discoveries of the century. 

This fifth satellite is so minute that, 
just as the four older satellites lie within the 
reach of the most ordinary telescopes, so 
this last object demands the utmost power of 
the very best instrument Indeed, it may be 
said that, if one of the older satellites were to 
be crushed into a thousand equal fragments, 
any one of those fragments would be larger 
than the fifth satellite of Jupiter. The 

grandest object 
on the planetary 
system is thus 
attended not only 
by that superb 
retinue of four 
older moons, so 
worthy of the 
dignity of the 
great orb, but 
also by a page 
of appropriately 
minute dimen¬ 
sions. 











E have some wonderful words 
in the English language, and 
the word “ stall ,J is one of 
them. When we are told, as 
I have been told, that a 
Chinese sign may mean a 
dozen different words, according to the 
context, and a Chinese word, or sound, may 
be written by a dozen (or twenty, or forty) 
different signs, according to all sorts of 
things, then we laugh at the outlandishness 
of it all, and wonder how in the world the 
unhappy heathens understand each other. 
We laugh because we forget, for the moment, 
the ancient anecdote of the Frenchman who 
complained of a cow in his box—which any 
intelligent medical practitioner should have 
instantly understood as a cough in the chest 
—and the other anecdote, just as old, of the 
other Frenchman (or the same—it doesn't 
matter) who was amazed to discover that a 
Christmas-box wasn't a box at all, but a half- 
crown, and who, being told that somebody 
had given another a box on the ear, examined 
the ear very carefully, but couldn’t find the 
box. That same Frenchman—or say a China 
man, if you like, for the sake of variety 

Digitized by Google 


—could never guess what this article 
was about from the title. The respected 
reader, true-born Englishman as he may 
be, has perhaps expected information on the 
stalls in a theatre ; but he should remember 
that The Strand Magazine is not a 
theatrical publication. Perhaps he thought 
to learn something about the stalls in a 
stable, or even the headstall that a horse 
wears, because he forgot that this is not a 
sporting periodical. He may even have antici¬ 
pated something about the prebendal stalls 
in a cathedral, though he really ought to 
know that this is not an ecclesiastical journal. 
And if he expects to read about the person 
called a 11 stall ” who screens a pickpocket in 
business hours—well, really now, has he any 
right to consider this a thieves' journal ? 

No doubt a good deal might be written 
about all these sorts of stalls, if some other 
fellow did it. Personally, I don't understand 
much about them. And speaking of not 
understanding stalls, what is a stalled ox, 
exactly? That is a thing I understand less 
than ail the stalls together. Hut this by the 
way. The sort of stalls 1 know something 
about stand on trestles or wheels, and the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


580 

sort of things that stand on the stalls are 
numberless. There are some things, how¬ 
ever, that used to stand on stalls in the 
days of my youth that I can no longer 
find there. Gingerbread, for instance. I 
don’t think you can buy gingerbread any¬ 
where now, and the last time I saw it in a 
shop, some years ago, it was in the most un¬ 
interesting rectangular shape possible, and 
wholly lacking the gilt that once gave it so 
aristocratic an appearance. On the old 
gingerbread stall you could buy a pig, a 
donkey, a tiger, a man, an elephant—all 
made of gingerbread and all beautifully gilt, 
and the elephant with two lucifer matches 
for tusks; and it was wonderful to observe 
the varied flavours that the gingerbread 
derived from the different shapes—not to 
mention the matches. I positively assert 
that I could imagine a distinct taste ot 
crackling in the pig if I shut my eyes very 
tight; and as to the tiger and the elephant, 
there was never such a flavour of hunting in 
the jungle and grilling the quarry at a camp 
fire as I could get out of them—again with 
my eyes shut very tight. After which con¬ 
fession it will not surprise you to learn that 
I always ate the man and the donkey with 
my eyes wide open. 

Mem. of sudden recollection : all their 
eyes were made of caraway comfits—a stony 
little pebble of a sweetmeat with a seed in 
it It was not until I learned to spell that I 
got rid of the notion that they somehow 
derived their name from carrying away my 
comfort by breaking my teeth. 

But I sadly miss the gingerbread stall, and 
the prosperous-looking man with the money¬ 
bag under his white apron who kept it. 
Surely all the gingerbread stall-keepers can’t 
have made their fortunes? Here’s an offer 
to stimulate enterprise. I’ll buy five shil- 
lingsworth of the first gilt gingerbread I see 
on a stall, and eat the lot—barring the 
caraway comfits and the lucifer matches, 
which I will return to the stall-keeper as a 
bonus. 

I think I must have bought, and used, 
everything ever sold on a stall, except old 
boots and some of the swarm of infallible 
medicines. Everything except these—and, 
I think I should add, a petticoat, a thing 
sold in large numbers in many markets. 
You know the corn-cure stall, of course? 
There was one not so long ago—perhaps it 
is there now—near the cattle market beyond 
King’s Cross. “ William the Corn-curer," the 
proprietor styled himself, and the name was 
displayed in large letters over his triumphing 


head and the very bad hat that covered it. 
The stuff was a green and greasy substance, 
which no doubt did very little harm, except 
when you smelt it; it cost a penny, and you 
might have done worse things with your 
penny—swallowed it, for instance. But 
William was very confident. “ Now then, 
now then, now then ! ” he would cry. “ ’Ere 
is a novelty which has been tried for forty 
year an’ done better every month. The 
King of Proosia an* the Emperor of Roosia 
might envy any o’ you ladies an* gents the 
opportunity I now offer you free gracious. 
Ho yus ! Ho yus ! Ho yus ! Hi, hi! Any 
lady in this ’ere company as suffers from 
corns, warts, bunions, or enlargements of the 
big toe—any lady as will perjooce her corn, 
wart, bunion, or enlargement of the big toe 
on this ’ere little table a-standing before me, 
the same I will treat free gracious with my 
world-famed philosophical preparation of 
botanical an’ geological medica-raedica Ae-fore 
the very respectable company now assembled. 
What ? None of ye got a corn, wart, bunion, 
or enlargement of the big toe ? Then 
you must be old customers o’ mine, every 
one of yer, come to buy my world-famous 
preparation for somebody else. A penny 
only! One single penny! Sold for the 
benefit of sufferin’* ’umanity for a single 
copper penny ! This ’ere philosophical pre¬ 
paration for one penny—the same which 
Sir Frederick Treves would charge King 
Edward the Seventh fifty guineas a time for 
if he knew the secret o’ manufactor—which *e 
don’t. Sold again to a lady with no bunions 
of her own, for a penny, a solitary dee! If 
one application of my celebrated preparation 
don’t cure—if the distressin’ symptoms ain’t 
vanished in the mornin’—if a single dab o* 
the botanical an’ geological preparation don't 
make you dance for joy—why, then, you can 
try another dab! A penny ! A penny only ! 
Mind you, I’m not one o' them parties as 
comes ’ere to deceive the sufferin’ public, 
promisin’ all sorts o’ things as will lead to 
disappointment. Not me. I don’t claim 
that this 'ere philosophical preparation ’ll 
cure consumption, rickets, an’ smoky chim¬ 
neys, nor convert into a perambulator a 
foldin’ bedstead, like as you might easy be 
persuaded by some vulgar impostors. No! 
All I says is, that it is the most uniquest 
invention of the Christian airy, an* will take 
the warts off a brass pump-handle, such is 
its marvellious philosophical power. A 
penny again ! One copper penny ! No 
objections to silver, an’gold not refused!” 

I think I have punctuated that speech 

JrigmaTfrom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


STALLS. 


581 


purely from habit, William himself never 
condescended to such triviality, but reeled 
off the whole thing like one sentence, with¬ 
out stopping to take breath. And I think 
he was the only parterer I ever encountered 
who pronounced the word “penny” as you 
and I do. Some call it a “pinny/' others a 
“panny"; but the general fashion favours 
“wan punneel" 

That is what the trotter-seller usually calls 
it. “Two legs o’ mutton for wan punnee l" 


Trotters were a favourite article of food 
among the porters at Billingsgate not so 
long ago. There were two foreign Jews who 
kept stalls in opposition, and one of these 
tradesmen contrived to play his real or 
assumed ignorance of the English language 
to a tune of profit. “ Dese on vat de ship 
do run, tree for two ha’pence each, two for 
tree ha’pence each V* was his announcement, 
and it was left to the puzzled native to dis¬ 
cover what the exact price was, between the 
extremes of three a penny 
and two for threepence. 
As a result he pouched 
all sorts of prices without 
varying his song ; and at 
the worst, if a cantanker¬ 
ous customer insisted, he 
could sell at the lowest 
interpretation, still with a 
profit, doubtless. The 
opposition Jew was cau¬ 
tious and subtle. He 
apprehended possible 
trouble in the flagrant 
ambiguity of his com¬ 
petitor— and T have no 
doubt that trouble some¬ 
times came. So he con¬ 
tented himself with 
answering the repeated 
confusions of the other 
with a steady and per¬ 
sistent “Same dis side de 
vay — same dis side de 
vay ! ” I think it was the 
most cautious offer to nego¬ 
tiate “without prejudice” 
I have ever run against 
Pigs’ trotters, I have discovered, are more 
expensive than sheep’s—twice the price. 
But then you may go into a good restaurant 
and have the very thing offered you under 
the name of pied du pore d something or 
other at about eighteen pence. 

When 1 said I had tried everything sold 
on a stall except old boots and medicines, l 
meant to exclude also that mysterious red fluid 
called sarsaparilla wine. At fairs and market¬ 
places one sees a construction which it would 
be sacrilege to call a stall, a vast vermilion 
thing on wheels, speckled with brass taps and 
gilt decoration—something between a fire- 
engine and a Chinese joss-house. The taps 
exude the “ wine/* and a careful inspection 
of the faces of the customers as they retired 
from the fray decided me long ago to post¬ 
pone my own experiment. And then— 
then—I was one morning looking out from 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



* l THOTYERS. 1 


is a cry I remember well. It can still be 
heard in the remote fastnesses of Camden 
Town and the Borough, though the edge 
was worn off the ancient joke many years 
ago. In pursuit of my duty as an inquirer 
Into things in general I have tried a sheep's 
trotter, and I can most warmly recommend 
it to any person passionately fond of gristle. 
Personally, a passion for gristle is not one of 
mv vices. My trotter, by the way, cost me a 
whole penny. The merchant explained that 
those at two a penny were all sold, and, 
moreover, that they were so very small that 
so haughty a nobleman as myself would 
disdain to appear in public with one, I 
suspected that astute tradesman of selling 
me a ha’porth of trotter and a ha’porth of 
gammon ; but after trying the trotter I decided 
that on the whole I should have preferred a 
complete penn’orth of gammon, plain. 

D igilized by G OO9 





THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


S»2 

my bedroom window in an inn which over¬ 
looked the site of a very busy fair. It was 
early, and the show-people were building 
their booths. The sarsaparilla-wine merchant 
was preparing, too. He had taken his joss- 
house to a convenient corner by a ditch, 
and he was filling up his machinery by the 
aid of a scarlet bucket with a gilt rim. When 
I was dressed and had finished my breakfast 
I strolled out and took a glance at that 
ditch; and somehow that experiment got 
postponed again—indefinitely. 

The “ sarsaparilla wfne,” I believe, is held 
to combine the uses of a beverage with the 


a map, with the circulation of the blood very 
red, the alimentary system very blue, and the 
nervous system very black. The scientist 
himself is very much in earnest, and he 
bangs his chart with an impassioned stick. 
“I am not ’ere to-night, ladies an’ gentle¬ 
men,” he says, “ to delood you, nor to 
deceive you, nor to bamboozle you, nor to 
’umbug you, nor to make up for scientific 
an’ medicinal ignorance by silly jokes an’ 
unphysiological nonsense. No ! A hedu- 
cated man of science, drove out o’ the 
corrupt ring of registered practitioners by 
professional jealousy, an’ professional spite, 



delights of a medicine. Personally, I have a 
dislike for such compromises. Give me 
rather the blatant lecturer on therapeutics, 
mounted on a cart, with a chart of the 
digestive system and a row of bottles of the 
Universal Elixir. You know the scientist I 
mean, and you know with what indignation 
he would repudiate the inclusion of his 
establishment in an article on stalls. You must 
also know his chart, mounted on rollers like 

Digitized by C iOOQIc 

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an’ professional greed, I come free an’ open 
to show you all, to demonsterate to you, ’ow 
you are robbed, ’ow you are delooded, ’ow 
you are bamboozled an’ ’umbugged by the 
so called qualified doctors that fattens upon 
the infirmities of ’uman nature. Ladies an* 
gentlemen, if you go to a doctor in a fashion¬ 
able square, with a brass plate on the door, 
for to be attended to, what does that doctor 

do ? He charges you, that’s certain, an’ 

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STALLS. 


583 


that’s all that is certain, an’ all he thinks 
about. What else does he do ? You dunno. 
He dunno. Nobody dunno. I’m sure / 
dunno, an* I dunno nobody else but 
what dunno. He gives you a bottle o’ 
stuff, p’r’aps, or a box o’ pills. Do ’e tell 
you what’s in that bottle o’ stuff, or what 
them pills is made of? Not ’im. ’E won’t 
tell you, an’ I don’t believe ’e knows ’isself. 
Do ’e tell you what the haction ’ll be on the 
’uman body ? Not ’im. ’E dunno that, an’ 
I’m sure ’e wouldn’t like me* to tell you. 
But ’ere I ’ave a bottle o’ stuff, an’ ’ere I 
’ave a pill; an’ I won’t take—no, not five 
hundred pound if you offered it for either 
of ’em till I’ve explained clear what the 
haction is of them two unrivalled remedies. 
I ’ave ’ere a correck view of the ’ole digestive 
system, an’ a view of the blood system, an’ 
a view of the nervous system ; the three 
medicinal systems which, if I. didn’t exactly 
discover ’em myself—an’ I won’t deny but 
what I came very close to it—nevertheless 
are very near as important as some o’ the 
things I did discover. Well, ladies an’ 
gentlemen, we’ll take the digestive system. 
Supposin’ an affection of the digestive 
system, such as gashtric fever, typhoid, 
indigestion, alimental stultification, or even 
the common an’ very prevalent casus belli, 
commonly called stomach-ache. Having 
took the mixture, or the pill, as the 
case may be, in the ordinary way in the 
trappum osculatum , or mouth, it passes, as 
you will perceive, into the digestive system ; 
an* ’avin’ arrived there, an’ remainin’ there, 
an’ bein’ there, why there it is ! There it is, 
in the precise spot wanted, and it exercises 
a beneficent, emollient, dulciferous, sopori- 
ferous, remedial cure in a way which it 
would take a week to explain in a scientific 
manner, which you wouldn’t understand. 
So much for the digestive system, which you 
will now comprehend so thoroughly that I 
need not explain it further. Ah, but, says 
you, very properly, s’pose the trouble is in 
the nervous system or the circulation o’ the 
blood, what then ? It is then, ladies an’ 
gentlemen, that my world-renowned elixir 
and igstrornary pill prove their incon—test¬ 
able superiority over the morbiferous, pesti¬ 
ferous nostrums and paternostrums of the 
so-called profession. Absorbed first, in the 
usual manner, by the trappum taterum , they 
pass into the digestive system, which is 
coloured blue, till they arrive at the tie plus 
ultra , or outer wall of the stomach, or 
panartum , and then, with a saltatory gambado, 
which is the peculiar property of their most 

Diqilized by OOOQ le 

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expensive ingredient, they pass, per saltum, 
or, as you might say, cum grano sails, into the 
nervous system, which is coloured black, or 
into the circulation o’ the blood, which is 
coloured red, consekins o’ the red corpuscles 
predominating in the proportion of fifty to 
one, which is long odds, as I think you will 
agree, and proves a cure to be as good as 
certain with the very first dose. For you 
will observe that, it being fifty to one in 
favour of a cure with the first dose, it is fifty 
times fifty to one in favour of a certain cure 
with the second, as I once proved to Professor 
’uxley by the celebrated mathematical rule of 
tertium quid, or decimal rule o’ three, to his 
intense amazement. Now, then, just to show 
you, just to demonsterate to you that I am 
not in the least like the common so-called 
profession, I will proceed to sell this invalu¬ 
able mixture at the popular price of six¬ 
pence a bottle, bottle included. Pills, 
twopence. There is nothing to equal the 
mixture, as I have incon—testably proved to 
you, except the pills, and nothink in the ’ole 
world like the pills except the mixture. And 
remember, ladies and gents, that if it is fifty 
to one bar none on a cure with the first dose 
of either, and two thousand five hundred to 
one on a cure with the second, there is 
nothing in this wonderful world about us that 
can withstand a dose of the pills and mixture 
combined. Thank you, mum, thank you. 
You too, mum ? Here it is. Remember, 
I am not limitin’ you to one bottle—I am 
equally ready to sell two, an’ I do not object 
to sell a dozen to the same person. Now, 
then, for sixpence only ! ” 

I think I have written about whelk-stalls in 
another number of The Strand Magazine, 
in which I paid a tribute to the high moral 
qualities of the whelk and to its indomitable 
fortitude under misfortune. I also told the 
anecdote of the whelk accidentally run over 
by a waggon, and what the whelk-seller had 
to pay for the broken wheel. So that there is 
not much left to say here, except to rejoice 
that the whelk, with characteristic gristly 
obstinacy, still holds its place in the London 
streets; and most earnestly to recommend 
those in search of a new sensation to try 
whelks swallowed whole. They will get 
what they want. 

Bookstalls are going, going, but they are 
not yet gone. I mean, of course, the genuine 
stalls on barrows, not the hybrid imitations 
stuck in front of booksellers’ shops. You can 
find the real article in Farringdon Road, 
in Aldgate High Street, in High Street, 
Camden Town, in the Borough, and in other 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



5 S 4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


shady nooks, I fear the barrow-stalls are 
not so profitable as once they were. I am 
sorry* partly on general grounds, but chiefly 
because the literary coster was so pleasant a 
contradiction. I like to have a classic re¬ 
commended to me in the husky tones and 
the dialect usually associated with bloaters. 
u ’Leventh edition, sir* well k no wed by 


“ 'ole nachral puff” by cutting each into 
three or four, “an* nobody *ud spot tbefake,” 
After that it got down to sixpence, and the 
indomitable tradesman took to recommend¬ 
ing it generally as a great bibliographical 
rarity which would bring a vast price some 
day, in a sale. In its later and twopenny 
days he desperately represents it as a work 



V levhwth edition, sik." 


canoozers to be the rarest of all on 'em* 
Fine calf binding with on'y one side of it 
gawn an’ a little bit o' the other. All the 
pages in it, more or less, an* on’y wants 
sortin' out They’d T ave a quid for it in 
Charing Crawse Road, but say a tanner— 
well, fourpence, if that’ll tempt yer J " There 
is a copy of Blair’s Sermons, which I have 
been watching with fascinated interest for 
years, on a stall in Aldgate. I think 1 shall 
go down again to-morrow* to see how it is 
getting on. 1 have promised myself to buy 
it some day—I can have it for twopence, I 
know. But I am always risking losing the 
relic for the sheer enjoyment of observing 
the stall keeper’s desperate efforts to get rid 
of it. It was a shilling once, when I first 
met it, and its owner contented himself with 
casually pushing it forward over the others 
when a clergyman stopped at the stall. 
Then it was ninepence, and he took to 
recommending it by word of mouth. 1 
believe he drove one clergyman away for 
ever by suggesting, with incautious blunt¬ 
ness, that as all the sermons were precious 
long he might crib enough to last him his 

Digitized by Goodie 


of reckless comicality, the title being part of 
the joke, a very suitable wedding present, 
and just the thing for a young man starting 
business as a doctor. 

Have you ever observed the wonderful 
pictorial embellishments of the Italian ice¬ 
cream stall? Truly the Italians are an 
artistic nation. There is an ice-cream stall 
in Camden Town that I visit regularly* for 
the sake of the shipwreck painted on the 
side. The terrible blue and white waves, of 
all sorts and kinds of jaggedness and curli¬ 
ness, stuck full of broken masts and spars 
like pins on a cushion, are enough to daunt 
the hardiest beholder, and must drive away 
many customers of tender nerves. The 
wreck, a pathetically shapeless brown blob, is 
garnished with a yellow mast, very splintery 
at the top, to which clings a terrified and 
corpulent mariner, as big as the wreck and 
twice as pathetic. But the triumph of the 
work is the lightning. It is vermilion* and it 
spreads all over the composition in the most 
terrible and amazing streaks and twiddles, 
radiating from a large, solid mass just over 
the wreck. The execution of that lightning 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










STALLS. 


585 



,H ICE-CREAMS. ' 


is a marvel, It can only have been done by 
corking up the paint in a glass bottle, and 
then shy mg the bottle, with great force, 
accurately into the middle of the picture. 
How any small boy can face that lightning, 
even in pursuit of ice-cream, astonishes me. 
But in pursuit of ice-cream the street boy is 
capable of anything. 1 have seen him sucking 
at it in January, with the London improved 
snow making the streets black and slimy. 

I have never been able to understand how 
the ice-cream stall-keeper makes his trade 
pay. The water, and the sour milk, and the 
mildewed flour are cheap enough, of course, 
arid if that were all he used the profit would 
be handsome. But how can he find all the 
microbes for the money? 

A kind of stall has appeared of late years 
in which the proprietor makes sweetstuff 
in full view of the purchasing public It 
is a most astonishing conjuring trick, per¬ 
formed thus. Toffee is boiling in a 
large pot, and from time to time this 
toffee is poured out into a fiat, shallow 
dish to cool. The performer, with the 
muscles of his more or less brawny arms 


bared to above the elbows, grabs handfuls 
of this sticky, half-cooled toffee and hangs 
them on a nail. Once the stuff is oh the 
nail the atlilete in charge drags it out in a 
long rope till he has to loop it up and hang 
it over the nail again. So he goes on, 
dragging it out and looping it up, looping 
and dragging ; and, marvellous to tell, as he 
loops and drags the black stuff changes 
colour, grows gradually brown, then yellow, 
and at last white. So that by checking his 
gymnastics at various stages the exhibitor 
provides the material of multi-coloured 
sweets all out of one material It is a 
great marvel, and I linger, fascinated, to 
watch the trick. But I don't feel attracted 
to buy. Some old-fashioned prejudice of 
mine makes me prefer my toffee in its primi¬ 
tive state, before it is man-handled and 
wrestled with. But I admire and wonder, 
nevertheless, for the phenomenon is against 
all precedent. Anybody familiarly acquainted 
with the average hand of the average stall- 
keeper would be prepared to see anything 
white he handled grow black, hut this reverse 
process—but there', never mind ! 


Vol, K*i*.-7A 

Digitized b/Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






By E. Nesbit. 

VIII.—RED INDIANS. 


And now the odd thing was that no one 
could remember anyone's having wished for 
anything that morning. The wish about the 
Red Indians had not stuck in anyone’s head. 
It was a most anxious morning, Everyone 
vvas trying to remember what had been 
wished for, and no one could, and everyone 
kept expecting something awful to happen 
every minute. It was most agitating; they 
knew from what the psammead had said that 
they must have wished for something more 
than usually undesirable ; and they spent 
several hours in most agonizing uncertainty. 
It was not till nearly dinner-time that Jane 
tumbled over “ The Last of the Mohicans,” 
which had, of course, been left face down* 
wards on the floor, and when Anthea had 
picked her and the book up she suddenly 
said, “ I know !” and sat down flat on the 
carpet. 

“Oh, Pussy, how awful ! It was Indians 
he w ished for—Cyril—at breakfast ■ don't you 
remember? He said, ‘I wish there were Red 


ROBABLY the next day would 
have been a greater success if 
Cyril had not been reading 
“The I^ast of the Mohicans.” 
The story was running m his 
head at breakfast, and as he 
took his third cup of tea. he said, dreamily ; 
“ 1 wish there were Red Indians in England 
— not big ones, you know, but little ones, 
just about the right size for us to fight." 

Everyone disagreed with him at the time, 
and no one attached any importance to the 
incident. But when they went down to the 
sand pit to ask for a hundred pounds in two- 
shilling pieces with Queen Victoria’s head on 
to prevent mistakes—which they had decided 
on after long discussion as a really reason* 
able wish that must turn out well—they found 
out that they had done it again. For the 
psammead, which was very cross and sleepy, 
said 


** Oh, don’t bother me. You’ve had your 
wish.” 

“ I didn’t know it," said Cyril. 

41 Don’t you remember yesterday ? " said the 
sand fairy, still more disagreeably. “You 
asked me to let you have your wishes wher¬ 
ever you happened to be, and you wished 


Indians in England —and now there are, 
and they’re going about scalping people all 
over the country, as likely as not." 

“ Perhaps they’re only ir Northumberland 
and Durham," said Jane, soothingly. It was 
almost impossible to believe that it could 
really hurt people much to be scalped so far 


this morning, and you’ve got it." 

“ Oh, have we?” said Robert. “What 
is it ? ” 

“ So you’ve forgotten," said the psammead, 
beginning to burrow. “ Never mind, you’ll 
know soon enough. And I wish you joy of 
it. A nice thing you’ve let yourselves in for.” 

44 We always do, somehow,” said Jane, 
sadly. 


away as that 

“ Don't you believe it,” said Anthea ; “ the 
sammyadd said we'd let ourselves in for a 
nice thing. That means they’ll come htrt . 
And suppose they scalped the I>ainb ? ,r 

** Perhaps the scalping would come right 
again at sunset/ said Jane, but she did not 
speak so hopefully as usual, 

“Not it,” said Anthea; “the things that 


wquizeo d 


CV V- 


ioogle 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










RED INDIANS. 


S9r 


from the garden was a row of dark heads, all 
highly feathered. 

“ It's our only chance/ 1 whispered Anthea. 
** Much better than to wait foi their blood- 
freezing attack. We must pretend like mad 
—like that game of cards where you pretend 
you’ve got aces w 1 \en you haven’t. Fluffing, 
they call it, I think. Now then, Whoop ! ” 
With four wild war whoops—or as near 
them as English children could be expected 
to go without any previous practice—they 
rushed through the gate and struck four war¬ 
like attitudes in face of the line of Red 
Indians. These were all about the same 
height, and that height was Cyril’s. 

“ l hope to goodness they can talk 
English/ 1 said Cyril, through his attitude. 

Anthea knew they could, though she never 
knew how she came to know it. She had a 
white towel tied to a walking-stick. This 


tribe—I mean the Mazzawattees — are in 
ambush below the brow of yonder hill.” 

“ And what mighty warriors be these ?" 
asked Snakeskin, turning to the others. 

Cyril said he was the great chief Squirrel 
of the Moiling Congo tribe, and seeing that 
Jane was sucking her thumb, and could 
evidently think of no name for herself, he 
added, “This great warrior is Wild Cat— 
Pussy Ferox we call it in this land—leader 
of the vast Phit eezi tribe.” 

“And thou, valorous Redskin?” Snakeskin 
inquired, suddenly, of Robert, who, taken 
unawares, could only reply that he was the 
great chief Bobs — leader of the Cape 
Mounted Police. 

“And now,” said Black Panther, “our 
tribes—if we just whistle them up—will far 
outnumber your puny forces. So resistance 
is useless. Return, therefore, to your own 


was a flag of truce, and she 
waved it. in the hope that 
the Indians would know 
what it was. Apparently 
they did, for orse who was 
browner than the others 
stepped forward. 

“ Ye seek a pow wow ? ” 
he said, in excellent English. “ I am Snake* 
skin, of the mighty tribe of Rock-dwellers.” 

“And I,” said Anthea, with a sudden 
inspiration, “am the Black Panther—chief 
of the—the—the—Mazzawattee tribe. My 
brothers — I don't mean -r- yes I do—the 

Digitized by GoO^lc 


laod, O brother, and 
smoke pipes of peace in 
your wampums with 
your squaws and your 
medicine men, and dress 
yourselves in gayest wig¬ 
wams, and eat happily of the juicy, fresh- 
caught moccasins.” 

“ You’ve got it all wrong/’ murmured Cyril, 
angrily. But Snakeskin only looked inquir¬ 
ingly at her. 

“ Thy customs are other than ours, O 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




592 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Black Panther,” he said. ‘‘Bring up thy 
tribe that we may hold pow-wow in state 
before them, as becomes great chiefs.” / * 

“ We'll bring them up right enough,” said 
Anthea, “ with their bows and arrows and 
tomahawks and seal pi ng-k hives, and every¬ 
thing you can think of, if you doiVt look 
sharp and go.” 

She spoke bravely enough, but the. hearts 
of all the children were beating furiously, 
and their breath came in shorter and shorter 
gasps. For the little real Red Indians were 
closing up round them—coming nearer and 
nearer with angry murmurs—so that they 
were the centre of a crowd of dark, cruel 
faces. 

“ It’s no go,” whispered Robert. “ I knew 
it wouldn't be. We must make a bolt for 
the psammead. It might help us. If it 
doesn't—well, I suppose we shall come alive 
again at sunset. I wonder if scalping hurts 
as much as they say ? ” 

“I’ll wave the flag again,” said Anthea. 
“ If they stand back we'll run for it” 

She waved the towel, and the chief com¬ 
manded his followers to stand back. Then, 
charging wildly at the place where the line 
of Indians was thinnest, the four children 
started to run. Their first rush knocked 
down some half-dozen Indians, over whose 
blanketed bodies the children leaped and 
made straight for the sand-pit. This was no 
time for the safe, easy way by which carts go 
down ; right over the edge of the sand-pit 
they went, among the yellow and pale purple 
flowers and dried grasses, past the little sand- 
martin's little front doors, skipping, clinging, 
bounding, stumbling, sprawling, and finally 
rolling. 

Snakeskin and his followers came up with 
them just at the very spot where they had 
seen the psammead that morning. 

Breathless and defeated, the wretched 
children now f awaited their fate. Sharp knives 
and axes gleamed round them, but worse 
than these was the cruel light in the eyes of 
Snakeskin and his followers. 

“ Ye have lied to us, O Black Panther of 
the Mazzawattees—and thou, too, Squirrel of 
the Mining Congos. These also—Pussy 
Ferox of the Phit-eezi and Bobs of the Cape 
Mounted Police—these also have lied to us, 
if not with their longues, yet by their silence. 
Ye have lied under the cover of the truce 
flag of the pale-face. Ye have no followers 
Your tribes are far away—following the hunt 
ing trail. What shall be their doom ? ” he 
concluded, turning with a bitter smile to the 
other Red Indians 

Digitized by Google 
f o 


“ Build we the fire ! ” shouted his fol¬ 
lowers, and at once a dozen ready volunteers 
started to look for fuel. .The four children, 
eaclvheld.between two strong little Indians, 
cast despairing glances round them. Oh, if 
they could only see the psammead! 

Do you mean to scalp us first and then 
roast us ? ” asked Anthea, desperately. 

•. “Of course ! ” Snakeskin opened his eyes 
at her ; “ it’s always done.” r 

The Indians had; formed a ring round the 
children and npw sat on the ground gazing 
at their captives. There was a threatening 
silence: , 

Then slowly by twos and threes the 
Indians who had gone to look for firewood 
came back, and they came back empty- 
handed. They had not been able to find a 
single stick of wood for a fire ! No one ever 
can, as a matter of fact, in that part of Kent. 

The children drew a deep breath of relief, 
but it ended in a moan of terror, for bright 
knives were being brandished all about them. 
Next moment each child was seized by an 
Indian—each closed its eyes and tried not 
to scream. They waited for the sharp agony 
of the knife. It did not come. Next 
moment they were released and fell in a 
trembling heap. Their heads did not hurt 
at all. They only felt strangely cool Wild 
war-whoops rang in their ears. When they 
ventured to open their eyes they saw four 
of their foes dancing round them with wild 
leaps and screams, and each of the four 
brandished in his hand a scalp of long, 
flowing black hair. They put their hands 
to their heads—their own scalps were safe. 
The poor, untutored savages had, indeed, 
scalped the children. But they had only, so 
to speak, scalped them of the black calico 
ringlets ! 

The children fell into each other's arms, 
sobbing and laughing. 

“Their scalps are ours,” chanted the 
chief. “ Ill-rooted were their ill-fated hairs ! 
They came off in the hands of the victors; 
without struggle, without resistance, they 
yielded their scalps to the conquering Snake¬ 
skin ! Oh, how little a thing is a scalp so 
lightly won ! ” 

“They'll take our real ones in a minute, 
you see if they don’t,” said Robert, trying to 
rub some of the red ochre off his face and 
hands on to his hair. 

“ Cheated of our just and fiery revenge 
are we.” the chant went on, “ but there are 
other torments than the scalping-knife and 
the flames. Yet is the slow fire the correct 
thing. Oh, strange, unnatural country wherein 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



RED INDIANS. 


593 



“THEY saw fouk ok their foes dancing round them with wild leaks and screams." 


a man may find no wood to burn his enemy ! 
Ah, for the boundless forests of my native 
land, where the great trees for thousands of 
miles grow but to furnish firewood where¬ 
withal to burn our foes. Ah, would we 
were but in our native forest once more.” 

Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, the 
golden gravel shone all round the four 
children instead of the dusky figures. For 
every single Indian had vanished on the 
instant at their leader’s word. The 
psammead must have been there all the 
time. And it had given the Indian chief 
his wish ! 

Martha brought home a jug with a pattern 
of storks and long grasses on it; also she 
brought back all Anthea’s money. 

“ My cousin, she give me the jug for luck. 
She said it was an odd one what the basin of 
had got smashed.” 

“ Oh, Martha; you are a dear ! ” sighed 
Anthea, throwing her arms round her. 


“ Yes,” giggled Martha, “ you’d better 
make the most of me while you’ve got md. 
I shall give your ma notice directly the 
minute she comes back.” 

“ Oh, Martha, we haven’t been so very 
horrid to you, have we?” asked Anthea, 
aghast 

“ Oh, it ain’t that, miss,” Martha giggled 
more than ever. “ I’m a-goin’ to be married. 
It’s Beale, the gamekeeper. He’s been a- 
proposin’ to me off and on ever since you 
come home from the clergyman’s, where you 
got locked up on the church tower. And 
to-day I said the word an’ made him a happy 
man.” 

Anthea put the seven and fourpence back 
in the missionary-box and pasted paper over 
the place where the poker had broken it. 
She was very glad to be able to do this, and 
she does not know to this day whether break¬ 
ing open a missionary-box is or is not a 
hanging matter. 


V„l x.xlv -76. 

' o 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



Curiosities* 

[ Wf shaii be qfad to receive Contributions to this section , and to pay for such as are accepted ] 




AN AUTOMOBILE ANIMAL AMBULANCE* 
r * This, is probably the only animal ambulance in (be 
world which is an automobile* It is the design of Dr. W* 
F* Staniforlh, a veterinary surgeon, of Cleveland, Ohio, 
who has a regular hospital for dogs and cats. When a 
erase of illness is reported the doctor goes for it in his auto. 
The lower jxm is used for dogs and the upper pm for 
felines, as they need to be separated usually. The doctor 
is a great friend of these amma s, and if their owners have 
no money to pay for treatment h; makes no charge. In 
the picture he is seen going after a case accompanied 

Copyright igoa, by George 


NOT A KISH 
STORY. 

“ A friend of 
mine who had 
been trout-fish¬ 
ing was refurn* 
i n g home at 
dusk, with his 
rod over his 
shoulder, when 
he felt a pull 
a l his line* 

Looking round 
he saw that a 
kit had taken 
the trout fly ; 
this he success¬ 
fully * landed** 

The hook can 
be seen in the 
bat's mouth* f 
never heard of this happening before.**—Mr* James 
G* Dick, Easton LmlgCj, Cliftonviile, Belfast* 


by his own pet 
bulldogs, which 
frequently 
make calls with 
him* , b— Mr. D 
Allan Willey, 
Baltimore* 

THE MARKER 
WAS 

ASTONISHED. 

M The accom¬ 
panying photo, 
shows a re¬ 
markable affaiT 
which occurred 
at the Hendon 
Road Unionist 
t’lub recently. 
Playing with a 
friend in the 
hill Sard- mom I ordered two tatlcs of stout. These 
were opened in the bar and sent up, in glasses, in the 
lift* The marker brought up ihe lift sharply, 
there was a crash, and then the marker cried: 

* Look here, gentlemen ! * The edge of the 
tray had evidently projected beyond the lift and 
caught the framework, with the result that one 
glass had jumped into (he other, as in the 
photo* This remarkable result was witnessed 
by several gentlemen who were in the room at 
the lime. The photo, was taken in the yard 
of the club next day by Mr, C H. Hodgson, 
Hendon Road, Sunderland*"—Mr. J. J. Witten, 
38, Hendon Road, Sunderland. 













CURIOSITIES. 


595 



NOT A FLATTERING LIKENESS. 

** This curiosity i$ not, as the photograph implies, 
a freak. When in France, at a small village named 
Villequier, on the Seine, a pig's head was hanging 
outside a butcher's shop, and one of my friends stand¬ 
ing behind it, it looked as if he had a pig^s head, hence 
i his curious result/ 1 —Mr* Chas* K* B, God mans, 
Muni ham, Horsham. 


INGENIOUS BOVS. 

** Several Angeles boys have improvised a saw¬ 
mill from odds and ends in which surprising ingenuity 
is displayed, ns the accompanying photograph shows. 
This picture was taken while they were earnestly at 
work with their odd machine, which actually saw-s 
very well. The boys look an amateur ttirning-lathe 
and mounted 
on it a small 
circular saw of 
their own 
make, A line- 
shaft was made 
of an oId 
hi oom - handle, 
at one end of 
which is a 
paddle - wheel 
const ru c led 
from a few pine 
shingles, and at 
the other the 
belt - wheel, 
taken from an 
invalid sewing- 
m a c h i n e . 

When the 
clever inven¬ 
tors want their 
machine to run 
the water is 
turned on the 
paddle - wheel 
by means of an 
ordinary hose 
attached to a 


hydrant in the lack-yard, and then the sawdust liegins 
to fly in real sawmill style, white the teeth cut rapidly 
through the wood. The sponsors for this unique 
outfit are Delbert Axelson, engineer and nozzleman ; 
Edgar Brown, sawyer and general manager ; and 
Edmund Lucey, solicitor to work up enthusiasm 
among the other small hoys . M —Mr. John L. Von 
Blon, Los Angeles, California. 



From « riiQto. by C. K Treblt, Britton, 

A NOVELTY IN WAISTCOATS. 


“ What Lord Kitchener has described as a * very 
unique* waistcoat, and Lord Roberts considers ‘-most 
interesting,* is the result of a collection which lias 

been made by 
Mr, George 
Ekuke, jim. t of 
1 Grosvenor/ 
Sydney Road, 
Slock well, of 
the different 
regimental 
badges of nearly 
every regiment 
in the British 
Army, The 
collection look 
a long time to 
get together, 
and cost a good 
deal of money 
before coni pie- 
t i o n , Mr. 
Parke arranged 
the b&dgesupun 
a red waistcoat, 
and he terms it 
his Coronation 
w- a i st coat.**— 
Mr. J. While, 
124, Lough- 
borough Road, 
Trixlon, SAW 



UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
























59<5 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



one of the fire companies meL with an accident while in the act 
of ascending, his coin panions below having failed to keep a firm 
hold of the upright ladder. The result was that down came 
ladder, fireman, ami all. Immediately arose varying shouts from 
the spectators, some crying, 4 He didn't touch the top/ while 
others were equally emphatic in calling out, 4 Yes, he did/ Even 
the judges were quite unable to decide the matter, and so af er a 
brief delay another company was allowed to take its turn. The 
w riter, who had been looking at the 4 finder 5 of his camera and 
had 4 pressed the button 1 just as the climber was apparently 
ascending, thought to himself, 4 This picture is a failure. After 
the tournament he retired to the seclusion of the dark room. 
Imagine his surprise and pleasure when in the course of develop¬ 
ing lie found a man with one hand touching the top rung of a 
vertical ladder, his feet wide apart, and his whole body showing 
extreme haste and exertion. As this picture was the only one of 
its particular kind that the writer had attempted to take during 
the tournament there was not the slightest room for doubt that 
those who had shouted 4 fie didn’t touch the top 1 were mistaken. 
A printed proof was shown to the members of the Irjtcal fire 
company, and it is almost needless to add that it excited much 
interest/ 5 —The Rev. I\ L. Spencer, Jarvis, Ont. 


A LOCOMOTIVES HOLIDAY* 
41 I t is, I should think, of rare 
occurrence to meet a railway 
engine in a Devonshire lane, 
where one is generally said to 
wander * with love-stories olden 
for theme/ The enclosed is a 
photograph of a railway engine 
in such a lane near Axminster, 
1 evun. The engine was being 
taken from the London and 
South-Western Railway to Great 
Trill, to help in the Construction 
of the Axminster and Lyme 
Regis light Railway. At some 
parts the lane was so narrow 
that the Kinks had to he cut 
hick to effect a passage/ 1 —Mr, 
W. H. Bellamy, Axminster, 
Devon. 


AN ADVENTUROUS BOTTLE. 

* f I send you the photo, of a 
bottle supposed to 1>e of Bass’s 


ale, which was found in sixty 
fathoms of water in the sea off 
Barbados. Jr was fished out by 
Mr* Taylor, and is in a perfect 
state. It is encrusted with moss, 
coral, and weed, and a large and 
beautiful s|x>nge has grown on the 
top of it.”—Miss Maud Gibson, 
Ambleoote Road, Giuve Park, 
Kent. 


THE TOP OF THE LADDER. 

41 1 The Top of the ladder 5 pic¬ 
ture which t send you was obtained 
under the following extraordinary 
circumstances. At a hook and 
ladder com petit ion held on Labour 
Day, the first Monday in Scptem- 
lier, in Thoruld, Ont., not a great 
while ago, the iaddcr-L Limber ejf 
























CURIOSITIES . 


597 



WHAT A WIDE-ANGLE LENS CAN J>0. 

The three photos, shown here illustrate what 
can happen to a person if photographed with a wide- 
angle lens. Photo* No* I shows the model as he 
really is, photo* No* 2 is of the same person taken 
with a wide-angle lens, and in photo* No. 3 the hand 
is extended towards the camera with strange results.” 


AN AMUSING JUMBLE. 

“I send herewith a jumble of American magazine 
advertisements* You will olaserve lire opportunity for a 



THOl' SANDS' 


To FAT PEOPLE ( 

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Flat Chested** t / 


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cvy^n^ * Cl'Ofcoi Pool!* < twtrtPDMMi 

/F BASKETS^ NERVE-FORCE 

HV^ Srfsum :do you { w—• °“ r 

T^r cMClln All Climesl) f—HiSf 

*,v« «.«■■"*—*• / MINCEJ,E ^— 

Arnblucui? Pleasure v ^ - v tl 

- ftni JCornfor1 ,S\cQUABS PAir 

' V *-»'>^---l | -I..'Th| M«>r«.« V Jjg,g-r, iU J 

II VOUH QwN DOjl t*Vt DCi-LEKS' ^ftT *1** flY MAIL 

* M * r^L : tf-TIVr. f 


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Spa cu 


u« p* mj«»;JJT 55* ffrgjSg^* 
“c*Ta^ ft > h4ri 1 
BnflK Cure CantiM Fail 




trip over an entirely new route of travel, personally 
conducted by lliprah Hunt, also advice about 
the time of getting married and timely caution 
concerning the safety or danger of your hank 
account, etc*” — Mr. William Reader, Columbia 
Fill Is, Montana. 



A BEE-HIVE IN A CHIMNEY-STACK. 

** One ol the chimneys at Timsbury Manor has 
lK?en stormed by bees, and when the phoio. was 
taken they had l>ecn there only six weeks* The slot 
in the middle is i8iti P long by 4111* wide* and the 
comb extends right through and bulges out on the 
other side, much the same as that photographed 
The operation of taking the photograph was rather 
ticklish, as I had to rig tip the camera on the roof by 
lashing two legs of the tripod to the coping of (he 
Tool, about Sfl. from (he bees. The comb can be 
seen almost covered with bees. Timsbury Manor is 
the property of T. Vickers, Esq., of Vickers, Sons, 
and Maxim, and I have his permission to send this 
photograph to you.” -C. Cowell* Timsbury Manor, 
near Ronisey, Ljlihb* IT-Mfl 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



































59 * 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 





llassan and Hussain, the sons of Ali, considered by Persians 
and all Shiah Mohammedans to be the rightful successors of 
Mahomet the Prophet. The drama selling forth the courage 
and resignation of the martyrs, the sufferings of their little 
children, and the heroism of their followers moves the audience 
to soli as if their hearts would break. The women Cover their 
heads with straw to represent the sand of the desert; the men 
make bare and smite their breasts ; some strike themselves 
over the bare shoulders with heavy chains ; others cut their 
heads with swords and knives; the track of the cortege on the 
tenth day, w hen frenzy rims highest, is marked with tflood/* 
—Mr. J, A. Lee, 211, Ivydale Road, Nunhead, S.E. 


MURDERED TROUT. 

** Here is a photo, taken on the Six Mile Water, near Antrim, 
of tiout poisoned hy chemicals run into the water. The trout 
measure from the size of a minnow up to about 3lh. weight. The 
Six Mile Water was once the best trout river in Ireland, but the 
chemical refuse which has once or twice been allowed to run 
into it has caused the wholesale murder of which my photograph 
is the witness. It is a sight to make anglers, let alone fisher¬ 
men, weep, and it is to be hoped that a slop will soon lie put 
to this objectionable practice/*—Mr. VVm. M. Gallaher, Malone 
Talk House, Pel List. 


A FLOWER CLOCK. 

“ I send you a photograph of 
what is known as the 1 Flower 
Clock,' located in a public |*ark 
at Detroit, Mich. The dial or 
face is composed of flowers and 
foliage, and is about 6ft. in width. 
Upon an axle in the centre re¬ 
volve the wooden hands, which 
represent the minutes and hours 
as i 11 an ordinary timepiece. They 
are moved around the dial by a 
small stream of water, which 
turns the axle. They record (he 
divisions of time throughout the 
twenty-four hours, the motion* of 
each hand lieing regulated accord¬ 
ingly. The flower dock requires 
no winding so long as the water¬ 
power is turned on, and it runs 
throughout the summer season/’ 
—Mr. Day Allan Willey, Balti¬ 
more. _ 

PERSIAN TEAR - BOTTLES. 

The quaint glasses or liottles 
depicted in the accompanying 


photograph are two rare Persian, 
tear - glasses of a beauti ful blue 
colour, standing 13m, high, and 
having a like circumference at 
the thickest paTt. Although it is 
pretty generally known that 
widows ill Persia collect their 
tears 111 glasses to sprinkle on 
their husbands' graves, yet such 
glasses are by no means common, 
and very few Europeans, however 
Usng they have resided in the 
country, or however extensively 
they have travelled therein, have 
seen them, or, having seen them, 
have guessed to what purpose 
they are pul. This is chiefly due 
to the fact that only natives are 
allowed to he present on the great 
occasion when widows—or, for 
the matter of that, men also — 
shed tears profusely, viz., the 
‘Tazieh/ or religious play to 
commemorate the deaths of 





















CURIOSITIES. 


599 


SIXPENCE FOR A LIFE! 

** Perhaps the enclosed coin may interest your 
readers of the Curiosity page, and the publication 
of a photograph of it may be the means of restoring 
same to its owner* It was picked up by myself 
on Peck ham Rye* The reason for the inscription 
on the back is not at once apparent, as such a 



medal would not have been given by any society, and 
the late owner would have had no object in having 
the sixpence engraved in such a manner* The only 
construction that can he put on it is that the magnifi- 
cent sum of sixpence was given as a reward for life- 
saving* the brave owner being so pleased by this 
munificence that he had the coin engraved as an 
example of human generosity and gratitude,''—Mr* 
R C, Carpenter* 59* Fenwick Road* East Dulwich, 




oT which the pieces of china ate fastened. 
The face is decorated in brilliant colours, 
and well drawn for a mechanic or artisan. 
It keeps good lime,”—Mr* T, K, Biddle* 
73* High Street, Dart ford. 


DOG *' SPECS." 

“This is a photo* of one of our cus¬ 
tomers* for whom we made a pair of auto- 
specs. to order. This intelligent collie sits 
on the front seat of his owner's automobile, 
in the same position you see him now, 
while the machine goes at lop speed* This 
caused his eyes to get full of dust, to prevent 
which the specs, were made* His dogship 
seemed to appreciate them* and makes no 
effort to get them off*"—Mr* E. B* Mcyro- 
witz, Optician* 3, Rue Scribe* Paris. 


THE DOOM OF THE “OASIV 
“Owing to several causes* principally the use by large hop 
growers of modern machinery for drying hops by steam-power, 
formers in Kent are pulling down Iheir old - fashioned * oasis,* 
and the above photograph shows two of these kilns being 
demolished by a traction-engine after the cooling - room had 
been removed by hand and with bricks cut out, making holes 
through which chains were passed and then attached to the 
engine. One of the buildings was actually taken in the act of 
falling. 11 —Mr* George Mercy, East Pcckham, Tonbridge. 


AN INGENIOUS TIMEPIECE. 

“ The curious clock of which I send you a photo, was designed 
by Mr. F. Whatlmg of this town* Mr* Whatling is a china 
riveter and umbrella maker, and the cluck was made by him with 
various pieces of china which he had repaired* It consists of 
an ordinary circular clock fixed to the bick of a tray, to the front 

Digitized by VjUUglfc UNIVERSITYOF MICHIGAN 






























6oq 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




A CURIOUS 
MOUSE *TRAP, 

11 The two mice, 
a photograph ol 
which I semi you, 
met their death at 
the same moment 
and in exactly the 
same position. 

The photo, shows 
a mugh cupboard 
in a workshop. 

One evening* as 
the door ot the 
cupboird was 
being closed, the 
mice* in trying to 
escape, must have * 
jumped at exactly 
the same instant, 
but a little loo 
late, as the result 
shows; they both got jammed between the shell 
and the door, and when the latter was opened in 
the morning the culprits were found as shown in 
the illustration^”—Mr. J. W. Puntis, 10, The Avenue, 
King Street, South sea. 


WHY THE FIRE 
REFUSED TO 
BURN. 

" The other day 
when the billiard- 
room fire was 
lighted it refused 
to burn, anti 
smoked to such 
an estent that the 
\ chi m ney was 
swept as .soon as 
possible. The 
photograph given 
.below s h.o w s 
lhe resulting 
debris which came 
duwn the chimney 
when the sweep 
applied his brush, 
and which had 


SQUASHED! 

"I send a photo¬ 
graph which has 
the appearance of 
a boy being 
squashed under a 
garden roller. It 
is simply a hat 
put in front of 
the roller and a 
boy with his legs 
up in the air and 
hands out at the 
side at the back.” 
— Mr. P, Russell, 
51, Avenue Road, 
Southend-on-Sea, 
Essex. 


IlfTI - Lk .-I I r' "b ■-•V.HI'.jA N 


all been deposited there by jackdaws since the chimney 
was Iasi swept.”—Mr. VV. L. Chance, Great Alne 
Hall, Alcester. 


A TOMATO-CAN RACE. 

“This picture was taken by tmsclf in the tow p n gt 

Merritt on last 
month, and shoWs 
three children 
running races on 
old tomato-cans 
which they keep 
in place on their 
feet by strings 
held in the hand. 
It struck me that 
this was so jjecu- 
liar a method for 
children f s play 
that I ' snapped ’ 
them on the 
spot.” — Mr. A. 
T. Phillips, 13, 
Cooper Street, 
Ottawa. 



















Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


Digitized by 






RIGHT IN FRONT OF US WAS DRAWN UP A TRIPLE LINE OF 
RUSSIAN GRENADIERS.” 


{See page 609.) 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















The 

Vol. xxiv. 


Strand Magazine. 

DECEMBER. 1902. No. 144. 


The Adventures of Etienne Gerard\ 

By A. Conan Doyle. 


III.—HOW THE BRIGADIER RODE TO MINSK. 



WOULD have a stronger wine 
to-night, my friends, a wine 
of Burgundy rather than of 
Bordeaux. It is that my heart, 
my old soldier heart, is heavy 
within me. It is a strange 
thing, this age which creeps upon one. One 
does not know, one does not understand; the 
spirit is ever the same, and one does not 
remember how the poor body crumbles. 
But there comes a moment when it is brought 
home, when quick as the sparkle of a whirl¬ 
ing sabre it is clear to us, and we see the men 
we were and the men we are. Yes, yes, it 
was so to-day, and I would have a wine 
of Burgundy to-night. White Burgundy— 
Montrachet-Sir, I am your debtor! 

It was this morning in the Champ de 
Mars. Your pardon, friends, while an old 
man tells his trouble. You saw the review. 
Was it not splendid ? I was in the enclosure 
for veteran officers who have been decorated. 
This ribbon on my breast was my passport. 
The cross itself I keep at home in a leathern 
pouch. They did us honour, for we were 
placed at the saluting point, with the 
Emperor and the carriages of the Court upon 
our right. 

It is years since I have been to a review, 
for I cannot approve of many things which I 
have seen. I do not approve of the red 
breeches of the infantry. It was in white 
breeches that the infantry used to fight. 
Red is for the cavalry. A little more, and 
they would ask our busbies and our spurs! 
Had I been seen at a review they might 
well have said that I, Etienne Gerard, had 
condoned it. So I have stayed at home. 
But this war of the Crimea is different. The 
men go to battle. It is not for me to be 
absent when brave men gather. 

My faith, they march well, those little 
infantrymen ! They are not large, but they 


are very solid and they carry themselves 
well. I took off my hat to them as they 
passed. Then there came the guns. They 
were good guns, well horsed and well manned. 
I took off my hat to them. Then came the 
Engineers, and to them also I took off my 
hat. There are no braver men than the 
Engineers. Then came the cavalry, I^ancers, 
Cuirassiers, Chasseurs, and Spahis. To all 
of them in turn I was able to take off 
my hat, save only to the Spahis. The 
Emperor had no Spahis. But when all 
of the others had passed, what think you 
came at the close? A brigade of Hussars, 
and at the charge! Oh, my friends, the 
pride and the glory and the beauty, the flash 
and the sparkle, the roar of the hoofs and 
the jingle of chains, the tossing manes, the 
noble heads, the rolling cloud, and the 
dancing waves of steel! My heart drummed 
to them as they passed. And the last of all, 
was it not my own old regiment? My eyes 
fell upon the grey and silver dolmans, with 
the leopard-skin shabraques, and at that 
instant the years fell away from me and I 
saw my own beautiful men and horses, even 
as they had swept behind their young 
colonel, in the pride of our youth and our 
strength, just forty years ago. Up flew 
my cane. “Chargez! En avant ! Vive 
TEmp^reur! ” It was the past calling to 
the present. But, oh, what a thin, piping 
voice! Was this the voice that had 
once thundered from wing to wing of a 
strong brigade? And the arm that could 
scarce wave a cane, were these the muscles 
of fire and steel which had no match in all 
Napoleon's mighty host? They smiled at 
me. They cheered me. The Emperor 
laughed and bowed. But to me the present 
was a dim dream, and what was real were 
my eight hundred dead Hussars and the 
Etienne of lcjpg ago. Enough—a brave 


Vol xxiv.—76. 


Copyright, .900. by Georg. )p ,V.| C H IGA N 





6©4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


man can face age and fate as he faced 
Cossacks and Uhlans* But there are times 
when Montrachet is better than the wine of 
Bordeaux, 

It is to Russia that they go, and so I will 
tell you a story of Russia. Ah, what an 
evil dream of the night it seems E Blood 
and ice. Ice and blood. Fierce faces 
with snow upon the whiskers. Blue hands 
held out for succour. And across the 
great white plain the one long black line 
of moving figures, trudging, trudging, a 
hundred miles, another hundred, and still 
always the same white plain. Sometimes 
there were fir-woods to limit it, sometimes 


feu de Joie. I have heard many a groan and 
cry and scream in my life, but nothing so 
terrible as the laugh of the Grand Army. 

But why was it that these helpless men 
were not destroyed by the Russians? Why 
w T as it that they were not speared by the 
Cossacks or herded into droves, and driven 
as prisoners into the heart of Russia? On 
every side as you watched the black snake 
winding over the snow you saw also dark, 
moving shadow's which came and went like 
cloud drifts on either flank and behind. 
They were the Cossacks, who hung round us 
like wolves round the flock. But the reason 
why they did not ride in upon us was that all 



THEY WERE THE COSSACKS, WHO HUNG ROUND US LIKE WOLVES ROUND THE FLOCK.' 


it stretched away to the cold blue sky, but 
the black line stumbled on and on. Those 
weary, ragged, starving men, the spirit frozen 
out of them, looked neither to right nor left, 
but with sunken faces and rounded backs 
trailed onwards and ever onwards, making 
for France as wounded beasts make for their 
lair* There was no speaking, and you could 
scarce hear the shuffle of feet in the snow. 
Once only I heard them laugh. It was 
outside Wilna, when an aide de-camp rode 
up to tlie head of that dreadful column 
and asked if that were the Grand Army. 
All who were within hearing looked round, 
and when they saw those broken men, those 
ruined regiments, those fur-capped skeletons 
who were once the Guard, they laughed, 
and the laugh crackled down the column likea 


the ice of Russia could not cool the hot hearts 
of some of our soldiers. To the end there 
were always those who were ready to throw 
themselves between these savages and their 
prey* One man abme all rose greater as 
the danger thickened, and won a higher name 
amid disaster than he had done when he led 
our van to victory. To him I drink this 
glass—to Ney, the red-maned Lion, glaring 
back over his shoulder at the enemy who 
feared to tread too closely on his heels* I 
can see him now, his broad white lace com 
vulsed with fury, his light blue eyes sparkling 
like flints, his great voice roaring and crashing 
amid the roll of the musketry. His glazed 
and featherless cocked hat was the ensign 
upon which France rallied during those 
dreadful days* 

’Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD . 


605 


It is well known that neither I nor the 
regiment of Hussars of Conflans were at 
Moscow. We were left behind on the lines 
of communication at Borodino. How the 
Emperor could have advanced without us is 
incomprehensible to me, and, indeed, it was 
only then that I understood that his judgment 
was weakening and that he was no longer the 
man that he had been. However, a soldier 
has to obey orders, and so I remained at this 
village, which was poisoned by the bodies of 
thirty thousand men who had lost their lives 
in the great battle. I spent the late autumn 
in getting my horses into condition and re¬ 
clothing my men, so that when the army fell 
back on Borodino my Hussars were the best 
of the cavalry, and were placed under Ney 
in the rear-guard. What could he have 
done without us during those dreadful days? 
“ Ah, Gerard,” said he one evening—but it 
is not for me to repeat the words. Suffice 
it that he spoke what the whole army felt. 
The rear-guard covered the army and the 
Hussars of Conflans covered the rear-guard. 
There was the whole truth in a sentence. 
Always the Cossacks were on us. Always 
we held them off. Never a day passed that 
we had not to wipe our sabres. That was 
soldiering indeed. 

But there came a time between Wilna and 
Smolensk when the situation became impos¬ 
sible. Cossacks and even cold we could 
fight, but we could not fight hunger as well. 
Food must be got at all costs. That night 
Ney sent for me to the waggon in which he 
slept. His great head was sunk on his hands. 
Mind and body he was wearied to death. 

“Colonel Gerard,” said he, “things are 
going very badly with us. The men are 
starving. We must have food at all costs.” 

“The horses,” I suggested. 

“Save your handful of cavalry there are 
none left.” 

“ The band,” said I. 

He laughed, even in his despair. 

“ Why the band ? ” he asked. 

“ Fighting men are of value.” 

“ Good,” said he. “ You would play the 
game down to the last card and so would I. 
Good, Gerard, good ! ” He clasped my hand 
in his. “But there is one chance for us 
yet, Gerard.” He unhooked a lantern from 
the roof of the waggon and he laid it on a 
map which was stretched before him. “To 
the south of us,” said he, “there lies the 
town of Minsk. I have word from a 
Russian deserter that much corn has been 
stored in the town-hall. I wish you to take 
as many men as you think best, set forth for 

Digitized by CiOO^lC 


Minsk, seize the com, load any carts which 
you may collect in the town, and bring them 
to me between here and Smolensk. If you 
fail it is but a detachment cut off. If you 
succeed it is new life to the army.” 

He had not expressed himself well, for it 
was evident that if we failed it was not 
merely the loss of a detachment. It is 
quality as well as quantity which counts. 
And yet how honourable a mission and how 
glorious a risk ! If mortal men could bring 
it, then the corn should come from Minsk. 
I said so, and spoke a few burning words 
about a brave man’s duty until the Marshal 
was so moved that he rose and, taking me 
affectionately by the shoulders, pushed me 
out of the waggon. 

It was clear to me that in order to succeed 
in my enterprise I should take a small force 
and depend rather upon surprise than upon 
numbers. A large body could not conceal 
itself, would have great difficulty in getting 
food, and would cause all the Russians 
around us to concentrate for its certain de¬ 
struction. On the other hand, if a small body 
of cavalry could get past the Cossacks unseen 
it was probable that they would find no 
troops to oppose them, for we knew that the 
main Russian army was several days’ march 
behind us. This corn was meant, no doubt, 
for their consumption. A squadron of 
Hussars and thirty Polish Lancers were all 
whom I chose for the venture. That very 
night we rode out of the camp, and struck 
south in the direction of Minsk. 

Fortunately there was but a half moon, 
and we were able to pass without being 
attacked by the enemy. Twice we saw great 
fires burning amid the snow, and around 
them a thick bristle of long poles. These 
were the lances of Cossacks, which they had 
stood upright while they slept It would 
have been a great joy to us to have charged 
in amongst them, for we had much to 
revenge, and the eyes of my comrades looked 
longingly from me to those red flickering 
patches in the darkness. My faith, I was 
sorely tempted to do it, for it would have 
been a good lesson to teach them that they 
must keep a few miles between themselves 
and a French army. It is the essence of 
good generalship, however, to keep one thing 
before one at a time, and so we rode silently 
on through the snow, leaving these Cossack 
bivouacs to right and left. Behind us the 
black sky was all mottled with a line of 
flame which showed where our own poor 
wretches were trying to keep themselves alive 
for another day of misery and starvation. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN - 


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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


All night we rode slowly onwards, keeping 
our horses' tails to the Pole Star. There 
were many tracks in the snow, and we 
kept to the line of these, that no one might 
remark that a body of cavalry had passed 
that way. These are the little precautions 
which mark the experienced officer. Besides, 
by keeping to the tracks we were most likely 
to find the villages, and only in the villages 
could we hope to get food. The dawn of 
day found us in a thick fir-wood, the trees so 
loaded with snow that the light could hardly 
reach us. When we had found our way out 
of it it was full daylight, the rim of the rising 
sun peeping over the edge of the great 
snow-plain and turning it crimson from end 
to end. I hailed my Hussars and Lancers 
under the shadow of the wood, and I 
studied the country. Close to us there 
was a small farmhouse. Beyond, at the 
distance of several miles, was a village. 
Far away on the sky-line rose a con¬ 
siderable town all bristling with church 
towers. This must be Minsk. In no direc¬ 
tion could I see any signs of troops. It was 
evident that we had passed through the 
Cossacks and that there was nothing between 
us and our goal. A joyous shout burst from 
my men when I told them our position, and 
we advanced rapidly towards the village. 

I have said, however, that there was a 
small farmhouse immediately in front of us. 
As we rode up to it I observed that a fine 
grey horse with a military saddle was tethered 
by the door. Instantly I galloped forwards, 
but before I could reach it a man dashed out 
of the door, flung himself on to the horse, 
and rode furiously away, the crisp, dry snow 
flying up in a cloud behind him. The sun¬ 
light gleamed upon his gold epaulettes, and I 
knew that he was a Russian officer. He 
would raise the whole countryside if we did 
not catch him. I put spurs to Violette and 
flew after him. My troopers followed; but 
there w r as no horse among them to compare 
with Violette, and I knew well that if I could 
not catch the Russian I need expect no help 
from them. 

But it is a swift horse indeed and a skilful 
rider who can hope to escape from Violette 
with Etienne Gerard in the saddle. He rode 
well, this young Russian, and his mount was 
a good one, but gradually we wore him down. 
His face glanced continually over his shoulder 
—a dark, handsome face, with eyes like an 
eagle—and I saw as I closed with him that he 
was measuring the distance between us. Sud¬ 
denly he half turned ; there were a flash and 
a crack as his pistol bullet hummed past my 

Diqilized by C iOGQ lc 
f o 


ear. Before he could draw his sword I was 
upon him ; but he still spurred his horse, and 
the two galloped together over the plain, I 
with my leg against the Russian's and my 
left hand upon his right shoulder. I saw his 
hand fly up to his mouth. Instantly I 
dragged him across my pommel and seized 
him by the throat, so that he could not 
swallow. His horse shot from under him, 
but I held him fast and Violette came to a 
stand. Sergeant Oudin of the Hussars was 
the first to join us. He was an old soldier, 
and he saw at a glance what I was after. 

“ Hold tight, Colonel,” said he, “ I'll do 
the rest.” 

He slipped out his knife, thrust the blade 
between the clenched teeth of the Russian, 
and turned it so as to force his mouth open. 
There, on his tongue, was the little wad of 
wet paper which he had been so anxious to 
swallow. Oudin picked it out and I let go 
of the man’s throat. From the way in which, 
half strangled as he was, he glanced at the 
paper I was sure that it was a message of 
extreme importance. His hands twitched as 
if he longed to snatch it from me. He 
shrugged his shoulders, however, and smiled 
good-humouredly when I apologized for my 
roughness. 

“And now to business,” said I, when he 
had done coughing and hawking. “ What is 
your name ? ” 

“ Alexis Barakoff.” 

“ Your rank and regiment ? " 

“Captain of the Dragoons of Grodno.” 

“ What is this note which you were 
carrying ? ” 

“ It is a line which I had written to my 
sweetheart.” 

“ Whose name,” said I, examining the 
address, “is the Hetman Platoff. Come, 
come, sir, this is an important military 
document, which you are carrying from 
one general to another. Tell me this 
instant what it is.” 

“ Read it and then you will know.” He 
spoke perfect French, as do most of the 
educated Russians. But he knew well that 
there is not one French officer in a thousand 
who knows a word of Russian. The inside 
of the note contained one single line, which 
ran like this :— 

“ Pustj Franzuzy pridutt v Minsk. Min 
gotovy.” 

I stared at it, and I had to shake my 
head. Then I showed it to my Hussars, but 
they could-make nothing of it. The Poles 
were all n>ugh fellows who could not read or 
write, save only the sergeant, who came from 

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THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD . 


607 


Memel, in East Prussia, and knew no 
Russian, It was maddening, for I felt that 
I had possession of some important secret 
upon which the safety of the army might 
depend, and yet I could make no sense of it 
Again I entreated our prisoner to translate it, 
and offered him his freedom if he would do 
so. He only smiled at my request I could 
not but admire him, for it was the very smile 
which I should have myself smiled had I 
been in his position* 

“ At least,” said I, “ tell us the name of 
this village,” 

u It is Bobrova.” 

“And that is Minsk over yonder, I 
suppose ? ” 

“ Yes, that is Minsk . 11 
u Then we shall go to the village and we 
shall very soon find someone who will trans¬ 
late this despatch*” 


some food for the men and horses, since 
they had travelled all night and had a long 
journey still before them. 

There was one large stone house in the 
centre of the village, and to this I rode. It 
was the house of the priest—a snuffy and ill- 
favoured old man who had not a civil answer 
to any of our questions. An uglier fellow I 
never met, but, my faith, it was very different 
with his only daughter, who kept house for 
him. She was a brunette, a rare thing in 
Russia, with creamy skin, raven hair, and a 
pair of the most glorious dark eyes that ever 
kindled at the sight of a Hussar. From the 
first glance I saw that she was mine. It was 
no time for love-making when a soldier’s 
duty had to be done, but still, as I took the 
simple meal which they laid before me, I 
chatted lightly with the lady, and we were 
the best of friends before an hour had 



So we rode onward together, a trooper with 
his carbine unslung on either side of our 
prisoner* The village was but a little place, 
and I set a guard at the ends of the single 
street, so that no one could escape from it. 
It was necessary to call a halt and to find 


passed. Sophie was her first name, her 
second I never knew. I taught her to call 
me Etienne, and I tried to cheer her up, for 
her sweet face was sad and there were tears 
in her beautiful dark eyes* I pressed her to 
tell me what it wp which was grieving her. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


44 How can I be otherwise/' said she, 
speaking French with a most adorable lisp, 
44 when one of my poor countrymen is a 
prisoner in your hands? I saw him between 
two of your Hussars as you rode into the 
village.” 

44 It is the fortune of war/* said I, 44 His 
turn to-day ; mine, perhaps, to-morrow.” 

“ But consider, Monsieur-” said she. 

44 Etienne/’ said I. 

44 Oh, Monsieur—” 

44 Etienne,” said I. 

u Well, then,” she cried, beautifully flushed 
and desperate, " consider, Etienne, that this 
young officer will be taken back to your army 
and will be starved or frozen, for if, as I 
hear, your own soldiers have a hard march, 
what will be the lot of a prisoner?” 

I shrugged my shoulders. 

44 You have a kind face, Etienne,” said she ; 


4i Captain BarakofT,” said I, “this young 
lady has begged me to release you, and I 
am inclined to do so. I would ask you to 
give your parole that you will remain in this 
dwelling for twenty-four hours, and take no 
steps to inform anyone of our movements.” 

44 I will do so,” said he. 

14 Then I trust in your honour. One man 
more or less can make no difference in a 
struggle between great armies, and to take 
you back as a prisoner would be to condemn 
you to death. Depart, sir, and show your 
gratitude not to me, hut to the first French 
officer who falls into your hands.” 

When he was gone I drew my paper from 
my pocket. 

44 Now, Sophie,” said I, 44 1 have done what 
you asked me, and all that I ask in return is 
that you will give me a lesson in Russian.” 

44 With all my heart,” said she. 



*** I.ET US URLJIN ON THIS,' SAIU 1," 


44 you would not condemn this poor man to 
certain death. I entreat you to let him go.” 

Her delicate hand rested upon my sleeve, 
her dark eyes looked imploringly into mine. 

A sudden thought passed through my 
mind. 1 would grant her request, but I 
would demand a favour in return. At my 
order the prisoner was brought up into the 
room. 


41 Let us begin on this,” said I, spreading 
out the paper before her. 44 Let us take it 
word for word and see what it means.” 

She looked at the writing with some sur¬ 
prise. 44 It means,” said she, 44 if the French 
come to Minsk all is lost.” Suddenly a look 
of consternation passed over her beautiful 
face. 44 Great heavens !” she cried, 41 what is it 
that l have done? I have betrayed my country 1 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD . 


609 


Oh, Etienne, your eyes are the last for whom 
this message is meant. How could you be 
so cunning as to make a poor, simple-minded, 
and unsuspecting girl betray the cause of her 
country ? ” 

I consoled my poor Sophie as best I might, 
and I assured her that it was no reproach to 
her that she should be outwitted by so old a 
campaigner and so shrewd a man as myself. 
But it was no time now for talk. This 
message made it clear that the corn was 
indeed at Minsk, and that there were no 
troops there to defend it. I gave a hurried 
order from the window, the trumpeter blew 
the assembly, and in ten minutes we had left 
the village behind us and were riding hard 
for the city, the gilded domes and minarets 
of which glimmered above the snow of the 
horizon. Higher they rose and higher, until 
at last, as the sun sank towards the west, 
we were in the broad main street, and 
galloped up it amid the shouts of the 
moujiks and the cries of frightened women 
until we found ourselves in front of the great 
town hall. My cavalry I drew up in the 
square, and I, with my two sergeants, Oudin 
and Papilette, rushed into the building. 

Heavens ! shall 1 ever forget the sight 
which greeted us ? Right in front of us was 
drawn up a triple line of Russian Grenadiers. 
Their muskets rose as we entered, and a 
crashing volley burst into our very faces. 
Oudin and Papilette dropped upon the floor, 
riddled with bullets. For myself, my busby 
was shot away and I had two holes through 
my dolman. The Grenadiers ran at me 
with their bayonets. “ Treason ! ” I cried. 
“ We are betrayed ! Stand to your horses ! ” 
I rushed out of the hall, but the whole 
square was swarming with troops. From 
every side street Dragoons and Cossacks were 
riding down upon us, and such a rolling fire 
had burst from the surrounding houses that 
half my men and horses were on the ground. 
“ Follow me!” I yelled, and sprang upon 
Violette, but a giant of a Russian Dragoon 
officer threw his arms round me and we 
rolled on the ground together. He shortened 
his sword to kill me, but, changing his mind, 
he seized me by the throat and banged my 
head against the stones until I was uncon¬ 
scious. So it was that I became the prisoner 
of the Russians. 

When I came to myself my only regret 
was that my captor had not beaten out my 
brains. There in the grand square of Minsk 
lay half my troopers dead or wounded, with 
exultant crowds of Russians gathered round 
them. The rest in a melancholy group 

Yol. xxiv.—77. 


were herded into the porch of the town-hall, 
a sotnia of Cossacks keeping guard over 
them. Alas ! what could I say, what could 
I do ? It was evident that 1 had led my 
men into a carefully-baited trap. They had 
heard of our mission and they had prepared 
for us. And yet there was that despatch 
which had caused me to neglect all pre¬ 
cautions and to ride straight into the town. 
How was I to account for that ? The tears 
ran down my cheeks as I surveyed the ruin 
of my squadron, and as I thought of the 
plight of my comrades of the Grand Army 
who awaited the food which I was to have 
brought them. Ney had trusted me and I 
had failed him. How often he would strain 
his eyes over the snowfields for that convoy 
of grain which should never gladden his 
sight ! My own fate was hard enough. An 
exile in Siberia was the best which the future 
could bring me. But you will believe me, 
my friends, that it was not for his own sake, 
but for that of his starving comrades, that 
Etienne Gerard’s cheeks were lined by his 
tears, frozen even as they w r ere shed. 

“ What’s this ? ” said a gruff voice at my 
elbow ; and I turned to face the huge, black- 
bearded Dragoon who had dragged me from 
my saddle. “ Look at the Frenchman cry¬ 
ing ! I thought that the Corsican was fol¬ 
lowed by brave men and not by children.” 

“ If you and I were face to face and 
alone, I should let you see which is the 
better man,” said I. 

For answer the brute struck me across the 
face with his open hand. I seized him by 
the throat, but a dozen of his soldiers tore 
me away from him, and he struck me again 
while they held my hands. 

“ You base hound,” I cried, “ is this the 
way to treat an officer and a gentleman ? ” 

“ We never asked you to come to Russia,” 
said he. “ If you do you must take such 
treatment as you can get. I would shoot 
you off hand if I had my way.” 

44 You will answer for this some day,” I cried, 
as I wiped the blood from my moustache. 

“ If the Hetman Platoff is of my way of 
thinking you will not be alive this time 
to-morrow,” he answered, with a ferocious 
scowl. He added some words in Russian to 
his troops, and instantly they all sprang to 
their saddles. Poor Violette, looking as 
miserable as her master, was led round and 
I was told to mount her. My left arm was 
tied with a thong which was fastened to the 
stirrup-iron of a sergeant of Dragoons. So in 
most sorry plight I and the remnant of my 
men set forth fram Minsk. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Never have I met such a brute as this man 
Sergine, who commanded the escort. The 
Russian army contains the best and the 
worst in the world, but a worse than Major 
Sergine of the Dragoons of Kieff I have 
never seen in any force outside of the 
guerillas of the Peninsula. He was a man 
of great stature, with a fierce, hard face and 
a bristling black beard, which fell over his 
cuirass. I have been told since that he was 
noted for his strength and his bravery, and I 
could answer for it that he had the grip of a 
bear, for I had felt it when he tore me from 
my saddle. He was a wit, too, in his way, and 
made continual remarks in Russian at our ex¬ 
pense which set all his Dragoons and Cossacks 
laughing. Twice he beat my comrades with 
his riding-whip, and once he approached me 
with the lash swung over his shoulder, but 
there was something in my eyes which pre¬ 
vented it from falling. So in misery and 
humiliation, cold and starving, we rode in a 
disconsolate column across the vast snow- 
plain. The sun had sunk, but still in the 
long northern twilight we pursued our weary 
journey. Numbed and frozen, with my head 
aching from the blows it had received, I was 
borne onwards by Violette, hardly conscious 
of where I was or whither I was going. The 
little mare walked with a sunken head, only 
raising it to snort her contempt for the mangy 
Cossack ponies who were round her. 

But suddenly the escort stopped, and I 
found that we had halted in the single street 
of a small Russian village. There was a 
church on one side, and on the other was a 
large stone house, the outline of which 
seemed to me to be familiar. I looked 
around me in the twilight, and then I saw 
that we had been led back to Dobrova, and 
that this house at the door of which we were 
waiting was the same house of the priest at 
which we had stopped in the morning. Here 
it was that my charming Sophie in her inno¬ 
cence had translated the unlucky message 
which had in some strange way led us to our 
ruin. To think that only a few hours before 
we had left this very spot with such high 
hopes and all fair prospects for our mission, 
and now the remnants of us waited as beaten 
and humiliated men for whatever lot a brutal 
enemy might ordain ! But such is the fate of 
the soldier, my friends—kisses to-day, blows 
to-morrow, Tokay in a palace, ditch-water 
in a hovel, furs or rags, a full purse or 
an empty pocket, ever swaying from the best 
to the worst, with only his courage and his 
honour unchanging. 

The Russian horsemen dismounted, and 


my poor fellows were ordered to do the 
same. It was already late, and it was clearly 
their intention to spend the night in this 
village. There were great cheering and joy 
amongst the peasants when they understood 
that we had all been taken, and they flocked 
out of their houses with flaming torches, the 
women carrying out tea and brandy for the 
Cossacks. Amongst others the old priest 
came forth—the same whom we had seen in 
the morning. He was all smiles now, and 
he bore with him some hot punch on a 
salver, the reek of which I can remember 
still. Behind her father was Sophie. With 
horror I saw her clasp Major Sergine’s 
hand as she congratulated him upon the 
victory he had won and the prisoners he 
had made. The old priest, her father, 
looked at me with an insolent face and 
made insulting remarks at my expense, 
pointing at me with his lean and grimy hand. 
His fair daughter Sophie looked at me also, 
but she said nothing, and I could read her 
tender pity in her dark eyes. At last she 
turned to Major Sergine and said some¬ 
thing to him in Russian, on which he frowned 
and shook his head impatiently. She 
appeared to plead with him, standing there 
in the flood of light which shone from the 
open door of her father’s house. My eyes 
were fixed upon the two faces, that of the 
beautiful girl and of the dark, fierce man, for 
my instinct told me that it was my own fate 
which was under debate. For a long time 
the soldier shook his head, and then, at last 
softening before her pleadings, he appeared to 
give way. He turned to where I stood with 
my guardian sergeant beside me. 

“ These good people offer you the shelter 
of their roof for the night,” said he to me, 
looking me up and down with vindictive 
eyes. 44 1 find it hard to refuse them, but I 
tell you straight that for my part I had 
rather see you on the snow. It would cool 
your hot blood, you rascal of a Frenchrr^m!” 

I looked at him with the contempt that I 
felt. 

44 You were born a savage and you will 
die one,” said I. 

My words stung him, for he broke into an 
oath, raising his whip as if he would strike 


me. 

“ Silence, you crop-eared dog ! ” he cried. 
44 Had I my way some of the insolence would 
be frozen out of you before morning,” 
Mastering his passion, he turned upon Sophie 
with what he meant to be a gallant manner. 
44 If you have a cellar with a good lock,” said 
he, “the fellow may lie in it for the night, 

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THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD. 611 



41 MY RYES WERR FIXED UFQM THE TWO PACKS,' 


since you have done him the honour to take 
an interest in his comfort I must have his 
parole that he will not attempt to play us 
any tricks, as I am answerable for him until 
I hand him over to the Hetman Flatoff 
to-morrow.” 

His supercilious manner was more than I 
could endure. He had evidently spoken 
French to the lady in order that I might 
understand the humiliating way in which he 
referred to me. 

"I will take no favour from you,” said L 
41 You may do what you like, but I will never 
give you my parole.” 

The Russian shrugged his great shoulders, 
and turned away as if the matter were ended, 

“Very well, my fine fellow, so much the 
worse for your fingers and toes. We shall 
see how you are in the morning after a night 
in the snow.” 

“ One moment, Major Sergine,” cried 
Sophie. "You must not be so hard upon 
this prisoner. There are some special 
reasons why he has a claim upon our kind¬ 
ness and mercy.” 

The Russian looked with suspicion upon 
his face from her to me. 

“ What are the special reasons ? You cer¬ 


tainly seem to take a remarkable interest in 
this Frenchman/ 1 said he. 

“ The chief reason is that he has this very 
morning of his own accord released Captain 
Alexis Rarakoff, of the Dragoons of Grodno.” 

” It is true,” said Barakoff, who had come 
out of the house. “ He captured me this 
morning, and he released me upon parole 
rather than take me hack to the French army, 
where I should have been starved,” 

“ Since Colonel Gerard has acted so 
generously you will surely, now that fortune 
has changed, allow us to offer him the poor 
shelter of our cellar upon this bitter night,” 
said Sophie. "It is a small return for his 
generosity.” 

But the Dragoon was still in the sulks. 

“ Let him give me his parole first that he 
will not attempt to escape,” said he. u Do you 
hear, sir ? Do you give me your parole ? " 

11 1 give you nothing,” said L 
“ Colonel Gerard,” cried Sophie, turning to 
me with a coaxing smile, “ you will give me 
your parole, will you not ? ” 

"To you, mademoiselle, I can refuse 
nothing. I will give you my parole, with 
pleasure.” 

u There, Major Sergine,” cried Sophie, in 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


triumph, “ that is surely sufficient. You 
have heard him say that he gives me his 
parole. I will be answerable for his safety.” 

In an ungracious fashion my Russian bear 
grunted his consent, and so I was led into the 
house, followed by the scowling father and by 
the big, black-bearded Dragoon. In the base¬ 
ment there was a large and roomy chamber, 
where the winter logs were stored. Thither it 
was that I was led, and I was given to under¬ 
stand that this was to be my lodging for the 
night. One side of this bleak apartment was 
heaped up to the ceiling with fagots of fire¬ 
wood. The rest of the room was stone-flagged 
and bare-walled, with a single, deep-set window 
upon one side, which was safely guarded with 
iron bars. For light I had a large stable 
lantern, which swung from a beam of the low 
ceiling. Major Sergine smiled as he took 
this down, and swung it round so as to 
throw its light into every corner of that 
dreary chamber. 

“ How do you like our Russian hotels, 
monsieur?” he asked, with his hateful sneer. 
“ They are not very grand, but they are the 
best that we can give you. Perhaps the next 
time that you Frenchmen take a fancy to 
travel you will choose some other country 
where they will make you more comfortable.” 
He stood laughing at me, his white teeth 
gleaming through his beard. Then he left 
me, and 1 heard the great key creak in the 
lock. 

For an hour of utter misery, chilled in 
body and soul, I sat upon a pile of fagots, 
my face sunk upon my hands and my mind 
full of the saddest thoughts. It was cold 
enough within those four walls, but I thought 
of the sufferings of my poor troopers outside, 
and I sorrowed with their sorrow. Then I 
paced up and down, and I clapped my hands 
together and kicked my feet against the walls 
to keep them from being frozen. The lamp 
gave out some warmth, but still it was bitterly 
cold, and I had had no food since morning. 
It seemed to me that everyone had forgotten 
me, but at last I heard the key turn in the 
lock, and who should enter but my prisoner 
of the morning, Captain Alexis Barakoff. 
A bottle of wine projected from under his 
arm, and he carried a great plate of hot stew 
in front of him. 

“ Hush ! ” said he ; “ not a word ! Keep 
up your heart ! I cannot stop to explain, for 
Sergine is still with us. Keep awake and 
ready!” With these hurried words he laid 
down the welcome food and ran out of the 
-room. 

“ Keep awake and ready ! ” The words 


rang in my ears. I ate my food and I 
drank my wine, but it was neither food nor 
wine which had warmed the heart within me. 
What could those words of Barakoff mean ? 
Why was I to remain awake ? For what was 
I to be ready ? Was it possible that there 
was a chance yet of escape ? I have never 
respected the man who neglects his prayers 
at all other times and yet prays when he is in 
peril. It is like a bad soldier who pays no 
respect to the colonel save when he would 
demand a favour of him. And yet when I 
thought of the salt-mines of Siberia on the 
one side and of my mother in France upon 
the other, I could not help a prayer rising, not 
from my lips, but from my heart, that the 
words of Barakoff mi£ht mean all that I hoped. 
But hour after hour struck upon the village 
clock, and still I heard nothing save the call 
of the Russian sentries in the street outside. 

Then at last my heart leaped within me, 
for I heard a light step in the passage. An 
instant later the key turned, the door opened, 
and Sophie was in the room. 

“ Monsieur-” she cried. 

“ Etienne,” said I. 

“Nothing will change you,” said she. 
“ But is it possible that you do not hate me ? 
Have you forgiven me the trick which 1 
played you ? ” 

“ What trick ?” I asked. 

“ Good heavens! is it possible that even 
now you have not understood it? You have 
asked me to translate the despatch. I have 
told you that it meant, ‘ If the French come 
to Minsk all is lost/ ” 

“ What did it mean, then ? ” 

“ It means, 4 Let the French come to 
Minsk. We are awaiting them/ ” 

I sprang back from her. 

“You betrayed me!” I cried. “You 
lured me into this trap. It is to you that I 
owe the death and capture of my men. 
Fool that I was to trust a woman ! ” 

“ Do not be unjust, Colonel Gerard. I 
am a Russian woman, and my first duty is to 
my country. Would you not wish a French 
girl to have acted as I have done? Had I 
translated the message correctly you would 
not have gone to Minsk and your squadron 
would have escaped. Tell me that you 
forgive me! ” 

She looked bewitching as she stood plead 
ing her cause in front of me. And yet, as 
I thought of my dead men, I could not take 
the hand which she held out to me. 

“ Very good,” said she, as she dropped it 
by her side. “ You feel for your own people 
and I feel for hfihe^artd so we are equal. 

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THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD, 


613 


But you have said one wise and kindly thing 
within these walls, Colonel Gerard, You 
have said, ‘ One man more or less can make 
no difference in a struggle between two great 
armies/ Your lesson of nobility is not 
wasted. Behind those fagots is an un¬ 
guarded door Here is the key to it Go 
forth, Colonel Gerard, and I trust that we 
may never look upon each other’s faces 
again,” 


sword waiting for you. Do not delay an 
instant, for in two hours it will be dawn.” 

So I passed out into the starlit Russian 
night, and had that last glimpse of Sophie as 
she peered after me through the open door. 
She looked wistfully at me as if she expected 
something more than the cold thanks which 
I gave her, but even the humblest man has 
his pride, and I will not deny that mine w T as 
hurt by the deception which she had played 



I stood for an instant with the key in my 
hand and my head in a whirl Then I 
handed it back to hen 
14 1 cannot do it,” I said, 

44 Why not?” 

14 1 have given my parole.” 

“To whom? ” she asked, 
u Why, to you ! ” 

“And I release you from it,” 

My heart bounded with joy. Of course, it 
was true what she said, I had refused to 
give my parole to Sergine. I owed him no 
duty. If she relieved me from my promise 
my honour was clear. I took the key from 
her hand. 

“You will find Captain Barakoff at the 
end of the village street,” said she, 11 We of 
the North never forget either an injury or a 
kindness. He has your mare and your 


upon me, I could not have brought myself 
to kiss her hand, far less her lips. The door 
led into a narrow alley, and at the end of it 
stood a muffled figure who held Violet te by 
the bridle, 

“You told me to be kind to the next 
French officer whom 1 found in distress,” 
said he. “ Good luck 1 Bon voyage ! ” he 
whispered, as I bounded into the saddle. 
“Remember, 4 Poltava 7 is the watchword” 

It was well that he had given it to me, for 
twice I had to pass Cossack pickets before I 
was clear of the lines. I had just ridden 
past the last vedettes and hoped that I was 
a free man again when there w T as a soft 
thudding in the snow behind me, and a 
heavy man upon a great black horse came 
swiftly after me. My first impulse was to 
put spurs to V ioleUe. My second, as 1 saw 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





614 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


a long black beard against a steel cuirass, 
was to halt and await him. 

** I thought that it was you, you dog of a 
Frenchman,” he cried, shaking his drawn 
sword at me. 11 So you have broken your 
parole, you rascal! ” 

14 1 gave no parole.” 

“ You Ue, you hound ! ” 

1 looked around and no one was coming. 
The vedettes were motionless and distant. 
We were all alone, with the moon above and 
the snow beneath. Fortune has ever been 
my friend. 

“ I gave you no parole.” 


Sophie’s sake I could not let him go back 
alive. Our blades crossed, and an instant 
later mine was through his black beard and 
deep in his throat. I was on the ground 
almost as soon as he, but the one thrust was 
enough. He died, snapping his teeth at my 
ankles like a savage wolf. 

Two days later I had rejoined the army at 
Smolensk, and was a part once more of that 
dreary procession which tramped onwards 
through the snow, leaving a long weal of 
blood to show the path which it had taken. 
Enough, my friends * I would not re-awaken 
the memory of those days of misery and 



41 You gave it to the lady.” 

“Then I will answer for it to the lady.” 

“That would suit you better, no doubt. 
But, unfortunately, you will have to answer for 
it to me," 

“ I am ready.” 

“ Your sword, too ! There is treason in 
this ! Ah, I see it all ! The woman has 
helped you, She shall see Siberia for this 
night's work,” 

The words were his death-warrant. For 


death. They still come to haunt me in my 
dreams. When we halted at last in Warsaw 
we had left behind us our guns, our transport, 
three-fourths of our comrades. But we did 
not leave behind us the honour of Etienne 
Gerard. They have said that I broke my 
parole. Let them beware how they say it 
to my face, for the story is as I tell it, 
and old as I am my forefinger is not too 
weak to press a trigger when my honour is 
in question. 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



The Panels in Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema's Hall. 

By Rudolph de Cordova. 

From Photos. by George Newnes, Limited. 


NIQUE m London, unique 
indeed in the world, is the hall 
which—by the kindness of Sir 
I^awrence Alma-Tadema and 
his artist friends, to whom I 
desire to express my warmest 
acknowledgments for their kindness in per¬ 
mitting the pictures to be reproduced—forms 
the subject of this article. 

There are many halls whose walls are 
graced by valuable paintings r some of which 
may be, and undoubtedly are, the gifts of 
artist friends. No other hall, however, is 
entirely adorned by the gift of brother artists 
whose work has been specially designed and 


be added that in most cases no titles are 
attached to the panels, and those given here 
are merely intended to indicate the subjects. 

Some idea of the enthusiasm with which the 
w'ork was undertaken, as well as the conditions 
under which it was done, may be gathered 
from the incident connected with the painting 
of the panel of Mr. G. H. Bough ton, R.A. 

Sir Lawrence and l^idy Alma-Tadema 
gave a party one evening at which Mr. 
Bough Lon was present. Incidentally the 
spaces for the panels were shown, many of 
them already filled with pictures. Over 
Mr. Boughton there crept a feeling of 
intense sadness at the thought of being 




rtl« HALL OF SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMAS HOUSE. 


executed for a certain definite place and no 
other ; for each picture was painted to fill its 
own particular niche in the w r all of the house 
beautiful at St, John's Wood where Sir 
Lawrence Alma-Tadema lives. 

Well may he inscribe, as he has done, over 
the mantelpiece of that hall the words :— 

I count mysell in nothing else so happy 
As in a soul remembering my good friends. 

—Rickard the Second. 

for the feeling which those friends have for him 
it has been my privilege to discover in the com- 
muni on which the preparation of this article 
has given me with the painters. It must 


44 left out,” as he described it to me, and 
he turned to Sir Lawrence and inquired 
what he had done that he had not been 
asked to fill one of the empty spaces. “My 
dear George/* said Sir I,awrence, “no one 
has been asked. These are all * volunteers* 
that you see here. 11 

“Am I in time?” asked Mr. Boughton. 

“That little space is waiting for you,” said 
Sir Lawrence, indicating it. 

The next moment Sir Lawrence had to 
furnish a Foot-rule, with which Mr, Boughton 
measured the length and breadth of the 
panel he haito ftlllfrom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


6 i6 



he likened to the 
sonnet form in 
poetry, and every- 
one knows how 
difficult that is, 
Mr, Bo ugh ton 
solved his problem 
with a tall young 
horsewoman, in 
the riding-dress of 
a hundred years 
ago, standing on 
an old-time moun¬ 
ting-stone, hut the 
difficulty has been 
characteristically 
and, if I may per¬ 
mit myself to voice 
the opinion of Sir 
Lawrence himself, 
brilliantly over¬ 
come in every case. 

The panels are 
uniformly 
high, but they 
vary in breadth 
from about 2 % in, 
m the case of that 
painted by Miss 
Alma - Tadema to 
about Sin. in that 
painted by Mr. 
Marcus Stone, 
FLA. 

Mr. John J, 
Sargent's panel, 
which is inscribed 
11 To my friend 
Alma-Tadema,” is 
a reminiscence of 
the Javanese dan¬ 
cers who created 
so great a sensa¬ 
tion at the Paris 
Exhibition in 
1889 . These girls 
ByG, H. Botighion, R,A. used to paint their 
faces, their arms, 
and the exposed portions of their bodies a 
bright yellow colour, and this Mr. Sargent 
has faithfully done, with a most remarkable 
result. Later on, the girls, presuming on 

their vogue, declined to paint in their 

characteristic fashion, with the result that in 
a very little while they lost the attraction 
they possessed. 

44 The Sleep-Walker ” is the subject of Mr* 
Gustave Pope’s picture, and it will be noticed 
that he differs m life treatment of it from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


*' THE SLKKV WALKED. ‘ " A JAVANESE Cl ML.' 

By G. Popt. By John J. Sargent, R.A 

It will be noticed in the illustrations that 
that is the shortest panel of all, and does 
not completely fill Lhe space, The reason is 
that in the empty place a barometer is fixed 
when the pictures are in position, for they 
had all to be removed to be specially photo¬ 
graphed for this article. 

The finding of a subject for a tall, narrow 
space is declared by all the artists to have 
been by no means an easy matter. Indeed, 
the panel form in painting might not inaptly 




































































PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA’S HALL. 617 



Shakespeare, who 
made Lady Mac¬ 
beth walk with 
her eyes open, 
though “their 
sense was shut” 

Mr* Pope's peace¬ 
ful figure, how¬ 
ever, does not in 
any way suggest 
the guilty wife of 
h i m w h o was 
Thane of Glamis 
and of Cawdor; 
and further evi¬ 
dence that he 
had no idea of 
illustrating that 
scene is furnished 
by the fact that 
she is carrying in 
her hand a candle¬ 
stick: of modem 
date instead of a 
mediaeval lamp. 

Mr. Val Prin- 
sep's panel repre¬ 
sents an Indian 
girl going down 
the sacred steps 
to the Ganges to 
fill her pitchers 
with water. The 
study was made 
when he went to 
India to paint 
his great picture 
of the proclama¬ 
tion of Queen 
Victoria as PLm- 
press of India. 

No one looking 
at Mr* Henry 
Moore's contribu¬ 
tion could fail to 
recognise that it 
was a moonlight 
scene, as it would be impossible to fail to get 
the feeling of evening in the landscape of 
Mr. David Murray. 

The difficulty of finding a subject was 
humorously suggested by the late Lord 
Leighton, who offered to paint a panel 
Sir Lawrence sent him the dimensions. A 
few days after they met at dinner at the 
house of a mutual friend. They were sitting 
directly opposite one another, and, picking 
up a long, narrow-bladed dessert knife, Lord 
Leighton turned to his comrade in art and 

VoL itiiv,—78 


A L A piQ^CA H F E. 

By David Murray, A.R.A. 


11 AN INDIAN GIRL." ,[ A SEASCAPF." 

By Val Rrinstp, R*A* By H. Mjore, A.R.A, 

said : u My dear Tadema, what sort of a 
subject do you expect me to paint on 
this ? 4 

It was not long, however, before he found 
the answer himself* Everyone will recognise 
the resemblance to Lord Leighton's famous 
picture, “The Bath of Psyche* ,J From this 
panel, indeed, he painted that picture* Recog¬ 
nising, however, that the idea of the subject 
belonged to his friend, Lord Leighton first 
went to him and asked whether he had any 
objection to his working it out again in 

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6 i8 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



h, a scrnr in tkfi.anii. “the hath of j^sychf. '* I'EacB-" 

By Sir E. Watcrlow, A.R.A, By Lord Leighton, P + R„ A. By Andicw C. Gow, R.A. 


another way. Naturally Sir Jawrence grace¬ 
fully acquiesced in the idea, and, cutting 
away the reflection in the water and elabo¬ 
rating the columns, the late President of the 
Academy produced a picture which in its 
many reproduced forms has had an extra¬ 
ordinary vogue, For permission to reproduce 
it, as well as Mr. Marcus Stone's panel, T am 
indebted to the Berlin Photographic Com¬ 
pany, Ltd., and to Messrs. Henry Graves 
and Co., Ltd., for the use of "Andromeda," 
Sir E, Waterlovv's landscape represents a 


scene in Ireland, and his admirers will have 
no difficulty in recognising his characteristic 
touch, 

Mr. Andrew Cow’s typical panel of a 
Royalist gentleman with a little boy before 
him on the horse, which is quietly drinking at 
the stream, takes the mind back to the days 
when " Civil blood made civil hands un¬ 
clean.” It represents the happy termination 
of the war between King Charles and the 
soldiers of the Commonwealth, for Mr. Cow 
intended to call it ** Peace,” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






































PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA'S HALL. 6iy 



" TEMPLE AT PHJLvE.” ** CHERKV GARDEK STAIRS," " A BIT P V OLD HAMPSTEAD,'* 

By Hon. J. Collier* By Charles Wyllte. By CharlcA Green, R.l* 




The spirit of the East breathes in the 
Hon. John Colliers picture, which represents 
a view of the interior of the great temple 
at Phil®. 

Tt has been said, and said without fear of 
contradiction, that no one knows more about 
the life of the bargee than Mr Charles 
Wyllie, if, indeed, anyone knows as much. 
He has very skilfully contrived to get a great 
reach of the Thames he loves so well into the 
narrow' compass of his composition* for the 
distance between the barge in the fore¬ 


ground and the steamer in the background 
is fully two miles. The scene is really at 
Kotherhithe, and the building on the right 
is a public-house containing the captain’s 
room descrihcd by the late Sir Walter Defiant 
in his novel of that name, The stairs 
by it leading from the river to the land 
are *' Cherry Garden Stairs, Tt but the cherry 
gardens to which they led have long since 
departed, though in the old days men 
and women used to foregather in therm The 
scene depicted, however, may be witnessed 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















6zo 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



A LANDSCAPE- 

By H. W. B. Davis, R, A. 


By 


any warm Saturday afternoon in the 
summer, for the bop in the neighbourhood 
delight in bathing in the cool water, even 
though its appearance would not commend it 
to more fastidious mortals. They are not 
supposed to bathe without proper clothing, 
but many of them, it must be confessed, 
ignore this rule, and on the appearance of a 
policeman they scurry away carrying their 
street clothes in their arms. To appreciate 
the picture at its full it ought to be studied 
with a magnifying glass, when incident after 


incident will come 
in view — the 
mother with the 
baby in her arms 
and her daughter 
at her feet on the 
barge in front; 
the little lad lean¬ 
ing against the 
wall ; and the 
bathers revelling 
in the cool water 
in the middle dis¬ 
tance, while on 
the balcony of 
the house may be 
seen another 
woman holding 
up her baby to 
view the lively 
scene; and it 
hardly requires 
any imagination 
to fancy that in 
the happy throng 
below is the 
woman's hus¬ 
band, whom she 
is so intently 
watching. 

A bit of old 
Hampstead which 
unfortunately no 
longer exists was 
the subject which 
inspired the late 
Charles Green— 
always Charlie *’ 
to his intimates 
— with the sub¬ 
ject of his picture. 
It was a standing 
joke of his that 
whenever he 
passed by that 
particular shop 
the barbt was 
always standing in the doorway, and his wife 
was always watering the flowers out of the 
first floor window. The subject lent itself 
so essentially to the peculiar treatment of 
the panels that he could not refrain from 
using it. 

The panel of Mr. H. Davis, R.A., needs 
no word of explanation, nor did the work 
develop any incident which the artist recalls 
beyond the fact that it was painted from the 
grounds round the house in which he was 

living at the time in France. 

Onginarfrom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


AlTl.e BLOSSOM 

Alfred Parsons, A. U.A, 

































PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA'S HALL 621 



The two panels of 
Mr, Alfred Parsons, the 
greatest flower painter 
in England, were 
painted some eighteen 
years ago at Stratford* 
on-Avon, and one is 
inscribed ‘"To my friend 
M rs. Alma * Tadema/’ 
while the other is 41 \ o 
my friend Alma* 

Tadema/ 1 Those were, 
of course, the days 
before Sir Lawrence 
Alma - Tadema was 
knighted, an event 
which led a lady to say 
to him with delightful 
naivetk one day, 44 I 
suppose, Sir T^iwrence, 
now that you’ve been 
made a knight you’ll 
leave off painting and 
live like a gentleman/' 

Happily for art, how* 
ever, he remains what 
he was before lie u had 
it on the shoulder/ 1 

The possessors of an 
etching by Mr. Edward 
F. Brew mall, RAV.S,, 
called “ Cruel Winter," 
will recognise in his 
oicture a similar subject 
to the one he treated 
in that work. That 
etching was after a 
water - colour drawing 
hung at an exhibition 
of the Royal Society of 
Painters in Water 
Colours, and was the 
reason of his being 
elected a full member. 

The subject was sug¬ 
gested to him by a very 
severe winter, when 
many birds perished in the cold. Sensitive 
to all suffering as th.i artist always is, Mr. 
Brewtnall saw in the contrast between ihe 
young girl, warmly dad and ermine tip pc ted, 
and the stark, frozen figure of the dead 
sparrow that clash which is the essence of 
all drama. The expression of the girl as 
she contemplates that little tragedy is, it 
is safe to say, Mr. BrewtnalFs own, for the 
fate of the birds is one in which he is deeply 
interested. 

An interesting souvenir of Townshend 


By E. F. Brewtnall, R.W.& 


By Miss Hipkins. 


House amongst the panels is the one painted 
by Miss Hipkins. It represents a view from 
the Gold Room into the Panel Room. The 
principal features are the sixteenth-century 
Antwerp window, now adorning the bedroom 
in that style, which forms the annexe to 
Lady Alma-Tadema’s present studio, and the 
collection of blue and white, the remnant of 
that which decorated the house before the 
explosion of a gunpowder barge on the 
Regent’s Canal, in front of Townshend 
House, on the 2nd of October, 1874. 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




































622 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



Miss Alma-Tadema’s panel was a birthday 
gift to her father, and is a reminiscence of 
Queen Victoria’s Jubilee. It consists of flags 
of various nations floating in the breeze and 
breathing the spirit of Robert Browning’s 
line :— 

The church spires flamed, such flags they had. 
There is in it a conceit as beautiful as it is 
refined, which, unfortunately, the exigencies 
of reproduction render indistinct* but which 
may, nevertheless, be seen by careful obser¬ 
vation. The lowermost flag is that of 


Holland, which 
no one needs re- 
mi riding is the 
country of Sir 
Lawrence’s birth. 
Adorning the flag 
is a laurel wreath 
surrounding the 
initials L. A. T,, 
and the whole 
world has united 
with the country 
of his birth in 
offering him that 
recognised mark 
of greatest dis¬ 
tinction, 

Mr. Marcus 
Stone’s panel has 
the distinction of 
being the largest 
in the collection, 
Tt has another 
distinction, for 
the artist has 
never in his life 
taken so long 
over a picture of 
that size as he 
did over this. To 
describe it as a 
labour of love is 
but to say what 
should he said of 
every other panel, 
but of all the 
commissions he 
has received Mr, 
Stone regards Sir 
Lawrence’s re¬ 
quest that he 
should paint a 
contribution for 
the hall as the 
most flattering he 
has ever had. 
Mr. Stone’s idea 
was to make it as characteristic of himself as 
possible, and he put into it the things he 
loved best himself. For this reason the cat 
appears prominently in the foreground, for 
he is a great lover of cats, and, as I once 
heard him say, “The things I like most are 
a fine day, a lovely garden, good com¬ 
pany, and a cat," These are certainly all 
present in hjs picture, which many artists 
have described as “a Marcus Stone at his 
best." The background was painted from 
a water-colour study made in a garden in 
Original from 
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PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMAS BALE 623 



Surrey, but 
modified and 
altered for the 
purpose of this 
panel* That 
water - colonr 
enjoyed ! h e 
distinction of 
being the only 
picture from 
Mr. Stone's 
brush in the 
Academy of 
1yoi , T h e 
materials of this 
picture were 
afterwards 
ad a p ted to 
another picture 
of a different 
size and struc¬ 
ture which the 
artist painted 
some time ago, 
and which is 
known to col¬ 
lectors of repro¬ 
ductions of his 
svork* 

Mrs* R. Wil¬ 
liams is alone 
among the 
artist band with 
three subjects, 
one a land¬ 
scape, while 
two are sou- 
venirs of Sir 
I-awrenee’s old 
house in Re¬ 
gent’s Park* 

M r* Mac- 
Whirter’s ad¬ 
mirers will 
delight in one 
of the silver 
birches of 
which — even before the year London went 
wild over his famous S1 Three Graces JS —he 
had made so great a study* Those who 
care for Mr. Colin Hunter's work will as 
easily recognise his no less characteristic sea- 
piece, in which the sea is painted with his 
own masterful knowledge of its ever-varying 
moods* 

Perhaps two circumstances conspired to 
make Mr. J. Archer paint “A Fight Between 
Two Centaurs” for his friend. In the first 
place, some years ago he did paint a picture 


S1LVKR DIRClIELS* 

ByJ, MacWhirlffr, K.vV 


CBHTAUfrS." **A SEASCAPE* 

By J- Archer* R.S. A. By CoUil Hunter* A.B.A, 

in which there were Centaurs, and Sir Law¬ 
rence admired it very much indeed. In the 
next, it was intended as a delicate compli¬ 
ment to the artist who in his own art has 
shown so much power in realizing the old 
classic life and mythology and so much 
knowledge in reproducing it. It will be 
noticed that the background consists of a 
waterfall. The reason Mr. Archer introduced 
it was that in a certain article he came across 
a reference to the Centaurs, who every 
student of mythology will remember were 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






































624 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 





. _ . . 

VIEW |SI V|CK XI A.' "JOAN OK AkC. 1 ' 

By John 0 Connor* By Blake Wingmati* 


VIEW IN VKKtCE. ' 

By Van Haaiien. 


represented as the sons of Zeus and Nephele 
(the cloud), as the symbols of the torrent 
which hurls in its course stones and branches 
of trees, the weapons the Centaurs were 
always said to use- 

The contribution of the late Mr, John 
O'Connor, who was at one time a scene 
painter, is a view in Vicenza, Northern 

Italy, 

Mr, Wirgman’s picture of Joan of Arc 
in armour with an angel bearing a crown of 
immortality to place upon her brow is 


particularly beautiful in colouring, and is 
especially remarkable for its realism, for his 
Maid of Orleans is a typical French peasant 
woman, 

Mr, Van Haanen f s picture is a view from 
the window of his studio in Venice, and 
represents the Rio Terra, OgnisantL The 
chief towers shown are those belonging to 
the churches Ggnisanti, San Sebasnano, and 
San Raflaelo, 

Andromeda recently chained to her rock 

with only the fear of the monster in her 

J Urigmalrrom 

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PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA'S HALL 625 



11 THE DRAWlNOPOQM, TOWNS1IRND HOUSE .' 1 " ANDROMEDA," " THE STUDIO, TQWNSHKND HOUSE." 

By Mrs, R. Williams. By F. Dkk«e, R.A By Mrs, R + Williams. 


soul, intensified, perhaps, by the other fear 
that hts coming might be delayed and she 
should suffer the agony of life before death 
came to her relief, and while yet no Perseus 
lighted up her wretchedness with the shadow 
of his approaching, is the subject chosen by 
Mr. Frank R. Dicksee, R.A. 

Mrs. Williams supplies two other panels 
besides that already shown, one representing 
the drawing-room and the other the studio of 
Townshend House, It cannot fail to be 
noticed in the picture of the drawing-room 

Vol. xxi79- 


how great is the contrast between the dark 
boards and the white lines between them. 
This was an effect which may be said to have 
been invented by Sir Lawrence himself. He 
had the floors stained jet-black, and the 
divisions tween the boards grooved out and 
filled with holly. The result was very striking, 
and, it need hardly be said, has been copied 
by many people. 

The first question which everyone will ask 
in looking at the picture of the studio is t 
“ What is the IpietUTe on the easel ? n 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



























































626 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 



KLOWEkS, 

By Alfred Parens, A-R A. 


By 


Happily, I am in a position to answer the 
question. It is called a An Old Story,” and 
it is painted in water-colour. Messrs. Agnew 
bought it, but what has become of it perhaps 
only they can tell The picture is further 
interesting as giving an insight into Sir 
Lawrence's method. He invariably sits to 
his easel on a basket-work stool, while on the 
little table next the seat he has his paints 
and an ash-tray, which he frequently brings 
into requisition, for he smokes when he 
paints. 


The landscape 
of the late Mr, 
M, R. Corbet is 
from a study 
made in Italy, the 
mountain in the 
background being 
a part of the Car¬ 
rara range, one 
of his favourite 
haunts during his 
life. Unfortu¬ 
nately, black and 
white can give no 
idea of the ex¬ 
quisite colouring * 
the blue of the 
kingfisher being 
like a wonderful 
turquoise set in 
gold, which is the 
dominant colour 
of the grass and 
plants of the fore¬ 
ground. 

A certain cheery 
humour which 
always distin¬ 
guished the work 
of the late Mr. 
Stacy Marks is 
apparent in the 
two panels, the 
right-hand one of 
which is inscribed 
“ L. A. T., from his 
friend H. S. M.,” 
with the date 
1887 beneath. 
The sailor, with 
his H s m i 1 i n g 
morning face/’ is 
talking up to the 
maid of the 
Anchor Inn, bid¬ 
ding her good¬ 
morning, and it 
was Mr, Marks’s idea that he should always 
wish Sir Lawrence good-morning on his 
behalf as he went through the hall to his 
studio. 

The fact that Sir Lawrence is greatly 
t interested in the art of Japan, and is, indeed, 
a member of the Japanese Society, decided 
Mr, Alfred East, A.R.A., to select a Japanese 
subject for his picture. It has the distinctive 
feature that belongs to Japanese art in that it 
introduces the marvellous white cone of Fuji¬ 
yama, The panel was painted at the very 


ITALIAN LAN LOCATE. 

M, R. Corbet, A, R.A, 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



































PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA'S HALL. 627 



spot from which 
Hokusai, the leader 
of what may be 
called the naturalist 
or realistic school of 
Japanese artists, 
painted one of 
thirty*six views of 
his beloved moun¬ 
tain. Mr* East 
placed his easel on 
a hank of grey sand 
thrown up by the 
sea, and relieved 
from dulness by a 
pine growth. Look¬ 
ing towards the 
mountain his eye 
dwelt with pleasure 
on the beautiful 
“ Valley of Sweet 
Waters/ 1 as the 
natives thus charm¬ 
ingly name the 
village of Suzukawa, 
built on the edge 
of a lake in which 
Fuji is always seen 
reflected in the pic¬ 
tures painted from 
that spot. While 
making his sketch, 
attended by his 
servant, Mr* East 
saw the earth begin 
to move, as it were, 
in undulating folds. 

He stopped to look 
at the remarkable 
phenomenon, for he 
had not seen an 
earthquake in Japan 
before, when his 
servant turned to 
him and said: 

“ Honoured master, 
it will be fine to¬ 
morrow, for whenever there Is an earthquake 
in the morning it is fine the next day. 

In this panel one seems to look out of 
the present into the past, as in that of 
Mr. Briton Riviere, R.A* f which is placed 
next to it, one seems to come out of the 
past into the present, as the lions come 
towards one out of the dark. It presents 
that subtle spirit of truth which one feds in 
the presence of a picture as opposed to a 
piece of painting; for, even in the repro¬ 
duction, one appreciates the brooding mystery 


of the Eastern night 
and the strange 
solemnity that be¬ 
longs to the con¬ 
templation of a race 
of animals older 
than ourselves. 

The little land¬ 
scape of Madame 
Mesdagvan Houten 
was one of the first 
presented to Sir 
Lawrence* It was, 
indeed, painted for 
his old house, 
Townshend House, 
Regent’s Park, 
which he left in 
1885, and it had for 
its companions the 
pictures of Mr, John 
O'Connor, Mr. Van 
Haanen, and Mr* 
Pope. It is a scene 
in Dremhe, one of 
the northern pro¬ 
vinces of Holland, 
where Madame 
Mesdag and her 
husband had re¬ 
cently been spend¬ 
ing some time study¬ 
ing from Nature, 
This panel, however, 
was painted from 
memory* 

Mr. Herbert 
Schmalft’s picture 
will be recognised 
by all who remem¬ 
ber his justly cele- 
b r a t e d work, 
** Christian! ad 
Leones/* or c< The 
Martyrs,” as one of 
the principal 
figures in that com* 
position, which, beautiful in its execution, 
realized to the full the grim tragedy of those 
who were “ butchered to make a Roman 
holiday.” In arrangement, however. Sir 
LawTence’s panel presents many differences 
from the large picture, which has been 
exhibited in Europe, America, Australia, and 
Africa to the delight of countless thou¬ 
sands of spectators. Sir Lawrence himself 
greatly admired that picture, and it was his 
idea that this figure should form the sub¬ 
ject of his patriot Strange to say, a girl of 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


" AT THU ASCHCik JfJ.V. 

[iy H. Stacy Marta, R.A* 


































633 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



the bonds which 
bind the girl to the 
post seem to cut into 
the soft flesh of her 
arms. This was 
realized absolutely 
by the model, for 
Mr. Schmalz had a 
post erected in his 
studio and bound 
the girl to it exactly 
as represented. 
Within the limited 
area of the panel it 
will be noticed how 
the whole spirit of 
the large picture has 
been retained, even 
the mark in the 
foreground of the 
chariot-wheel, which 
has thrown to one 
side the thigh and 
shin-bones of some 
long dead-and-gone 
martyr who had 
perished for the sake 
of her faith. 

“ Befano Fuoci ” 
was the name Mr. 
Herbert A. Olivier 
gave to his panel, 
and, as he humor¬ 
ously said to me, 
“So much depends 
on a name, whether 
it be a dog or a pic¬ 
ture.” Perhaps 
“ Traveller’s Joy ” 
would best convey 
in English the spirit 
tif the picture, which 
represents a spot in 
the hills of Asolo, 
so well loved by 

a !tLE,nb uittpsi ne ^ 'J 

By Mute. Mesdag ran Hduten. Robert Browning. 

All along the 
road the tendrils are bright with the wild 
clematis, or travellers joy, the seeds 
of which always seem to gather into 
themselves all the light of Heaven that 
they can. On the eve of the Epiphany, 
on the tops of the hills fires are lighted, 
some say to remind the people of the Star in 
the East, which was the traveller's joy in 
those rare days of old, and others that the 
fires are merely to frighten away evil spirits. 
It was to embody the actual fact as well as 
the allegorical one that the clear mind of 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


fifteen, a model, inspired the whole subject, 
though without a single word being spoken 
by her She was resting after a pose, or just 
about to reassume the pose in which she 
had been sitting, when unconsciously she 
stood in a position the dramatic force 
of which deeply impressed Mr. Schmalz. 
“Keep that position,” he said, and 
picking up a block he made a rapid sketch 
of her. That simple fact was the nucleus 
from which “ The Martyrs” was gradually 
developed. No one can fail to notice how 


<( VALLtV UK SWfclii WATltlf#." '* LIONS." 

By Alfred East, A. R.A. By Billon Rivj.tr*, R.A. 





























































PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA'S HALL . 629 



the artist gathers all 
the light it can from 
everything around 
in order that it may 
see that the artist 
was inspired to pro¬ 
duce a very beau¬ 
tiful work. 

The fantasy con¬ 
tributed by Mr. J, 

R, Weguelin sug¬ 
gests an incident 
which could scarcely 
occur in our present- 
day environ merit, 
unless we could get 
very far away in¬ 
deed from so-called 
civilization. As he 
himself says, 41 It 
may represent an 
incident occurring 
in any serene and 
lonely spot where 
the sea is blue and 
smooth, say the 
Greek islands, in an 
age when manners 
were simple," As 
a matter of fact, a 
fault in the construc¬ 
tion of his studio at 
VV inch els ea ca used 
the sun to penetrate 
into his studio at the 
extreme height of 
the summer, and so 
gave him the oppor¬ 
tunity, of which he 
availed himself, of 
painting a figure in 
actual sunlight 
It is not only the 
panels which are 
the gift of friends, 
but the decorative 
flower design over 
them, and the design of the tiles of which 
the floor is composed. The former is the 
work of Mrs. R, Williams, whilst the latter 
were designed by Mr. Henschel, the famous 
musician. It is a curious fact that only three 
letters are required for the initials of the four 
members of Sir Lawrences family, L. A. T. 
serving for all ; those three being the initials 
of Sir Lawrence and Lady Alma-Tadema 
and Miss Lawrence Alma-Tadema, while 
Miss Alma Tadema’s initials are A* A, T, 
The hall communicates by means of a 


flight of brass steps, which are indicated in 
the last illustration, with Sir Lawrence's 
studio, to which access is gained by means 
of a great door. This is adorned by a 
massive shield in beaten brass, the gift of 
Mr, George Si mends, the famous sculptor. 
For a long time the question what he 
should do remained in abeyance. At last 
one day he received a circle of white paper 
with a line from Sir I^wrence, saying, “This 
is what I want for the door of my studio, v 
adding that Mr. Simonds could do what he 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

























































6jo 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


liked, “ but it must be repouss<£ and in brass,” 
and with the words the exact dimensions 
required, but nothing more. Fora long time 
Mr* Sirnonds pondered over the subject, and 
at last decided to go back to the old quatro- 
cento form* He then began to divide up his 
circle into sections, each of which should con¬ 
tain a figure separated by a shield, Finally 
the design shaped itself in his mind, and 
he determined to make it express the day by 
its four distinctive features—dawn, daylight, 
evening, night. Dawn is suggested by the 
female figure, her head surmounted by the 
morning star, and the lark, with outstretched 
wings, rising at her feet* On the correspond- 
mg portion on the other side, day is shown 
by the figure of a man crowned with the sun 
and with a trumpet in his hand calling to 
action* 

Evening is suggested by the man rest’ 
tng after the toil of the day and refreshing 
himself with food and drink, in the lower 
right-hand panel, 
while night is 
presented by a 
sleeping woman. 

At the top of 
the shield is 
the head with 
the butterfly 
wings of inven- , 
tion, a delicate 
compliment to 
the mental ac¬ 
tivity of Sir Law¬ 
rence’s house¬ 
hold, in which 
the inventive 
faculty may 
literally be said 
to be always 
being exercised, 
for it is the home 
of artists, Sir 


I^awrence, Lady Alma-Tadema, and Miss 
Alma-Tadema all being painters, while Miss 
Lawrence Alma-Tadema is an artist in words, 
and her gift has been made manifest in play 
and poem, in novel, in short story, and in 
criticism* The outer design of the shield 
is an ordinary Greek honeysuckle ornament, 
selected because one of the bosses had to 
be movable to loosen the spring that opens 
the door* Each panel and shield was beaten 
separately and had to be brazed over a char¬ 
coal fire. It says much for the exquisite spirit 
in which this gift, like all the others, was 
wrought that Mr. Sirnonds would not allow 
anyone to join the component parts but him¬ 
self* As the shield is 3ft* Sin* in diameter, 
it was very difficult to prevent it twisting. In 
order to obviate this accident a great iron 
tray was made, set on legs, and filled with 
charcoal* When it was hot, big gas blow¬ 
pipes were brought to bear on it, and ; n that 
way the solder was made to run* Alt jgether 

the work was in 
hand for about 
a year, though 
it need hardly be 
said it was not 
being worked at 
continuously. 
Still, in order 
that he might 
get the best 
result possible, 
Mr* Sirnonds 
actually made a 
complete model 
of the shield in 
brass, beating it 
out as carefully 
as the one which 
he sent to Sir 
Lawrence, and 
that model he 
still possesses. 



THE BRASS Sll [K.L.I> ON THK STUDIO OfKlK. 

By Georgt Sirnonds. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











By A. B. Cooper. 


’VE double reason—good and 
bad — for remembering the 
Christmas oF 189—, because, 
while it was the most humili 
ating day of my life, it ended 
my career as a swell cracks¬ 
man, and was the commencement of my 
better days. 

Fd long had my eye on Wharton Manor 
as a crib worth the cracking, and, as I never 
was the mere midnight marauder who is 
popularly supposed to lurk under the bed 
until the family is asleep, I thought the 
dinner-hour on Christmas Eve a favourable 
opportunity for taking my pick of the jewel- 
cases of Lord Wharton’s guests, and for 
annexing the unconsidered trifles that doubt¬ 
less strewed their dressing-tables. I did not 
forget that some of the most valuable articles 
would at that moment be enhancing the 
charms of their fair owners, but, as I always 
worked single handed and could not hope 
to carry away a van-load, 1 reckoned upon 
picking up sufficient to pay me handsomely 
for my trouble. 

Audacity is half the battle in artistic 
burglary. I always trusted to my wits, and— 
I will say this for myself—I never carried a 
weapon of any kind. I took the fortunes 
of war and considered that, if I were dolt 
enough to walk into a trap or let another 
man’s wuts outwit mine, or another man’s 
legs outrun mine, I ought to yield him the 
palm like a gentleman. And it was the fact 
Digged by V lOOQlC 


that things panned out so differently from 
anything I could have foreseen—but that’s 
the end of the story, and we are still at the 
beginning. 

Christmas, 189 — f was the snowiest in my 
memory. It was a real Christmas-card 
Christmas, and as I stood in the deep 
shadow of a yew r within forty yards of the 
manor the scene pleased my artistic eye not 
a little. 

The great hall door was wide open in spite 
of the severity of the weather, for it was a 
still night, and a flood of rosy light from the 
crimson - covered lamps and fairy lights 
streamed out upon the drive. Low lights, 
too, burned in most of the upper windows, 
but as the whole house-party was at dinner 
they revealed no sign of life within. The 
drive swept round to my right as I faced the 
house. Having studied the geography of the 
neighbourhood, L knew where it was, certainly, 
or I should have had difficulty in locating it. 
A line of yew trees, similar to the one behind 
which I stood, was planted at intervals 
along the near edge of the drive, and the 
opposite side was bounded by a broad stone 
balustrade, something like the parapet of 
Waterloo Bridge, though not nearly so high. 

This stone fence was a beautiful orna¬ 
ment to the manor and was admired by 
everybody, but, strangely enough, it was 
for use even more than ornament. The 
manor stood high, and the ground to the 
right fell away very suddenly into a deep 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


633 


dingle. This dingle was full of bracken and 
brambles which filled the spaces between the 
young trees, hut the rock cropped out here 
and there and made it a dangerous place on 
a dark night. That was the reason of the 
stone balustrade. Farther down the drive 
the ravine shallowed off, and winding paths 
went in and out, which rnade it a very jolly 
place in the summer. 

When first 1 took my position of observa¬ 
tion behind the yew I got a fright. Casting 
my eyes towards the balustrade, 1 saw what I 
thought was a man looking directly at me. It 
was the hat that made the figure appear so 
real, yet I could have laughed aloud at my 
fears the next minute. It was a man indeed, 
but it was a man of snow*, bulk on the coping 
or the balustrade in imitation of a statue. The 
house was full of young fellows and girls, with 
a fair sprinkling of small boys—Lord Wharton 
had no fewer than six of his own; and they 
had spent the morning—all the lot of them— 
setting up this effigy, just for the fun of the 
thing. 

This figure could not be seen from the 
front door because the sweep of the drive 
brought the yews into the line of sight. From 


where I stood, however, I could have knocked 
his old silk hat off with a snowball, and, such 
are the mad impulses of our poor human 
nature, I could have found it in my heart 
almost to have had a shy. 

Of coutse I did no such thing, for I could 
see by the dishes the flunkeys were carrying 
in that dinner was getting on, and that I was 
much later at my post than I had intended to 
be. 1 must bestir myself if I meant business. 

Business! Yes—it was my business then, 
Tm sorry to say, and no easy business either. 
Yet I knew exactly what I was going to 
attempt and how I meant to attempt it. There 
was nothing original in the plan. Ivy and 
an open window summed it up. The back 
of the house would doubtless have been 
safer, but then my booty was in front, and at 
such an hour Lt would have been ten times 
more risky to traverse the house from back 
to front than to go boldly in at an upper 
front window*. 

Behold me then, ten minutes later, 
stealthily peering into a dimly-lighted room 
most luxuriously furnished. I had experi¬ 
enced more difficulty than usual— for I was 
as nimble as a cat—in negotiating the ivy, 
because I wore a long, 
lightish coloured over¬ 
coat, made necessary 
by my tendency to 
rheumatism, Only a 
couple of candles in 
candlesticks of beaten 
silver served to light 
the room, but I could 
see the gleam of jewels 
and rich ornaments 
on the dressing-table, 
half hidden by a heavy 
curtain which hung 
from a sort of carved 
oaken bracket branch¬ 
ing from the wall. 

I stepped inside 
upon the thick pile of 
the carpet and stole 
noiselessly towards the 
glittering table. The 
next moment you 
might have knocked 
me down with a 
feather. Behind the 
curtain, quickly 
pocketing the small¬ 
est and most valuable 
objects he could see, 
was a man in evening 
Original 1 dress—a big man, half 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





THE SNOW MAN , 


^33 



as big again as myself, but with “gentle¬ 
man’s valet ” written all over him. We were 
not four feet apart, and the gasp of astonish¬ 
ment I gave was enough to make him nearly 
jump out of his skin. 

His dismay was only momentary. He 
knew the next instant what I was there for, 
and was evidently as quick-witted as I, for, 
before I could say “ peas,” he had darted 
between the wail and the curtain, banged the 
window into its place, and yelled “Thieves ! 
thieves l thieves "—a truer plural than any¬ 
one imagined—at the very top of his voice. 

For the wink of an eyelid I meant to 
tackle him, but what was the use? Moments 
were mighty precious just then, and even 
while he was shouting—the sly wretch—I 
turned and bolted for the door, intending to 
make a dash through the camp of the enemy, 
and trust to my heels to get clear away. 

As bad luck would have it, as I turned the 
bend of the stairs that brought me in full 
view of the brilliantly-lighted hall I ran full 
tilt against a big flunkey with a tray of wine¬ 
glasses. Talk about a shindy! A gas 
explosion would scarcely have made more 
noise. Broken glass, clattering tray, and the 
bumpety-bump of two heavy bodies falling 
down stairs, was something to remember. I 
fell uppermost, and giving myself a bounce 
up, with a prod below the belt which knocked 
the remaining wind out of the footman, I 
made for the door again as if a legion had 
been behind me. 

Nor was it mere fancy, for in truth a legion 
was behind me. The valet's big voice must 
have penetrated to the dining 
room, and the tremendous clat' 
ter of the footman and my luck 
less self caused by the downfall 
brought the party out like a 
swarm of bees. 

“Thieves!” came like 
a thunderclap from the top 
of the stairs. The valet 
was playing the game to 
perfection. I had thirty 
yards start, but I knew 
that among the guests 
would be many a young 
athlete from the ’Varsities 
— men who could do their 
hundred in even time—seeker 


clad than I, and I knew that these young 
fellows, though in no rig for snow, would not 
care a straw about ruining thdr dress shoes. 

I got round the sweep of the drive and 
was in the straight. It was three hundred 
yards to the great gate, and cover, except 
the yews, was scarce. A gleam of lanterns 
ahead decided me. My way was blocked. 
Meanwhile my wits had been working at 
express speed. It was snowing again in 
heavy flakes. I purposely fell headlong into 
the snow piled on the edge of the drive, 
rolled over and over, and clutched an armful 
of it to my body and shoulders. I then 
scrambled up, leapt upon the stone balus¬ 
trade, snatched the old silk hat—all snow- 
covered—from the head of the snow man, 
gave that unfortunate effigy a shove which 
toppled it neck and crop into the depths of 
the dingle, and myself dropped upon my 
knees on the top of the snowy foundation it 
had left behind it. 

It was the work of five seconds at the 
most, and there was I, with the snow-crowned 
hat over my eyes, my overcoat thickly caked 
with snow and my legs wholly jnvisible, posing 
in the room and stead of the man of snow. 

The hue and cry went past me like a whirl- 


and rugger 
accustomed 
tumble — so 
getting clear 


men who were 
to rough and 
my chances of 
away were none 
too rosy. Besides, the whole 

party were lighter shod and 




TNE HUE AND cky went past me 

LKt A WHIHLWIND." 


Wol xxW.— SO. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



634 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


wind, half-a-dozen flunkeys in their knee- 
breeches and yellow stockings bringing up 
the rear. They ran full speed, thirty yards 
past my post of observation, into a band of 
waits, with lanterns and instruments, from the 
village. These yokels were ready to turn and 
fly themselves when they saw the strange 
exodus from the Manor, thinking, no doubt, 
that all the ghosts of which the old house 
was well known to be the trysting-place had 
suddenly appeared—not in singles but in 
battalions—and scared the guests away from 
their dinner and out of their five senses. 

But the sudden halt didn’t help me in the 
least. The dilemma was distinctly mutual, 
and I did not bless the waits one little 
bit. Had the thief gone down the drive 
they would surely have seen him. It was 
a perfect mystery how he could possibly 
have dodged them. He had been seen in 
full flight round the bend. He must either 
have gone over into the dingle—a most un¬ 
likely course if he knew what he was doing— 
or he was hiding behind the yews. 

Then commenced a game of hide and 
seek. I nearly burst with laughter as I saw 
this mixed company dodge in and out among 
the sombre trees and catch at each other 
convulsively, each thinking the other a 
burglar. But there was no opportune open¬ 
ing for me. All I could do was to kneel 
stock still. One of the waits pointed me out. 
His attitude showed terror though I could 
not see his face. The laugh that greeted his 
“ find ” sent him behind a yew tree on a 
fresh trail and very greatly reassured me.. I 
evidently looked my part. 

Just then there was another arrival—the 
local policeman and a big man in plain 
clothes whom I guessed was a 'tec. Lord 
Wharton and some of the guests were in a 
group near me when they came along, and I 
heard the whole colloquy. Their arrival at 
that moment was quite unconnected with my 
affair, but it seemed to fit into the circum¬ 
stances as detailed by his lordship in a few 
sentences. 

I heard the ’tec say : “ He’s a very old 
hand, known commonly as ‘Toff’ Smith, 
but his real name is Charles Markland. 
He’s wanted for a dozen big jobs, and I’ve 
had almost certain advice that he’s some¬ 
where in this neighbourhood.” 

“ It’ll be he,” said his lordship, “ but he 
has been baulked this time. Lieutenant 
Fontenoy’s valet was too quick for him. He 
has got away in the most amazing fashion, 
but it’s a comfort to know that he has gone 
empty-handed.” 

Digitized by Google 
* o 


I’d heard of “ Toff” Smith. He was one 
of the big-wigs of the profession—a perfect 
Napoleon of burglary—but it goes without 
saying I was not he. So 1 was now not only 
personating a snow man but involuntarily 
standing in the shoes of “ Toff ” Smith as well. 

“ He’s got clear away ! ” one cried. “ Why 
trouble further ? James tells me he did not 
have time to pick up a pin. Let us have a 
lark while we’re out” I guessed it was 
Lieutenant Fontenoy who spoke, and all the 
youngsters, who had enjoyed the whole thing 
immensely, set up a shout, for he had 
evidently suggested something. 

“ Cock-shies ! Pay yer penny and take 
yer chance! Now, then, fair and square! 
No, don’t cross the drive. Who’ll knock his 
hat off first ? Take yer chice—coker-nut or 
cigar ! I’m frozen to death ! It’ll warm us 
up! ” 

These were the cries I heard, but I didn’t 
at the first blush tumble to their meaning. 
The ladies, clad in thick wraps, were at the 
windows all this time, where they could look 
along the drive and get news of the search. 
Now I heard them laugh merrily as a small 
boy ran across and made some communica¬ 
tion to them. 

I quickly learned what it was. They were 
to witness a bombardment The whole band, 
guests and waits—the police had hurried off 
—were gathered together about twenty yards 
from where I knelt, and at the word of 
command they let fly. 

I have enjoyed snowballing in my time, but 
that was when I had a chance of potting my 
opponent in the nape of the neck when he 
was stooping for ammunition. But to be 
the sole target for thirty well-directed missiles 
per second is another story. Move I dared 
not. I must grin and bear it, or, failing that, 
bear it without grinning. I had jammed the 
beastly old hat too tightly over my cranium 
for it to be easily dislodged, and the fun in 
consequence waxed fast and furious. 

By degrees discipline broke down, and the 
set distance was no longer regarded. Snow¬ 
balls innumerable came at me from a range 
of a few yards with terrific force. Recognition 
was quickly put out of the question, for had I 
been a veritable snow man I could not have 
looked more like one. Every snowball that 
hit—and few, indeed, missed—left its con¬ 
tribution to my make-up, and I was shortly 
in peril of suffocation from the accumula¬ 
tion of snow about my mouth and nostrils, 
and almost equally in danger of temporary 
blindness, but that the hat-rim protected me 
enough, at least, to keep half an eye intact 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE SNOW MAN. 


6 35 


Had not the top of the wall been broad 
and I on my knees, I must inevitably have 
gone over willy-nilly; but hitherto I had kept 
my place, and I meant to continue to do so, 
for the fall backwards had greater terrors for 
me even than remaining where I was. 

But now the clapping of fair hands, the 
exhilarating exercise, the excitement of the 
last twenty minutes, and the spirit of mad 
revel which enters into the hearts of all men 
occasionally, wrought my doom. 

The waits, as aforementioned, had been 
pressed into the fray. It was Christmas time, 
and class distinctions went by the board. Even 
the man who played the big bass viol had 
propped his instrument against a tree and 


which might put an end to my career more 
surely than the dingle : I never waited for 
the shock. I went down without a touch, 
and, rolling over and over down the steep 
bank, I only remember thinking 1 should 
never stop, and—then—nothing ! 

How I got to Everledge—a small town five 
miles away—I never rightly knew. I came 
to myself m the dingle, w hile it was still dark, 
with pains in every limb. The nurse at the 
Cottage Hospital—bless her—tells me that I 
was picked up in an apparently dying state, 
and everybody sympathized with my being 
lost in the snow. I never told her the truth 
—bow could I when she was so kind and 
good !—but if she bad guessed why I was so 



joined in the sport But now—like me— 
they were to be sorry they had come. 

Half-a-dozen young sparks, to vary the 
amusement seized the big bass fiddle, and 
the youngsters fought for clarinet, hautboy, 
ophicleide, euphonium, and trombone! 
Then, to the sound of a wild, unearthly 
pibroch, they levelled the bass fiddle like a 
battering-ram and charged for the supposed 
snow man with shouts of laughter, thinking 
to demolish it finally and end the sport. 

I saw it coming, and I knew that the 
bottom end of a bass fiddle has an ugly spike, 



interested in the district weekly paper she 
might have suspected something. 

Here is the conclusion of the paragraph 
which took my eye : “ This is one of the most 
cunning robberies on record. The detectives 
think the whole affair was a put-up job on the 
part of ‘Toff* Smith—Lieutenant Fontenoy’s 
valet—who left a most impudent note behind 
him, for while the party were all disporting 
themselves with the snow man, or applaud¬ 
ing from the windows, be got clear away 
with three thousand pounds 1 worth of 
jewellery.* 1 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



J. A, Shepherd, 


December 



the begin¬ 
ning of this 
month the 
blue or moun¬ 
tain hare has 
finished changing into 
his white winter coat. 
Living as he does on 
high grounds, where the 
snow falls early and lies 
long, he finds safety from 
his enemies, the fox and 
eagle, in clothes which 
match bis surroundings. 
He is so much in the 
habit of making this 
change that he does it 
without consulting the 
weather forecast; and a 
white hare in a snow¬ 
less landscape feels his 
conspicuous ness acutely, 
hiding himself whenever 
lie can in thick clumps 
of heather. This white 
coat is really an over- 
coat, a new growth of 
fur, to match which the 
summer coat gradually 

Diqilized t 





** WINl 

iOoij e 


ER CLOTHING. 


changes its colour. In 
March, when he has done 
with his warm clothes, 
he sheds them and dons 
a new summer suit. 

Black game would 
seem to suffer from cold 
feet, for in snowy weather 
they renounce their habit 
of roosting on the ground 
and perch on the trees. 
Birds resort to various 
devices to keep them¬ 
selves warm in winter; 
for the most audacious 
we naturally look to the 
robin. When he suffers 
from cold feet he will 
follow a shooting-party, 
and use the freshly-killed 
game as a warming-pan. 
He has no fear of guns, 
and will snuggle down 
on the quivering carcass 
of a rabbit till the keeper 
puts it in the game-bag. 
It is quite in keeping 
with his character that 

he should scold the 

OngmarTTom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 































































THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


637 


gamekeeper for 
When the snow 
leaves the open 
fields and takes 
refuge in the 
woods and 
copses, where 
there is a certain 
amount of shel¬ 
ter, and where 
food is available 
in the forbidden 
shape of the bark 
of young trees. 
The hare will not 
face a sudden, 
heavy snowfall if 
it surprise her in 
her form out in 
the open ; she 
prefers to be 
snowed-in where 
she sits, com¬ 
fortably—or un¬ 
comfortably— 
conscious that 
she can go with¬ 
out food for a 
week or so at 
keeps one tiny 


taking it 
lies long 


away from him. 
the brown hare 



NOTHING KIT FOR AN AUK TO EAT. 


a pinch. Her breath 
hole open for air, and 
probably she spends the time in sleep. 

The storms of winter 
carry seafaring birds in¬ 
land, where they do not 
want to go and have 
nothing to do. In the 
winter of 1894-95 num¬ 
bers of little auks were 
picked up exhausted in 
the midland and 
southern counties. The 
little auk always pays 
our northern coasts a 
visit in the cold weather, 
but does not care to 
come farther south, 
much less make trips 
inland, where he cannot 
find anything fit for an 
auk to eat It is only 
when the wind brings 
upon him pressure he 
cannot resist that he 
leaves the coast. So 
large and powerful a 
bird as the gan ne t 
makes a good fight for 
it before he submits to 
the wind: more than 



once a gannet has been found inland so 
sound asleep that he was easily caught by 

hand ; he was 
simply worn out 
from battling 
with the ele¬ 
ments. The 
bittern, who was 
formerly a resi- 
dent in the 
eastern counties^ 
but turned his 
back on a nation 
which displays 
such a passion 
for draining 
marshes, is a 
regular winter 
visitor, and is 
most common 
after a stormy 
succession of 
east winds, which 
bring him over 
from Holland. 
He is become a 
naturalized 
Dutchman ; bit¬ 
tern prejudices are more regarded in Holland. 

The fogs we look for at this season bring 
many birds to grief; like men, birds lose 
their way, or grow so 
utterly bewildered that 
they drop to earth and 
remain where they alight. 
One morning a few years 
ago, after a day or two 
of fog not thicker than 
that which is commonly 
bestowed on London in 
winter, a woodcock was 
picked upalive in Jermyn 
Street. The game-dealer 
to whom the finder 
brought it said the bird 
seemed “confused”; no 
doubt its feelings were 
comparable to those a 
town-reared child would 
experience if suddenly 
dropped into the haunts 
of a woodcock. Some 
twenty years ago or 
more an astonished 
gunner shot a woodcock 
on Tooting Common; 
it was a foggy December 
morning, and the bird, 
having evidently lost its 


"the bittern turns his back on the nation." 

v - ■ h Prvnnli> Original from 

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6 3 8 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


bearings, had decided to wait for it to clear. 
A little grebe who had lost its head in the 
fog allowed itself to be caught in the street 
at Market Drayton a year ago; and Mr 
Harting has record of a curious catch of 
kestrels during a fog. A number of them, 
on migration 
presumably* 
came aboard a 
steamer in the 
Baltic; they were 
either exhausted 
or utterly stupe¬ 
fied, for they 
allowed the 
sailors to catch 
them* Nine of 
these kestrels 
were brought 
alive to the cura¬ 
tor of the New¬ 
castle Museum* 

It is a singular 
thing, but in 
misty weather 
such wary birds 
as wild duck 
either are less vigilant or miscalculate dis¬ 
tance, for you can often approach within easy 
shot of them before they take wing. 

A tame magpie I had used to remain at 
home in the big dog-kennel he occupied when 
it was foggy* One morning a thick black 
fog came on while he was delivering from 
the branch of a tree one of bis daily lectures 
to an appreciative audience of message-boys, 
cats, and sparrows ; he immediately ceased, 
hurried silently down to his kennel, and went 
to bed, angry, puzzled, and alarmed. 


The field-mouse has taken up his winter 
quarters; sometimes he patronizes a mole’s 
run, having made sure there are in it no moles 
who would give him a cordial welcome—for 
dinner ; even then it is not always a safe 
abode, because the weasel is in the habit of 

seeking refuge 
there too. The 
field - mouse is 
most commonly 
brought to light 
by the farmer 
who is threshing 
out a stack of 
com in winter. A 
corn stack com¬ 
bines shelter 
and fo o d to¬ 
gether, and both 
field and harvest 
mice colonize the 
interior, making 
tunnels in all 
directions* If 
there be a kestrel 
in the neigh¬ 
bourhood the 
hum of the threshing machine will bring him 
post-haste ; he knows it means mice* 

Floods drive wild creatures to unwonted 
expedients ; both hares and rabbits can swim 
well if forced to take to water, but naturally 
they do not leave dry land if they can avoid 
it, and when the floods are out rabbits often 
take refuge on stone walls if there happen 
to be any convenient : there they sit with 
exemplary patience waiting for the waters to 
subside. The late Mr. Moray Brown once 
saw a rabbit who had taken refuge on the 






HE WENT TO HED ANGRY* lU^ZLED, ANB ALARMED." 

Ponnlp Original from 

v 1,1 H '6 UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
































































































TEE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 


639 



back of a cow ; the 
rabbit appeared quite 
content, and the cow, 
up to her knees in 
water, had no objec¬ 
tion to being used as 
an ark of refuge* The 
question that naturally 
presents itself is, how 
did the rabbit get 
there ? Probably the 
water was rising fast 
and he took advantage 
of the cow's lowered 
head to reach her back 
that way. 

The grouse, who 
have not suffered much 
from the gun for the 
last few weeks, begin 
their lawful holidays 
on the 1 ith December, 
and can choose their 
abiding-places now 
without fear of man. 

Grouse take special 
pride in their tails ap¬ 
parently, for they hate 
wetting them. When 
snow lies, you see them 
stalking about with 
their tails held so high 
you wonder what is 
the matter with the 
bird. They afford easier 
opportunities of study 
when the snow is deep, 
for then they leave the 
moors and come down to the low grounds 
for food and shelter; in very severe weather 
they have been known to resort to the 
shore and eat seaweed. Under stress of 
hunger they will perch on the thorn 
bushes and eat haws; and a Yorkshire 
clergyman records a case in which two or 
three grouse were re¬ 
duced to such penury 
that they pocketed their 


1 HOW pip THE RABBIT OFT THERE? 


pride and joined the 
sparrows and starlings 
on the lawn where 
crumbs were thrown 
out, Mr, Chapman 
says that sometimes, 
w hen the snow is deep, 
the grouse burrow 
under it for shelter, 
working out a regular 
system of tunnels 
among the stems of 
old heather, w T here the 
snow lies lightly and 
is easily pushed aside. 
Here they sleep, no 
doubt packed together 
for mutual comfort and 
consolation, Mention 
of grouse in the snow 
recalls the ingenious 
trap employed by 
poachers to catch 
grouse and ptarmigan 
which Mr, J. E. Millais 
has described. The 
snow r being fairly deep 
and hard the poacher 
arms himself with a 
bottle {champagne 
bottle for choice, its 
shape being the most 
suitable), and with this 
implement, neck down¬ 
wards, he presses holes 
in the snow ; at the 
bottom of each he puts 
a few grains of corn, 
and the trap is made. The birds, trying to 
reach the food, cannot draw back out of 
the holes, which are just big enough to 
admit their bodies with the wings pressed 
to their sides ; and there they remain, tail in 
air, till the poacher returns. 

There is a very generally-cherished belief 
that a heavy crop of haws and 
berries in autumn presages a severe 
winter ; that the more berries you 
see the longer frost and snow will 
last. This is a popular error— 


.■ a i 




" THE GROUSE POCKETING THEIR PRIDE.* 

, n I ~ Ori g i n a I fro m 

1 UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













640 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 



'* THE BULLFINCH BEGS TO WOVE A RESOLUTIOK." 


deservedly popular, but none the less an 
error; yet when you see the bullfinches, in 
companies of a dozen or so, you cannot but 
feel that they have the same idea, and are 
assembled in committee to inquire into the 
food stocks available for winter :— 

“I heg for leave," the bullfinch said* “to move a 
rest Hu lion 

Concerning that most vital thing—our winter food 
supplies—- 

To wit : ‘This House regards with dread the future 
destitution 

Thai looms from every bush and tree and shrub 
before us eyes* 

And so we pray Your Majesty appoint a small com* 
mission, 

With power to investigate, examine, and report 
On measures best to remedy the very grave con¬ 
dition 

Of things that’s bound to follow when the l>erry 
crops fall short*' 11 

The hawfinch said heYl lislened with the warmest 
admiration 

To the brief but lucid motion of his honourable 
friend, 

But he hoped he should convince him from official 
information 

That the scarcity was local, and it did not far 
extend 

The Board of Food Inspectors, who had travelled, 
on migration, 

And inspected every hedge and wood from Aber- 
deen to Kent, 

Reported that the hips and haws surpassed imagi¬ 
nation ; 

Perhaps this would relieve his friend’s alarm to 
some extent* 


The hawfinch is an intelligent bird; like 
the bullfinch, he repays education, and dis¬ 
plays a certain talent for languages* The 
Rev* H. A* Macpherson reared one which 
picked up the words and sounds he used, and, 
though the bird practised his own notes, 
he gave them up eventually in favour of 
eccentric noises selected with but slight 
judgment from those he heard daily. 

In the poultry-yard contentment born of 
high living reigns supreme. The turkeys 
have forgotten the fate that last Christmas 
brought upon their relatives, and the shrieks 
of Michaelmas martyrs have mercifully 
passed out of the anserine mind. Cold it 
may be, but the lofty superiority of the 
turkey's demeanour indicates consciousness 
that in double rations he is only receiving 
his deserts. Life is full of compensations ; 
in this case compensation precedes injury. 
The east winds drive the best clad among 
men into the house* but the jovial duck is 
indifferent to cold, and his only complaint is 
that the ice on the pond has not been broken 
so that he may enjoy his tub. The air with 
which the ducks swagger in Hyde Park when 
man deserts it suggests that they merely lent 
us the place in the summer out of goodwill. 

The cock pheasant who has escaped the 
gun until now has been only spared for the 
Christmas shooting party; between lawful 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR . 


641 



shooting by day and unlawful snaring by 
night his lot is not a happy one* More 
discretion on his part would save him in 
some degree from the dangers of night, but 
the pheasant will not learn by experience* 
Every night he advertises the address of 
his roost by crowing at the top of his 
voice; and the listening poacher, hearing 
him, walks straight to the tree whereon he is 
perched and brings him down—sometimes 
with a smalt charge of powder and shot, 


sometimes with a strong horsehair noose on 
a long twig, or with stupefying sulphur fumes. 
The cock pheasant's love of fighting gave a 
clever poacher an idea for an effective trap* 
He fixed up a looking-glass, and in front of 
it a couple of well-sharpened steel knitting 
needles, which impaled the unsuspecting 
pheasant charging bravely upon his own 
reflection* The partridges, roosting on the 
ground, have most to fear from the net the 
poachers drag across the fields at night, 





VoL Kjfhr.— 81 , 


A SKETCH IN IIV1IE rAUK — THE DL'Cli IN FOSSES ION*" 

l nnmp Original from 

izod by V-iV H }' 1 v. UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 































642 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


a trick the gamekeeper defeats by sticking 
thorny bushes at intervals over the pastures. 
Partridges, by the way, display much judgment 
in their bed arrangements; the members of the 
family [jack themselves together with their tails 
in the centre and 
their heads turned 
outwards ; thus no 
enemy can approach 
undiscovered, and t 
what is probably of 
equal importance, the 
birds who face the 
wind shelter those 
who do not Birds 
who sleep in exposed 
situations always face 
the wind: did they 
not the heaviest 
feather clothes would 
be of little protec¬ 
tion, Writing of 
enemies, the method 
the coots employ in 
winter to frighten 
away a hawk is worth 
mentioning. Coots, 
like so many other 
birds, assemble in 
flocks for the cold 
weather, and if a 
hawk stoops at them 
they splash water at 
him with their feet. 

Either the hawk hates 
being wetted or is 
terrified by the sight 
of so many large feet, 
for the manoeuvre is 
commonly successful. 

Cold sharpens appe¬ 
tite, and birds of prey 
are as alert in winter 
as they are in summer 
when they have a 
hungry family to 
provide for. The 
golden eagle, who, 
thanks to the protec¬ 
tion afforded him by 
Scottish landowners, 
is commoner now 
than he was fifteen 
or twenty years ago, 
takes heavy toll of the mountain hares, The 
hare, without means of defence, finds refuge, 
if he can, under some overhanging rock or 
stone where the bird cannot reach him, and 
squats there while the eagle, perched hard 


by but out of his sight, watches his retreat as 
a cat watches a mouse-hole. The hare will 
not move while the eagle remains; it seems 
likely that he waits till his keen sense of hear- 
ing tells him that the great bird has gone; not 
that very sharp ears 
are necessary to hear 
the whistling wing- 
beat of the eagle 
launching himself 
into the air. 

The John Dory is 
now much in evi¬ 
dence at the fish¬ 
monger’s ; only the 
fisherman sees that 
fish at his best, for his 
brilliant livery, like a 
well - burnished new 
penny, fades soon 
after he dies—his 
popular name is cor¬ 
rupted from the 
French jaune dorcc, 
u gilded yellow." The 
John Dory wears his 
eyes on the top of 
his head, and his long 
face suggests melan¬ 
choly alarm; the fact 
is he had a very 
narrow escape :— 
That you were horn a 
Dory, John, 

Was Nature’s act of 
grace. 

Be grat eful in your glory, 
John, 

You might have been 
a plaice. 

Your figure, far from 
pursy, John, 

Shows Nature had de¬ 
signed 

A flat fish, and in mercy, 
John, 

She boldly changed her 
mind. 

Your look, like deat h- 
doomed wretch's, 
John, 

Methinks I read aright; 
You saw her early 
sketches, John, 

And can't forget your 
fright. 

Very, very little 
more compression 
from Nature’s shaping hand, and John had 
assuredly been a flat fish ; even now he finds 
it tiring to swim upright, and is in the habit of 
leaning up against something to rest: clear indi¬ 
cation that more ballast would be acceptable. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



"WAITING fr'OH THE MOCNTaIS MAKE. 1 






THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR 


643 



The roedeer shed 
their horns about 
Christmas time ; hav¬ 
ing strong bias in 
favour of a woodland 
residence, and dining 
frugally off twigs, bark, 
ivy, and other ever¬ 
greens, the roe is even 
less visible to man in 
winter than at other 
seasons of the year. 

If the snow lie deep 
on the hills, the red 
deer, emboldened by 
hunger, come down 
to forage on the low 
grounds. If not pro¬ 
vided with hay under 
these circumstances 
they will raid the 
crofters' gardens and 
revel in turnips and 
potatoes* Mr* Allan 
Gordon Cameron, one 
of our best authori¬ 
ties on the red deer, 
says that if they once 
acquire a taste for 
these dainties they 
will “go through fire 
and water” to get them* 

Snow occasionally gets the hare into a 
curious difficulty; it gathers on the long hair 
of her under parts and forms into hard balls, 


of which the animal 
cannot rid herself; 
hares thus encum¬ 
bered with snowballs 
have been picked up 
by hand* I remember 
finding a Skye terrier 
on a doorstep in 
Perth in exactly the 
same case one day 
when the snow lay 
deep* Each tag of 
long hair from his 
chest to his tail had 
its pendent snowball, 
and the unfortunate 
little dog had lain 
down in the doorway 
unable to struggle any 
farther* The only bird 
who enjoys a snow¬ 
storm is the thought¬ 
less, improvident 
sparrow ; he seems to 
think the whirling 
flakes were sent for 
his special delectation, 
and amuses himself 
by catching them as 
they float. Let it be 
said on the sparrow’s 
behalf that with all 
his faults he is a cleanly little vagabond; 
he takes his cold tub in winter as cheerfully 
as his dust bath in the height of summer. 


JOHN. 



“ SI-ARROWS AT FLAY.” 


N\B.—Close Sea^jk for Trout in Scotland— In the October “Calendar" it was stated that the trout in Scottish river* 
enjoy ,H no season of rest." 1 This statement was correct at the lira* the “ Calendar was written : but ba-S happily, been rendered 
incorrect by the pasting of the “ Fresh Water Fi*h (Scotland) Act of jooa,” which came into operation on 15th October la*t and 
secures for Scottish trout a close season from 15th October till aSth February, practically the spawning season. The author of the 
M Calendar ” apologises to readers of Tna Strand Magazine for his omission to make the needful correction* 

Digitized' by GoOQ Ic 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













The Sorceress of the Strand. 

Bv L T. Meade and Robert Eustace. 


III. — THE FACE OF THE ABBOT. 




F Madame Sara had one pre¬ 
rogative more than another it 
was that of taking people 
unawares. When least ex¬ 
pected she would spring a 
mine at your feet, engulf you 
in a most horrible danger, stab you in the 
dark, or injure you through your best friend ; 
in short, this dangerous woman was likely to 
become the terror of London if steps were 
not soon taken to place her in such confine¬ 
ment that her genius could no longer assert 
itself. 

Months went by after my last adventure. 
Once again my fears slumbered. Madame 
Sara's was not the first name that I thought 
of when I awoke in the morning, nor the 
last to visit my dreams at night. Absorbed 
in my profession, 1 had little time to waste 
upon her. After all, I made up my mind, 
she might have left London; she might have 
carried her machinations, her cruelties, and 
her genius elsewhere. 

That such was not the case this story 
quickly shows. 

The matter which brought Madame Sara 
once again to the fore began in the follow¬ 
ing way. 

On the 17th of July, 1900, I re¬ 
ceived a letter ; it ran as follows * 

“ 23, West Terrace, 

“ Charlton Road, Putney. 

“ Dear Mr, Druce,— I am in con¬ 
siderable difficulty and am writing to 
beg for your advice. My father died 
a fortnight ago at his castle in Portu¬ 
gal, leaving me his heiress. His 
brother-in-law, who lived there with 
him, arrived in London yesterday and 
came to see me, bringing me full 
details of my father's death. These 
are in the last degree mysterious atid 
terrifying. There are also a lot of 
business affairs to arrange. I know 
little about business and should 
greatly value your advice on the whole 
situation. Can you come here and 
see me to-morrow at three o'clock? 

Senhor de Castro, my uncle, my 
mother's brother, will be here, and I 
should like you to meet him* If you 
can come I shall be very grateful. - 
Yours sincerely, 

“Helen Sherwood," 

1 replied to this letter by telegram:— 

Digitized by Google 


“Will be with you at three to-morrow." 

Helen Sherwood was an old friend of 
mine; that is, I had known her since she 
was a child. She was now about twenty- 
three years of age, and was engaged to a 
certain Godfrey Despard, one of the best 
fellows I ever met Despard was employed 
in a merchant's office in Shanghai, and the 
chance of immediate marriage was small. 
Nevertheless, the young people were deter¬ 
mined to be true to each other and to wait 
that turn in the tide which comes to most 
people who watch for it 

Helen's life had been a sad one. Her 
mother, a Portuguese lady of good family, 
had died at her birth; her father, Henry 
Sherwood, had gone to Lisbon in i860 as 
one of the Under-Secretaries to the Embassy 
and never cared to return to England. After 
the death of his wife he had lived as an 
eccentric recluse. When Helen was three 
years old he had sent her home, and she had 
been brought up by a maiden aunt of her 
father's, who had never understood the 
impulsive, eager girl, and had treated her 
with a rare want of sympathy. 'Phis woman 
had died when her young charge was sixteen 


iHK TKKATBD HA Rt » ^ST OF SYMPATHY,” 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












































THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


645 


years of age. She had left no money behind 
her, and, as her father declined to devote one 
penny to his daughter's maintenance, Helen 
had to face the world before her education 
was finished. But her character was full of 
spirit and determina- 


41 How kind of you to come, Mr* Druce ! " 
she said. “ May 1 introduce you to my 
uncle, Senhor de Castro ? ” 

The Senhor, a fine-looking man, who spoke 
English remarkably well, bowed, gave a 



** ' HOW KIND OF YOU TO COME, MIf- DBL’CE,' 5H£ SAID. - 


tion. She stayed on at 
school as pupil teacher, 
and afterwards sup¬ 
ported herself by her 
attainments. She was 
a good linguist, a clever 
musician, and had one 
of the most charming 
voices I ever heard in 
an amateur. When this 
story opens she was 
earning a comfortable 
independence, and was 
even saving a little 
money for that distant 
date w r hen she would 
marry the man she 
loved. 

Meanwhile Sher¬ 
wood's career was an 
extraordinary one. He 
had an extreme stroke 
of fortune in drawing 
the first prize of the 
Grand Christmas State 
Lottery in Lisbon, 
amounting to one bun¬ 
dled and fifty million 
reis, representing in 
English money thirty thousand pounds. 
With this sum he bought an old castle 
in the Estrella Mountains, and, accom¬ 
panied by his wife's brother, a certain 
Petro de Castro, went there to live. He w r as 
hated by his fellow-men and, with the excep¬ 
tion of De Castro, he had no friends. The 
old castle was said to be of extraordinary 
beauty, and was known as Castello Mondego. 
It was situated some twenty miles beyond the 
old Portuguese town of Coimbra. The historic 
cal accounts of the place w’ere full of interest, 
and its situation was marvellously romantic, 
being built on the heights above the Mondego 
River. The castle dated from the twelfth 
century, and had seen brave and violent deeds. 
It w r as supposed to be haunted by an old monk 
who was said to have been murdered there, 
but within living memory no one had seen 
him. At least, so Helen had informed me. 

Punctually at three o’clock on the following 
day I found myself at West Terrace, and was 
shown into my young friend’s pretty little 
sitting-room. 


gracious smile, and immediately entered into 
conversation. His face had strong features ; 
his beard was iron-grey, so also were his 
hair and moustache. He w-as slightly bald 
about the temples, I imagined him to be a 
man about forty-five years of age. 

“ Now,” said Helen, after w ? e had talked to 
each other for a few minutes, u perhaps, 
Uncle Petro, you will explain to Mr. Druce 
what has happened.” 

As she spoke I noticed that her face was 
very pale and that her lips slightly trembled, 

“It is a painful story,” said the Portuguese, 
** most horrible and inexplicable*” 

I prepared myself to listen, and he 
continued :—- 

“ For the last few months my dear friend 
had been troubled in his mind* The reason 
appeared to me extraordinary, I knew that 
Sherw p ood was eccentric, but he w r as also 
matter-of-fact, and I should have thought 
him the last man who would be likely to be 
a prey to nervous terrors. Nevertheless, 
such was the case. The old castle has 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












646 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



the reputation of being haunted, and the 
apparition that is supposed to trouble 
Mondego is that of a ghastly white face that 
is now and then seen at night peering out 
through some of the windows or one of the 
embrasures of the battlements surrounding 
the courtyard, It is said to be the shade of 
an abbot who was foully murdered there by 
a Castilian nobleman who owned the castle 
a hundred years ago. 

“ It was late in April of this year when 
my brother-in-law first declared that he saw 
the apparition. I shall never forget his terror. 
He came to me in my room, woke me, and 
pointed out the embrasure where he had seen 
it. He described it as a black figure leaning 
out of a window, with an appallingly horrible 
white face, with wide- 
open eyes apparently 
staring at nothing. I 
argued with him and 
tried to appeal to his 
common sense, and did 
everything in my power 
to bring him to reason, 
but without avail. The 
terror grew worse and 
worse. He could think 
and talk of nothing else, 
and, to make matters 
worse, he collected all 
the old literature he 
could find bearing on 
the legend. This he 
would read, and repeat 
the ghastly information 
to me at meal times. 

I hegan to fear that his 
mind would become 
affected, and three 
weeks ago I persuaded 
him to come away with 
me for a change to 
Lisbon. He agreed, 
but the very night be¬ 
fore we were to leave 
I was awakened in the 
small hours by hearing 
an awful cry, followed 
by another, and then 
the sound of my own 
name. I ran out into 
the courtyard and 
looked up at the battle¬ 
ments. There I saw, 
to my horror, my 
brother-in-law rushing 
along the edge, scream¬ 
ing as though in extreme 


terror, and evidently imagining that he was 
pursued by something. The next moment he 
dashed headlong downahundred feet on to the 
flagstones by my side, dying instantaneously. 
Now comes the most horrible part, As I 
glanced up I saw, and I swear it with as 
much certainty as I am now speaking to you, a 
black figure leaning out over the battlement 
exactly at the spot from which he had fallen— 
a figure with a ghastly white face, which 
stared straight down at me. The moon was 
full, and gave the face a clearness that was 
unmistakable. It was large, round, and 
smooth, white with a whiteness I had never 
seen on human face, with eyes widely 
open, and a fixed stare; the face was 
rigid and tense; the mouth shut and 


drawn at the corners. 
Fleeting as the glance was, 
for it vanished almost the 
next moment, I shall 
never forget it It is in¬ 
delibly imprinted on my 
memory.’ 1 

He ceased speaking. 

From my long and con¬ 
stant contact with men 
and their affairs, I knew at 
once that what De Castro 
had just said instantly 


11 HE DASHED HEADLONG DOWN*" 


raised the whole matter 
out of the commonplace; 
true or untrue, real or 
false, serious issues were 
at stake. 

u Who else was in the 
castle that night?" I asked. 

41 No one," was his in¬ 
stant reply. 11 Not even 
old Gonsalves, our one 


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man-servant. He had gone to visit his people 
in the mountains about ten miles off. We 
were absolutely alone. ” 

“You know Mr. Sherwood’s affairs pretty 
well ? ” I went on. “ On the supposition of 
trickery, could there be any motive that you 
know of for anyone to play such a ghastly 
trick?” 

“ Absolutely none.” 

“ You never saw the apparition before this 
occasion ? ” 

44 Never.” 

44 And what were your next steps ? ” 

“There was nothing to be done except 
to carry poor Sherwood indoors. He was 
buried on the following day. I made every 
effort to have a systematic inquiry set on 
foot, but the castle is in a remote spot and 
the authorities are slow to move. The 
Portuguese doctor gave his sanction to the 
burial after a formal inquiry. Deceased was 
testified as having committed suicide while 
temporarily insane, but to investigate the 
apparition they absolutely declined.” 

“ And now,” I said, “ will you tell me 
what you can with regard to the disposition 
of the property ? ” 

“ The will is a very remarkable one,” re¬ 
plied De Castro. “ Senhor Sousa, my brother- 
in-law’s lawyer, holds it. Sherwood died a 
much richer man than I had any idea of. 
This was owing to some very successful 
speculations. The real and personal estate 
amounts to seventy thousand pounds, but 
the terms of the will are eccentric. Henry 
Sherwood’s passionate affection for the old 
castle was quite morbid, and the gist of the 
conditions of the will is this : Helen is to live 
on the property, and if she does, and as long 
as she does, she is to receive the full in¬ 
terest on forty thousand pounds, which is 
now invested in good English securities. 
Failing this condition, the property is to be 
sold, and the said forty thousand pounds is 
to go to a Portuguese charity in Lisbon. I 
also have a personal interest in the will. 
This I knew from Sherwood himself. He 
told me that his firm intention was to retain 
the castle in the family for his daughter, 
and for her son if she married. He 
earnestly begged of me to promote his 
wishes in the event of his dying. I was not 
to leave a stone unturned to persuade Helen 
to live at the castle, and in order to ensure 
my carrying out his wishes he bequeathed to 
me the sum of ten thousand pounds pro¬ 
vided Helen lives at Castello Mondego. If 
she does not do so I lose the money. Hence 
my presence here and my own personal 

Diqilized by vtQOQJc 
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anxiety to clear up the mystery of my friend’s 
death, and to see my niece installed as owner 
of the most lovely and romantic property in 
the Peninsula. It has, of course, been my 
duty to give a true account of the mystery 
surrounding my unhappy brother-in-law’s 
death, and I sincerely trust that a solution to 
this terrible mystery will be found, and that 
Helen will enter into her beautiful possessions 
with all confidence.” 

“ The terms of the will are truly eccentric,” 
I said. Then turning to Helen I added :— 

“ Surely you can have no fear in living at 
Castello Mondego when it would be the 
means of bringing about the desire of your 
heart ? ” 

“ Does that mean that you are engaged to 
be married, Helen ? ” asked De Castro. 

44 It does,” she replied. Then she turned 
to me. “ I am only human, and a woman. 
I could not live at Castello Mondego with 
this mystery unexplained; but I am willing 
to take every step—yes, event step, to find 
out the truth.” 

44 Let me think over the case,” I said, after 
a pause. “ Perhaps I may be able to devise 
some plan for clearing up this unaccountable 
matter. There is no man in the whole of 
London better fitted to grapple with the 
mystery than I, for it is, so to speak, my 
profession.” 

“You will please see in me your hearty 
collaborator, Mr. Druce,” said Senhor de 
Castro. 

“When do you propose to return to 
Portugal ? ” I asked. 

“ As soon as I possibly can.” 

“ Where are you staying now ? ” 

“ At the Cecil.” 

He stood up as he spoke. 

“ I am sorry to have to run away,” he said. 
“ I promised to meet a friend, a lady, in half 
an hour from now. She is a very busy 
woman, and I must not keep her waiting.” 

His words were commonplace enough, but 
I noticed a queer change in his face. His 
eyes grew full of eagerness, and yet—was it 
possible ?—a curious fear seemed also to fill 
them. He shook hands with Helen, bowed 
to me, and hurriedly left the room. 

“ I wonder whom he is going to meet,” she 
said, glancing out of the window and watch¬ 
ing his figure as he walked down the street. 
44 He told me when he first came that he had 
an interview pending of a very important 
character. But, there, I must not keep you, 
Mr. Druce ; you are also a very busy man. 
Before you go, however, do tell me what you 

think of the whole thing. I certainly cannot 

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live at the castle while that ghastly face is 
unexplained - but at the same time I do not 
wish to give up the property.” 

" You shall live there, enjoy the property, 
and be happy,” I answered. " I will think 
over everything ; I am certain we shall see a 
way out of the mystery.” 

I wrung her hand and hurried away. 

During the remainder of the evening this 
extraordinary case occupied my thoughts to 
the exclusion of almost everything else. I 
made up my mind to take it up T to set every 
inquiry on foot, and, above all things, to ascer¬ 
tain if there was a physical reason for the 
apparition’s appearance ; in short, if Mr. 
Sherwood's awful death was for the benefit of 
any living person. But I must confess that, 
think as I would, I could not see 
the slightest daylight until I re¬ 
membered the curious expres¬ 
sion of De Castro's face when he 
spoke of his appointment with a 
lady. The man had undoubt¬ 
edly his weak point; he bad his 
own private personal fear. What 
was its nature ? 

I made a note of the circum¬ 
stance and determined to speak 
to Yandeleur about it when 1 
had a chance, 

The next morning one of the 
directors of our 
agency called. He 
and I had a long 
talk over business 
matters, and when 
he was leaving he 
asked me when I 
wished to take my 
holiday. 

u If you like to go 
away for a fortnight 
or three weeks, now 
is your time,” was 
his final remark. 

I answered without a moment’s hesitation 
that I should wish to go to Portugal, and 
would take advantage of the leave of absence 
which he offered me. 

Now, it had never occurred to me to think 
of visiting Portugal until that moment; but 
so strongly did the idea now take possession 
of me that I went at once to the Cecil and 
had an interview with De Castro. I told him 
that I could not fulfil my promise to Miss 
Sherwood without being on the spot, and I 
should therefore accompany him when he 
returned to Lisbon, His face expressed 
genuine delight, and before we parted we 

Digitized byGooqle 


arranged to meet at Charing Cross on the 
morning after the morrow. I then hastened 
to Putney to inform Helen Sherwood of my 
intention. 

To my surprise I saw her busy placing 
different articles of her wardrobe in a large 
trunk which occupied the place of honour in 
the centre of the little sitting-room. 

What are you doing ? " I cried* 

She coloured. 

“ You must not scold me,” she said. 
“ There is only one thing to do, and I made 
up my mind this morning to do it. The day 
after to-morrow I am going to Lisbon, I 
mean to investigate the mystery for myself,” 

“ You are a good, brave girl,” I cried. 
“ But listen, Helen ; it is not necessary.” 


I then told her that I had unexpectedly 
obtained a few weeks' holiday, and that I 
intended to devote the time to her service. 

“ Better and better,” she cried. H I go 
with you. Nothing could have been planned 
more advantageously for me," 

“ What put the idea into your head ? ” I 
asked. » 

“ It isn't my own,” she said. 11 1 spent a 
dreadful night, and this morning, soon after 
ten o'clock, I had an unexpected visitor. 
She is not a stranger to me, although I have 
never mentioned her name. She is known 
as Madame Sara, and is-” 

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649 


“ My dear Helen ! ” I cried. “ You don’t 
mean to tell me you know that woman? 
She is one of the most unscrupulous in the 
whole of London. You must have nothing 
to do with her—nothing whatever.” 

Helen opened her eyes to their widest 
extent. 

“You misjudge Madame Sara,” she said. 
“ I have known her for the last few years, 
and she has been a most kind friend to me. 
She has got me more than one good post as 
teacher, and I have always felt a warm 
admiration for her. She is, beyond doubt, 
the most unselfish woman I ever met.” 

I shook my head. 

“ You will not get me to alter my opinion 
of her,” continued Helen. “Think of her 
kindness in calling to see me to-day. She 
drove here this morning just because she 
happened to see my uncle, Petro de Castro, 
yesterday. She has known him, too, for 
some time. She had a talk with him about 
me, and he told her all about the strange 
will. She was immensely interested, and 
said that it was imperative for me to investi¬ 
gate the matter myself. She spoke in the 
most sensible way, and said finally that she 
would not leave me until I had promised to 
go to Portugal to visit the castle, and in 
my own person to unearth the mystery. I 
promised her and felt she was right. I am 
keeping my word.” 

When Helen had done speaking I remained 
silent. I could scarcely describe the strange 
sensation which visited me. Was it possible 
that the fear which I had seen so strongly 
depicted on De Castro’s face was caused by 
Madame Sara ? Was the mystery in the old 
Portuguese castle also connected with this 
terrible woman ? If so, what dreadful revela¬ 
tions might not be before us ! Helen was not 
the first innocent girl who believed in 
Madame, and not the first whose life was 
threatened. 

“ Why don’t you speak, Mr. Druce ? ” she 
asked me at last. “ What are you thinking 
of?” 

“ I would rather not say what I am think¬ 
ing of,” I answered; “ but I am very glad of 
one thing, and that is that I am going with 
you.” 

“ You are my kindest, best friend,” she 
said; “and now I will tell you one thing 
more. Madame said that the fact of your 
being one of the party put all danger out of 
the case so far as 1 was concerned, for she 
knew you to be the cleverest man she ever 
met” 

“ Ah ! ” I replied, slowly, “ there is a 

Vol. xxiv.—82. 

Digitized by LiOOQIC 

* o 


cleverer man than I, and his name is Eric 
Vandeleur. Did she happen to speak of 
him ? ” 

“ No. Who is he ? I have never heard 
of him.” 

“ I will tell you some day,” I replied, “ but 
not now.” 

I rose, bade her a hasty good-bye, and 
went straight to Vandeleur’s rooms. 

Whatever happened, I had made up my 
mind to consult him in the matter. He was 
out when I called, but I left a note, and he 
came round to my place in the course of the 
evening. 

In less than a quarter of an hour I put 
him in possession of all the facts. He 
received my story in silence. 

“ Well! ” I cried at last. “ What do you 
think ? ” 

“There is • but one conclusion, Druce,” 
was his reply. “ There is a motive in this 
mystery—method in this madness. Madame 
is mixed up in it. That being the case, any¬ 
thing supernatural is out of the question. I 
am sorry Miss Sherwood is going to Lisbon, 
but the fact that you are going too may be 
her protection. Beyond doubt her life is in 
danger. Well, you must do your best, and 
forewarned is forearmed. I should like to 
go with you, but I cannot. Perhaps I may 
do more good here watching the arch-fiend 
who is pulling the strings.” 

De Castro took the information quietly 
that his niece was about to accompany us. 

“Women are strange creatures,” he said. 
“ Who would suppose that a delicate girl 
would subject herself to the nervous terrors 
she must undergo in the castle ? Well, let her 
come—it may be best, and my friend, the lady 
about whom I spoke to you, recommended it.” 

“ You mean Madame Sara ? ” I said. 

“ Ah ! ” he answered, with a start. “ Do 
you know her ? ” 

“Slightly,” I replied, in a guarded tone. 
Then I turned the conversation. 

Our journey took place without adventure, 
and when we got to Lisbon we put up at 
Durrand’s Hotel. 

On the afternoon of that same day we went 
to interview Manuel Sousa, the lawyer who 
had charge of Mr. Sherwood’s affairs. His 
office was in the Rue do Rio Janeiro. He 
was a short, bright-eyed little man, having 
every appearance of honesty and ability. He 
received us affably and looked with much 
interest at Helen Sherwood, whose calm, 
brave face and English appearance impressed 
him favourably. 

“So you have come all this long way, 

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vv a 5 1 mmi 



VOEJ MF,AN~MAPAME SARA? I SAin/ 


Sen bora/’ he said, 14 to investigate the mystery 
of your poor father's death ? Be assured I 
will do everything in my power to help you. 
And now you would all like to see the docu¬ 
ments and papers. Here they are at your 
service.” 

He opened a tin box and lifted out a pile 
of papers, Helen went up to one of the 
windows. 

"I don*t understand Portuguese/* she said. 
“You will examine them for me, won't you, 
Uncle Petro, and you also, Mr. Druce?” 

I bad a sufficient know ledge of Portuguese 
to be able to read the will, and I quickly 
discovered that De Castro’s account of it was 
quite correct. 

" Is it your intention to go to Gastello 
Mondego ? " asked the lawyer, when our 
interview was coming to an end. 

14 1 can answer for myself that I intend to 
go/* I replied. 

“ It will give me great pleasure to take Mr, 
Druce to that romantic spot/* said De Castro, 

“And I go with you/* cried Helen. 

" My dear, dear young lady,” said the 
lawyer, a flicker of concern crossing his bright 
eyes, "is that necessary? You will find 

Digitized by CiOOgle 


the castle very lonely and not 
prepared for the reception of 
a lady." 

11 Even so, I have come all 
this long way to visit it/ 
replied Helen. “I go with 
my friend, Mr, Druce, and 
with my uncle, and so far ns I 
am concerned the sooner we 
get there the better.** 

The lawyer held up his 
hands. 

" I wouldn't sleep in that 
place/* he exclaimed, "for 
twenty contos of reis,” 

“Then you really believe in 
the apparition?'’ I said, " You 
think it is supernatural? 1 ’ 

He involuntarily crossed 
himself. 

"The tale is an old one,” 
he said. " It has been known 
for a hundred years that the 
castle is haunted by a monk 
who was treacherously mur 
dered there. That is the 
reason, Miss Sherwood, why 
your father got it so cheap/* 
"Supernatural or not, I 
must get to the bottom of 
the thing/ she said, in a low 
voice. 

De Castro jumped up, an impatient expres¬ 
sion crossing his face. 

"If you don’t want me for the present, 
Druce/* he said, ** I have some business of 
my own that I wish to attend to.” 

He left the office, and Helen and I were 
about to follow him when Senhor Sousa 
suddenly addressed me. 

“ By the way, Mr. Druce, I am given to 
understand that you are from the Solvency 
Inquiry Agency of London. I know that 
great business well ; I presume, therefore, 
that matters of much interest depend upon 
this inquiry? " 

"The interests are great/' I replied, "but 
are in no way connected with my business. 
My motive in coming here is due to friend¬ 
ship, This young lady is engaged to be 
married to a special friend of mine, and I 
have known her personally from her child¬ 
hood. If we can clear up the present 
mystery, Helen Sherwood’s marriage can take 
place at once. If, on the other hand, that 
terror which hangs over Gastello Mondego is 
so overpowering that Miss Sherwood cannot 
make up her mind to live there, a long separa¬ 
tion awaits the young pair. I have answered 

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THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND ,. 


your question, Senhor Sousa; will you, on 
your part, answer mine ? ” 

“ Certainly,” he replied. His face looked 
keenly interested, and from time to time he 
glanced from Helen to me. 

“ Are you aware of the existence of any 
motive which would induce someone to 
personate the apparition and so bring about 
Mr. Sherwood’s death ? ” 

“ I know of no such motive, my dear sir. 
Senhor de Castro will come into ten 
thousand pounds provided, and only pro¬ 
vided, Miss Sherwood takes possession of 
the property. He is the one and only 
person who benefits under the will, except 
Miss Sherwood herself.” 

“ We must, of course, exclude Senhor de 
Castro,” I answered. “ His conduct has 
been most honourable in the matter through¬ 
out ; he might have been tempted to suppress 
the story of the ghost, which would have 
been to his obvious advantage. Is there no 
one else whom you can possibly suspect ? ” 

“ No one—absolutely no one.” 

“ Very well; my course is clear. I have 
come here to get an explanation of the 
mystery. When it is explained Miss Sher¬ 
wood will take possession of the castle.” 

“And should you fail, sir? Ghosts have 
a way of suppressing themselves when most 
earnestly desired to put in an appearance.” 

“I don’t anticipate failure, Senhor Sousa, 
and I mean to go to the castle immediately.” 

“ W r e are a superstitious race,” he replied, 
“and I would not go there for any money 
you liked to offer me.” 

“I am an Englishman, and this lady is 
English on her father’s side. We do not 
easily abandon a problem when we set to 
w r ork to solve it.” 

“ What do you think of it all ? ” asked 
Helen of me, when we found ourselves soon 
afterwards in the quaint, old-world streets. 

“ Think ! ” I answered. “ Our course is 
clear. We have got to discover the motive. 
There must be a motive. There was some¬ 
one who had a grudge against the old man, 
and who wished to terrify him out of the 
world. As to believing that the apparition 
is supernatural, I decline even to allow 
myself to consider it.” 

“ Heaven grant that you may be right,” she 
answered; “ but I must say a strange and 
most unaccountable terror oppresses me 
whenever I conjure un that ghastly face.” 

“And yet you hrve the courage to go to 
the castle ! ” 

“ It is a case of duty, not of courage, Mr. 
Druce.” 

Digitized by GoOQ Ic 

* o 


65 1 

For the rest of that day I thought over the 
whole problem, looking at it from every point 
of view, trying to gaze at it with fresh eyes, 
endeavouring to discover the indiscoverable 
—the motive. There must be a motive. 
We should find it at the castle. We would 
go there on the morrow. But, no; undue 
haste was unnecessary. It might be well for 
me, helped as I should be by my own agency, 
a branch of which was to be found in Lisbon, 
to discover amongst the late Mr. Sherwood’s 
acquaintances, friends, or relatives the motive 
that I wanted. My agents set to work for 
me, but though they did their utmost no 
discovery of the least value was found, and 
at the end of a week I told De Castro and 
Helen that I was ready to start 

“ We will go early to-morrow morning,” I 
said. “ You must make all your prepara¬ 
tions, Helen. It will take us the day to 
reach Castello Mondego. I hope that our 
work may be completed there, and that we 
may be back again in Lisbon within the 
week.” 

Helen’s face lit up with a smile of genuine 
delight. 

“ The inaction of the last week has been 
terribly trying,” she said. “ But now that 
we are really going to get near the thing I 
feel quite cheerful.” 

“ Your courage fills me with admiration,” 
I could not help saying, and then I went out 
to make certain purchases. Amongst these 
were three revolvers—one for Helen, one for 
De Castro, and one for myself. 

Afterwards I had an interview with Sousa, 
and took him as far as I could into my 
confidence. 

“The danger of the supernatural is not 
worth considering,” I said, “ but the danger 
of treachery, of unknown motives, is consider¬ 
able. I do not deny this fact for a moment. 
In case you get no tidings of us, come your¬ 
self or send some one to the castle within a 
week.” 

“This letter came for you by the last post,” 
said Sousa, and he handed me one from 
Vandeleur. 

I opened it and read as follows:— 

“I met Madame Sara a week ago at the 
house of a friend. I spoke to her about 
Castello Mondego. She admitted that she 
was interested in it, that she knew Miss 
Sherwood, and hoped when she had taken 
possession to visit her in that romantic spot 
I inquired further if she was aware of the 
contents of the strange will. She said she 
had heard of it. Her manner was perfectly 
frank, but I saw that she was uneasy. She 

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652 



took the first opportunity of leaving the 
house, and on making inquiries I hear that 
she left London by the first train this morn¬ 
ing, en route for the Continent. These Facts 
may mean a great deal, and I should advise 
you to be more than ever on your guard.” 

i put the letter into my pocket, got Sousa 
to promise all that was necessary, and went 
away. 

At an early hour the following morning 
we left Rocio Station for Coimbra, and it 
was nearly seven in the evening when we 
finally came to the end of our railway 
journey and entered a light wagonette 
drawn by two 
powerful bay 
stallions for our 
twenty-mile drive 
to the castle. 

The scenery as 
we approached 
the spurs of the 
Estrella was mag¬ 
nificent beyond 
description, and 
as I gazed up at 
the great peaks, 
now bathed in the 
purples and golds 
of the sunset, the 
magic and mys¬ 
tery of our 
strange mission 
became tenfold 
intensified. Pre¬ 
sently the steep 
ascent began 
along a winding 
road between 
high walls that 
shut out our view, 
and by the time 
we reached the 
castle it was too 
dark to form any 
idea of its special 
features. 


the least comprehend, something to De Castro, 
who professed himself satisfied. Then he 
said something further, and I noticed the 
face of my Portuguese friend turn pale. 

u Gonsalves saw the spectre three nights 
ago,” he remarked, turning to me. “It was 
leaning as usual out of one of the windows 
of the north-west turret. But, come ; we must 
not terrify ourselves the moment we enter 
your future home, Niece Helen. You are 
doubtless hungry. Shall we go to the 
banqueting-hall ? n 

The supper prepared for us was not appe¬ 
tizing, consisting of some miserable goat- 

chops, and in the 
great hall, dimly 
lighted by a few 
candles in silver 
sconces, we could 
scarcely see each 
other's faces. As 
supper was com¬ 
ing to an end l 
made a sugges 
tion. 

“ VV e have 
come here,” I 
sard, “on a seri¬ 
ous matter. We 
propose to start 
an investigation 
of a very grave 
character. It is 
well known that 
ghosts prefer to 
reveal themselves 
to one man or 
woman alone, 
and not to a com¬ 
pany. I propose, 
therefore, that we 
three should oc¬ 
cupy rooms as 
far as possible 
each from the 
other in the 
castle, and that 


I)e Castro had already sent word of our 
probable arrival, and when we rang the bell 
at the old castle a phlegmatic-looking man 
opened the door for us. 

“ Ah, Gonsalves,” cried f>e Castro, “here 
we are ! I trust you have provided comfort¬ 
able beds and a good meal, for we are all as 
hungry as hawks.” 

The old man shrugged his shoulders, raised 
his beetle-brows a trifle, and fixed his eyes on 
Helen with some astonishment. He muttered, 
in a Portuguese dialect which I did not in 


the windows of our three bedrooms should 
command the centre square.” 

De Castro shrugged his shoulders and a 
look of dismay spread for a moment over 
his face; but Helen fixed her great eyes on 
mine, her lips moved slightly as though 
she would speak, then she pulled herself 
together. 

“Y r ou are right, Mr. Druce,” she said. 
“Having come on this inquiry, we must fear 
nothing.” 

“ Well, come at once, and we will choose 


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our bedrooms. You as the lady shall have 
the first choice.” 

De Castro called Gonsalves, who appeared 
holding a lantern in his hand. A few words 
were said to the man in his own dialect, and 
he led the way, going up many stone 
stairs, down many others, and at last he 
flung open a huge oak door and we found 
ourselves in a vast chamber with five windows, 
all mullioned and sunk in deep recesses. On 
the floor was a heavy carpet. A four-post bed¬ 
stead with velvet hangings was in a recess. The 
rest of the furniture was antique and massive, 
nearly black with age, but relieved by brass 
mountings, which, strange to say, were bright 
as though they had recently been rubbed. 

“ This was poor Sherwood's own bedroom,” 
said De Castro. “Do you mind sleeping here?” 

He turried to Helen. 

“ No, I should like it,” she replied, 
emphatically. 

“ I am glad that this is your choice,” he 
said, “ for I don’t believe, although I am a 
man and you are a woman, that I could 
myself endure this room. It was here I 
watched by his dead body. Ah, poor fellow, 
I loved him well.” 

“We won’t talk of memories to-night,”said 
Helen. “I am very tired, and I believe I 
shall sleep. Strange as it may sound, I am 
not afraid. Mr. Druce, where will you locate 
yourself? I should like, at least, to know 
what room you will be in.” 

I smiled at her. Her bravery astonished 
me. I selected a room at right angles to 
Helen’s. Standing in one of her windows 
she could, if necessary, get a glimpse of me 
if I were to stand in one of mine. 

De Castro chose a room equally far away 
from Helen’s on the other side. We then 
both bade the girl good-night. 

“ I hate to leave her so far from help,” I 
said, glancing at De Castro. 

“ Nothing will happen,” he replied. “ I 
can guarantee that. 1 am dead tired ; the 
moment I lay my head on my pillow, ghost 
or no ghost, I shall sleep till morning.” 

He hurried off to his own room. 

The chamber that I had selected was 
vast, lofty, and might have accommodated 
twenty people. I must have been more 
tired even than I knew, for I fell asleep 
when my head touched the pillow’. 

When I awoke it was dawn, and, eager to 
see my surroundings by the light of day, I 
sprang up, dressed, and went down to the 
courtyard. Three sides of this court were 
formed by the castle buildings, but along the 
fourth ran a low balustrade of stone. I 

Digitized by CiOOqIc 

* o 


sauntered towards it. I shall never forget 
the loveliness of the scene that met my eyes. 
I stood upon what was practically a terrace— 
a mere shelf on the scarping of rock on the 
side of a dizzy cliff that went down below 
me a sheer two thousand feet The Mondego 
River ran with a swift rushing noise at the 
foot of the gorge, although at the height at 
which I stood it looked more like a thread 
of silver than anything else. Towering 
straight in front of me, solemnly up into the 
heavens, stood the great peak of the Serra 
da Estrella, from w’hich in the rosy sunrise 
the morning clouds were rolling into gigantic 
white wreaths. Behind me was the great 
irregular pile of the castle, with its battle¬ 
ments, turrets, and cupolas, hoar and grey 
with the weight of centuries, but now trans¬ 
figured and bathed in the golden light. I 
had just turned to glance at them when I 
saw De Castro approaching me. 

“ Surely,” I said, “ there never was such a 
beautiful place in the world before ! We can 
never let it go out of the family. Helen 
shall live here.” 

De C astro came close to me; he took my 
arm, and pointed to a spot on the stone flags. 

“ On this very spot her father fell from the 
battlements above,” he said, slowly. 

I shuddered, and all pleasant thoughts 
were instantly dispelled by the memory of 
that hideous tragedy and the work we had 
still to do. It seemed impossible in this 
radiant, living sunlight to realize the horror 
that these walls had contained, and might 
still contain. At some of these very windows 
the ghastly face had appeared. 

Helen, De Castro, and I spent the whole 
day exploring the castle. We went from 
dungeons to turrets, and made elaborate 
plans for alternate nightly vigils. One of the 
first things that I insisted on was that Gon¬ 
salves should not sleep in the castle at night. 
This was easily arranged, the old man having 
friends in the neighbouring village. Thus 
the only people in the castle after nightfall 
would be De Castro, Helen, and myself. 

After we had locked old Gonsalves out 
and had raised the portcullis, we again went 
the complete round of the entire place. 
Thus we ensured that no one else could be 
hiding in the precincts. Finally we placed 
across every entrance thin silken threads, 
which would be broken if anyone attempted 
to pass them. 

Helen was extremely anxious that the 
night should be divided into three portions, 
and that she should share the vigils; but this 
both De Castro and I prohibited. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


654 


THE STEAND MAGAZINE. 


“At least for to-night,” I said. “Sleep 
soundly; trust the matter to us. Believe 
me, this will be best. All arrangements are 
made. Your uncle will patrol until one 
o’clock in the morning, then I will go on duty.” 

This plan was evidently most repugnant to 
her, and when De Castro left the room she 
came up and began to plead with me. 

“ I have a strange and overpowering sen¬ 
sation of terror,” she said. “ Fight as I will, 
I cannot get rid of it. I would much rather 
be up than in that terrible room. I slept last 
night because I was too weary to do anything 
else, but I am wakeful to-night, and I shall 
not close my eyes. Let me share your 
watch at least. Let us pace the courtyard 
side by side.” 

“No,” I answered, “that would not do. 
If two of us are together the ghost, or 
whatever human being poses as the ghost, 
will not dare to put in an appearance. We 
must abide by our terrible mission, Helen; 
each must watch alone. You will go to bed 
now, like a good girl, and to-morrow night, if 
we have not then discovered anything, you 
will be allowed to take your share in the 
night watch.” 

“ Very well,” she answered. 

She sighed impatiently, and after a 
moment she said :— 

“ I have a premonition that something will 
happen to-night. As a rule my premonitions 
come right.” 

I made no answer, but I could not help 
giving her a startled glance. It is one thing 
to be devoid of ghostly terrors when living 
in practical London, surrounded by the 
world and the ways of men, but it is another 
thing to be proof against the strange terror 
which visits all human beings more or less 
when they are alone, when it is night, when 
the heart beats low. Then we are apt to 
have distorted visions, our mental equilibrium 
is upset, and we fear we know not what. 

Helen and I knew that there was some¬ 
thing to fear, and as our eyes met we dared 
not speak of what was uppermost in our 
thoughts. I could not find De Castro, and 
presumed that he had taken up his watch 
without further ado. I therefore retired to 
my own room and prepared to sleep. But 
the wakefulness which had seized Helen was 
also mine, for when the Portuguese entered 
my bedroom at one o’clock I was wide awake. 

“ You have seen nothing?” I said to him. 

“ Nothing,” he answered, cheerfully. “ The 
moon is bright, the night is glorious. It is 
my opinion that the apparition will not 
appear.” 

Digitized by GoOgle 

* o 


“ I will take the precaution to put this in 
my pocket,” I said, and I took up my 
revolver, which was loaded. 

As I stepped out into the courtyard I found 
that the brilliant moonlight had lit up the 
north-west wall and the turrets; but the 
sharp black shadow of the south wall lay 
diagonally across the yard. Absolute stillness 
reigned, broken only by the croaking of 
thousands of frogs from the valley below. I 
sat down on a stone bench by the balustrade 
and tried to analyze my feelings. For a 
time the cheerfulness which I had seen so 
marked on De Castro's face seemed to have 
communicated itself to me ; my late fears 
vanished, I was not even nervous, I found it 
difficult to concentrate my thoughts on the 
object which had brought me so far from 
England. My mind wandered back to London 
and to my work there. But by degrees, as 
the chill stole over me and the stillness 
of night began to embrace me, I found 
myself glancing ever and again at those 
countless windows and deep embrasures, while 
a queer, overpowering tension began to be felt, 
and against my own will a terror, strange and 
humiliating, overpowered me. I knew that it 
was stronger than I, and, fight against it as I 
would, I could not overcome it. The instinc¬ 
tive dread of the unknown that is at the 
bottom of the bravest man’s courage was 
over me. Each moment it increased, and I 
felt that if the hideous face were to appear 
at one of the windows I would not be 
answerable for my self-control. Suddenly, 
as I sat motionless,.my eyes riveted on the 
windows of the old castle, I felt, or fancied I 
felt, that I was not alone. It seemed to me 
that a shadow moved down in the courtyard 
and close to me. I looked again; it was 
coming towards me. It was with difficulty I 
could suppress the scream which almost rose 
to my lips. The next instant I was glad that 
I had not lost my self-control, when the slim, 
cold hand of Helen Sherwood touched mine. 

“ Come,” she said, softly. 

She took my hand and, without a word, 
led me across the courtyard. 

“ Look up,” she said. 

I did look up, and then my heart seemed 
to stop and every muscle in my body grew 
rigid as though from extreme cold. At one 
of the first-floor windows in the north-west 
tower, there in the moonlight leant the 
apparition itself: a black, solemn figure — 
its arms crossed on the sill—a large, round 
face of waxy whiteness, features immobile 
and fixed in a hideous, unwinking stare right 
across the courtyard. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. 


*55 


My heart gave 
a stab of terror, 
then I remained 
absolutely rigid— 
I forgot the girl by 
my side in the 
wild beating of my 
pulse. It seemed 
to me that it must 
beat itself to 
death. 

11 Call my uncle,” 
whispered Helen, 
and when I heard 
her voice 1 knew 
that the girl was 
more self-pos¬ 
sessed than I was. 

“Call him/' 
she said again, 
“loudly—atonce.” 

I shouted his 



name 

“De Castro, 

De Castro; it is 
here ! ” 

The figure van¬ 
ished at my voice. 

“Go,” said 
Helen again* “Go; 

I will wait for you 
here* Follow it at 
once*' 1 

I rushed up the 
stairs towards the 
room where De 
Castro slept* I 
burst open his 
door. The room 
was empty. The 
next instant 1 heard his voice* 

“lam here—here,” he said* 
once—quick !” 

In a moment I was at his side. 

“This is the very room where it stood/ 1 I 
said. 

I ran to the window and looked down* 
De Castro followed me* Helen had not 
moved. She was still gazing up—the moon¬ 
light fell full on her white face. 

“You saw' it too?” gasjied De Castro. 

“Yes,” I said, “ and so did Helen* It 
stood by this window.” 

“ I was awake,” he said, “and heard your 
shout. I rushed to my window; 1 saw the 
spectre distinctly, and followed it to this 
room* You swear you saw it ? It was the 
face of the abbot*” 

My brain was working quickly, my courage 

/ CjOOQ 


was returning. The unfathomable terror of 
the night scene was leaving me. I took 
De Castro suddenly by both his arms and 
turned him round so that the moonlight 
should fall upon him* 

“ You and I are alone in this tower. 
Helen Sherwood is in the courtyard. 'There 
is not another living t>eing in the whole 
castle. Now' listen. There are only tw-o 
possible explanations of what has just 
occurred* Either you are the spectre, or it 
is supernatural*” 

“ I ? ” he cried. “ Are you mad ? " 

“ I well might be,” I answered, bitterly* 
“ But f this I am certain : you must prove 
to me whether you are the apparition or 
not. I make this suggestion now in 
order to clear you from all possible 
blame ; I make it that we may have 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THlLHE IN THE MOONLIGHT LEANT THE APPARITION ITSELF*' 

Come at 



















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



absolute evidence that could not be upset 
before the most searching tribunal. Will 
you now strip before me ?—yes, before you 
leave the room, and prove that you have no 
mask hidden anywhere on you. If you do 
this I shall be satisfied. Pardon my in¬ 
sistence, but in a case like the present there 
must he no loophole,” 

“ Of course, I understand you,” he said. 
“ I will remove my clothes.” 

In five minutes he had undressed and 
dressed again. There was no treachery on 
his part. There was no inask nor any 
possible means of his simulating that face 
on his person, 

“There is no suspicion about you/ 1 I said, 
almost with bitterness. “By heavens, I wish 
there were. The awful ness of this thing will 
drive me mad. Look at that girl standing 
by herself in the courtyard. I must return 
to her. Think of the courage of a woman 
who would stand there alone,” 

He made no answer, I saw that he was 
shivering. 

“Why do you tremble?” I said, suddenly. 

“ Because of the nameless fear,” he replied. 
“ Remember I saw' her father—I saw him with 
the terror on him—he ran along the battle- 

bv GOOQH 


ments; he threw himself over—he 
died. He was dashed to pieces on 
the very spot where she is standing. 
Get her to come in, l)ruce.” 

“ I will go and speak to her/ 1 I 
said, 

I went hack to the courtyard, 1 
rejoined Helen, and in a few words 
told her what had occurred, 

“ You must come in now/ I said, 
“ You will catch your death of cold 
standing here,” 

She smiled, a slow r , enigmatic sort 
of smile, 

“ I have not given up the solution 
yet/ J she said, “ nor do I mean to.” 

As she spoke she took her revolver 
from her belt, and I saw that she 
was strangely excited. Her manner 
showed intense excitement, but no 
fear. 

“ I suspect foul play,” she said. 
“ As I stood here and watched you 
and Uncle Petro talking to each other 
by that window 1 felt convinced—I 

am more than ever convinced--" 

She broke off suddenly, 

“ Ix»ok ! — oh, Heaven, look ! 
What is that?” 

She had scarcely uttered the 
words before the same face appeared 
at another window to the right. Helen gave 
a sharp cry, and the next instant she covered 
the awful face with her revolver and fired. A 
shrill scream rang out on the night air, 

11 It is human after all,” said Helen ; “ I 
thought it was. Come.” 

She rushed up the winding stairs ; I 
followed. The door of the room where we 
had seen the spectre was open. We l>oth 
dashed in. Beneath the window lay a dark, 
huddled heap with the moonlight shining on 
it, and staring up with the same wide-open 
eyes was the face of the abbot. Just for a 
moment neither Helen nor I dared to 
approach it, but after a time we cautiously 
drew near the dark mass. The figure never 
moved. I ran forward and stretched out my 
hand. Closer and closer I bent until my 
hand touched the face. It was human flesh 
and was still warm, 

“Helen,” I said, turning to the girl, “go 
at once and find your uncle,” 

Rut I had scarcely uttered the words 
before Helen burst into a low, choking laugh 
—the most fearful laugh I had ever heard. 

41 Look, look ! ” she said. 

For before our eyes the face tilted, fore¬ 
shortened, and vanished. We were both 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




























THE SORCERESS OR THE STRAND. 


657 



"lIKNFAl H THE WINDOW LAV A UAKK, HUUDUlD HKAl 1 .” 


gazing into the countenance of the man 
whom we knew as Petro de Castro. H<s 
face was bathed in blood, and convulsed with 
pain, I lit the lantern, and as I once more 
approached I saw, lying on the ground by his 
side, something hairy which for an instant I 
did not recognise. The next moment I saw 
what it was—-it explained everything. It was 
a wig, I bent still nearer, and the whole 
horrible deception became plain as daylight. 
For, painted upon the back of the man’s 
perfectly bald head, painted with the most 
consummate skill, giving the startling illusion 
of depth and relief, and all the hideous 
expression that had terrified one man at 
least out of the world, was the face of the 
abbot. The wig had completely covered 
it, and so skilfully was it made that the 
keenest observer would never have suspected 
it was one, it being itself slightly bald in 
order to add to the deception. 

There in that dim, bare room, in broken 
sentences, in a voice that failed as his life 
passed, lie Castro faltered out the story of 
his sin. 

11 Yes/ 1 he said, “ I have tried to deceive 
you, and Gonsalves aided me. I was mad 
to risk one more appearance. Rend nearer, 
both of you; I am dying. Listen. 

“ Upon this estate, not a league across the 
valley, I found six months ago alluvial gold 
in great quantities in the bed of the gully. 
In the ‘Bibliotheca Publica 1 in Lisbon 
I had years before got accounts of mines 

V* "“’'•-W 


worked by the 
Phoenicians, and 
was firmly per¬ 
suaded that some 
of the gold still 
remained, I found 
it, and to get the 
full benefit of it I 
devised the ghastly 
scheme which you 
have just d i s- 
covered. I knew 
that the castle was 
supposed to be 
haunted by the 
face of an old 
monk. Sherwood 
with all his peculi¬ 
arities was super¬ 
set i nous. Very 
gradually I worked 
upon his fears, 
and then, when I 
thought the time 
ripe for my experiment, personated the 
apparition. It was I who flung him from 
the battlements with my own hand. I 
knew that the terms of the will would 
divert all suspicion from me, and had not 
your shot, Helen, been so true you would 
never have come here to live. Well, you 
have avenged your father and saved your^ 
self at the same time. You will find in 
the safe in a corner of the banquet ing-hall 
plans and maps of the exact spot where the 
gold is to be found. I could have worked 
there for years unsuspected. It is true that 
I should have lost ten thousand pounds, but 
I should have gained fiv e times the amount 
Between four and five months ago I went 
1o see a special friend of mine in London. 
She is a woman who stands alone as one 
of the greatest criminals of her day. She 
promised at once to aid me, and she 
suggested, devised, and executed the whole 
scheme. She made the wig herself, with its 
strangely-baid appearance so deceptive to the 
ordinary eye, and she painted the awful face 
on my bald skull. When you searched me 
just now you suspected a mask, but I was 
safe from your detection. To remove or 
replace the wig was the work of an instant. 
The woman who had done all this was to 
share my spoils. 1 ' 

u Her name?” I cried. 

“ Sara, the Great, the Invincible,” he 
murmured. 

As he spoke the words he died- 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















Darkest Siberia and Its Political Exiles. 


AN APPEAL TO CIVILIZATION. 

By Harry de Windt. 


Author of * t Siberia As It Isf “ The New Siberia f <£ fin laud As It Isf etc. 


Special Notice.— The information contained in the following article was chiefly obtained from 
Russian Government officials stationed at Sredni-Kolymsk, the facts furnished being afterwards 
verified* or otherwise, by the political exiles at the same place* by my request. 


Y experience of Russian prisons 
dates from the year 1890 , Mr. 
Ken nan V report on the con¬ 
dition of the penal establish¬ 
ments of Siberia was then 
arousing indignation through¬ 
out civilized Europe* and his heartrending 
accounts of the sufferings endured by 
political and criminal offenders obviously 
called for some sort of an explanation from 
the Czar's Government. A mere denial of the 
charges would have been practically useless. 
A disinterested person 
was needed to report 
upon the prisons and 
^etapes," which had 
been described as hells 
upon earth* and to 
either confirm or gain¬ 
say the statements 
made by the American 
traveller* The evidence 
of a Russian subject 
would, for obvious 
reasons, have met with 
incredulity ; and it 
came to pass* there’ 
fore, that, through the 
agency of Madame do 
Novikoff* herself a 
prison directress, I was 
selected for a task 
which, although in¬ 
tensely interesting* sub¬ 
jected me to a good 
deal of unfavourable 
criticism on my return to England. Some 
yellow journals even went so far as to suggest 
that I had received payment from the Russian 
Government for “ whitewashing ” its penal 
system. But I fancy the following article 
should conclusively disprove the existence of 
any monetary transactions, past or present, 
between the Czar’s officials and myself, to 
say nothing of the fact that my favourable 
report on the prisons of Western Siberia has 
been endorsed by such reliable and well- 
known English travellers as Dr Lansdell and 
Mr. J. Y. Simpson. In fairness, however, to 
Mr. Kennarij 1 should state that my inspection 


of the Tomsk Forwarding Prison and similar 
establishments was made fully five years after 
his visit. 

In 1894 I again proceeded to Siberia 
(under similar conditions) to report upon the 
penal settlements on the Island of Sakhalin, 
the political prison of Akatui, and the mines, 
where only convict labour is employed, of 
Eastern Siberia. On this occasion I travelled 
from Japan to the Island of Sakhalin on hoard 
a Russian convict ship, a voyage which con¬ 
vinced me that the Russian criminal con¬ 
vict is as humanely 
treated and well cared 
for at sea as he is on 
land, which says a great 
deal. I have always 
maintained that were 
I sentenced to a term 
of penal servitude I 
would infinitely sooner 
serve it in Siberia than 
in England. It is not 
my intention, however, 
in the present article 
to deal with criminal 
convict life; but to 
describe, os accurately 
as I can, the life led by 
a handful of political 
exiles in the most re¬ 
mote Arctic settlement 
of Siberia* I may add 
that the members of 
my expedition were the 
first strangers from the 
outer world to visit the place in question for 
over thirty years. 

There are now only two prisons throughout 
the Russian Empire where political offenders 
are actually incarcerated** One is the Fortress 
of Schlusselburg, on Lake Ladoga, within a 
short journey of St. Petersburg; the other 
the Siberian prison of Akatui, in the Trans- 
Baikal Province, about three hundred miles 
east of Irkutsk. Schlusselburg I have never 

* Political pmnrvTs ant no longer confined in ihe Fortress 
of SS. Peter and Paul. Short term^ of imprisonment 
(previous to hap Lament Siljeria) are served in the citadels 
of H'arvuv and other cities but Sc hi (Use I burg nnd Akatui are 
(lie only esiaUj>timei)ts no» r u^ed qs ' l political prijfofig/’ 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




MR* HARRY DB WINDT* 

From a by CgrA, Stm I'ori, 











DARKEST SIBERIA AND ITS POLITICAL EXILES 


659 


visited, but T was invited to inspect the prison 
of Akatui throughout, and also permitted to 
converse freely with the politicals within its 
w&lls. The majority were men of education, 
but dangerous conspirators, condemned, most 
of them, to long terms of penal servitude. 
The strictest prison discipline, hard labour 
in the silver mines, and association at night 
in public cells with the vilest criminals, was 
the lot of those whom I saw at Akatui. And 
yet I doubt if any of the^e men would will¬ 
ingly ha\e exchanged places with their exiled 
comrades 
“ domiciled/’ 
in comparative 
liberty, in 
Sredni- Kol- 
ymsk. 

I have found 
that, as a rule, 
very erroneous 
impres s i ons 
exist in Eng¬ 
land as to the 
conditions 
under which 
political offen¬ 
ders are sent 
to Siberia, a 
country which 
has often been 
greatly ma¬ 
ligned by Eng¬ 
lish novelists. 

For the Czar's 
great prison- 
land is not 
always a ques¬ 
tion of dun¬ 
geons and life¬ 
long imprison- 
ment. The 
latter certainly 
awaits the 
active revolu¬ 
tionist, but, on 
the other hand, 
an erring jour¬ 
nalist may, for an “imprudent” paragraph, 
be sent to vegetate for only a couple of 
months within sight of the Urals. 11 The 
punishment fits the crime/' and in the towns 
of Western Siberia I have frequently met 
men, originally banished for a short term, 
who, rather than return to Russia, have elected 
to remain in a land where living is cheaper 
and money more easily gained than at home. 

Let me now briefly describe the method of 
procedure in the case gf a Russian subject 


who, for political reasons, has incurred the 
suspicion of the authorities. The exile of 
State offenders to Siberia is invariably carried 
out by what is called the “administrative pro¬ 
cess/' or, in other words, by a secret tribunal 
composed of civil and military members. 
There arc no Press reports of the trial, which 
is held strictly in camera, and, as a general 
rule, a political 44 suspect ” vanishes as com¬ 
pletely from the face of the earth as a pebble 
cast into the sea. Usually the blow falls 
unexpectedly, A man may lie seated quietly 

at home with 
his family, in 
his office, or at 
some place of 
public enter¬ 
tainment when 
the fatal touch 
on the shoul¬ 
der summons 
him away — 
perhaps for 
ever. T h e 
sentence once 
passed there is 
no appeal to a 
higher Court, 
nor can a pri¬ 
soner hold any 
comm on i ca¬ 
tion whatever 
with the outer 
world. A 
prisoner’s rela¬ 
tives,therefore, 
frequently 
ascribe his 
absence to 
voluntary mo¬ 
tives, and years 
s o m e t i m e s 
elapse before 
the truth is 
known, in¬ 
deed, it may 
never reach 
his family, and 
the harassing thought that he is perhaps 

regarded by the latter as a heartless deserter 
has driven many a victim of the 4t adminis¬ 
trative process ” to suicide. 

A term of imprisonment varying from six 
months to two years in a European fortress 
invariably precedes a term of exile, and this 
rule applies to both sexes. There are 

hundreds of towns and villages throughout 
Siberia where men and women are “domi¬ 
ciled” for various periods of their existence, 
Onginarfrom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



MW. DK WINDT AS 11 EL APPK.AKFU WHEN KES£L’EO FROM THE SHORES OP BERING 
STRAITS—THE PARTY WEKE ALMOST IN THE LAST EXTREMITY 0 ¥ STARVATION, 
Fr>FN a Photo, 











66 o 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE , 


but, as this article is descriptive only of the 
remoter settlements within the Arctic Circle, 
we will follow the footsteps of a political 
exile destined for, say, Sredni-Kolyiusk. From 
the forwarding prison at Moscow to the 
city of Irkutsk in Eastern Siberia politicals 
not sent by rail travel with a criminal gang, 
wear prison dress, and live practically the 
same as ordinary convicts. At night-time, 
however, in the “Stapes,”* a separate cell is 
set apart for their use. On arrival at Irkutsk 
prison dress is discarded, and an exile may 
wear his own clothes, although he remains 
under lock and key and in dose charge of 
the Cossack responsible for his safe arrival at 
their destination. In summer time the two- 
thousand-mile journey to the first stage north¬ 
ward, Yakutsk, is made by river steamer, 


would try the nerves of an experienced 
mountaineer From Verkhoyansk, a miser¬ 
able village of log-huts, yet another weary 
stretch of twelve hundred miles brings the 
reindeer-sled to its destination, Sredni- 
Kolymsk, after a journey, entailing almost 
superhuman endurance, of eight thousand 
miles from Moscow. We accomplished 
this voyage, under favourable conditions, in 
a little over three months, but exties travel 
so slowly that a year frequently elapses 
before they reach this “ end of the end of 
the world” I should add that women never 
travel alone with a Cossack, but are always 
accompanied on the journey by another exile 
of their own sex. 

My visit to Sredni-Kolymsk was a pure 
accident, and the result of a recent overland 



MAP SHOWING THE ROUTE OF THE OVERLAND JOURNEY FROM PARIS TO NEW YORK—*REPNI*KOLYMSK WILT, BE SEEN 

NEAR TIIE ESTEEM E NORTH. 


but during the winter months this dreary 
trip must be accomplished in uncovered 
sleighs, and is one of great severity and pri¬ 
vation, especially for women. At Yakutsk a 
reindeer-sled conveys the ill-assorted pair ever 
northward for another six hundred miles to 
the settlement of Verkhoyansk, the coldest 
place in the world. Nearing the latter a 
steep and dangerous pass over the Verkho¬ 
yansk Mountains must be negotiated. In 
Switzerland the ascent would necessitate 
ropes and ice-axes ; but delicate women, on 
their way to exile, are here compelled to 
clamber unassisted over giddy places that 

* prisons used in Sibgrij^ffrrcsl-hous^ T 


journey from Paris to New York. Had I 
chosen a different route {via Anadyrsk) to 
Bering Straits this story of human suffering 
would probably never have reached the ears 
of civilization. But Providence has willed it 
otherwise. A glance at the map will show 
the reader the position of the place, and about 
six hundred miles to the south-west of it 
he will observe (in most large English maps) 
a town inscribed as Zashiversk. The follow¬ 
ing incident, which I quote from Mr. 
Kerman, will give some idea of the almost 
incredible desolation of these parts of 
Siberia :— 

“A few years ago the Governor-General 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















DARKEST SIBERIA AND ITS POLITICAL EXILES. 


661 


of Siberia at Irkutsk ordered the removal of 
an exile named Schiller from that city to the 
town of Zashiversk, a town which was 4 sup¬ 
posed to he * situated on the Indigirka River 
near the Arctic Circle. In the reign of the 
Empress Catherine Zashiversk was a pros¬ 
perous fur-trading centre, but the place fell 
into decay and gradually ceased to exist 
Nevertheless, its location is still marked on 
all Government maps, although the town 
was probably virtually extinct long before 
the beginning of the present century* 
Schiller, after having been carried three or 
four thousand miles up and down the rivers 
Lena and Indigirka in a vain search for a 
non -existent 
Arctic town, was 
finally brought 
back to Yakutsk, 
and a report was 
made to the 
Governor-General 
at Irkutsk that 
Zashiversk had, 
apparently, ceased 
to exist! The 
Governor-General 
thereu pon ordered 
that the prisoner 
be taken to Bred ni- 
Kolymsk, another 
town of forty-five 
houses situated 
o n the River 
Kolyma, north of 
the Arctic Circle, 

When, after more 
than a year of 
travel, the un¬ 
happy Schiller 
reached this last 
outpost of the 
Czar in North- 
Eastern Asia and 
was set at liberty, 
he made his way 
to the log-church, 
entered the belfry, 
and proceeded to jangle the bells in a wild 
and erratic chime. When the settlers ran to 
the belfry in alarm and inquired the reason 
of the peal, Schiller replied with dignity that 
he wished the whole population to know 
that, by the grace of God, Hermann Schiller, 
after long and perilous wanderings, had 
reached in safety the town of Sredni- 
Kolymsk!*' Months of fatigue, privation, 
and intolerable loneliness had deprived the 
poor fellow gf his reason, a not unusual 


occurrence in this isolated portion of the 
great Russian Empire. 

At Verkhoyansk, which is composed of a 
double row of dilapidated log-huts contain¬ 
ing some three hundred souls, 1 imagined 
that we had reached the acme of desolation. 
The village stands in the centre of a bleak 
and barren plateau, bisected by the River 
Yana and surrounded by a belt of dark forest, 
which only accentuates the dull dreariness of 
the wintry landscape. We had travelled night 
and day for nearly a fortnight with reindeer 
from Yakutsk, across precipitous mountains, 
pathless forests, and deserts of snow, halting 
every hundred miles or so at some filthy rest- 

house, and suffer¬ 
ing severely from 
hunger and the 
intense cold. I 
had, therefore, 
looked forward to 
Verkhoyansk as a 
haven of warmth 
and rest, but my 
one object, having 
reached the place, 
was to leave it 
with the utmost 
dispatch, even for 
the unknown 
perils and priva¬ 
tions that might be 
in store for us in 
the great beyond. 
For it seemed to 
me that a more 
cheerless. God¬ 
forsaken spot 
could not exist on 
the face of this 
planet. Rut I had 
yet to see Sredni- 
Kolymsk. 

We remained 
for three days 
here while fresh 
reindeer were pro¬ 
cured for the long 
journey northward* A log hut was placed at 
our disposal by M* Katchcroffski, the chief 
of police, a kind and courteous host, who 
rendered valuable assistance to those sur¬ 
vivors of the ill-fated Jeanette expedition who 
were enabled to reach here, half dead from 
cold and exposure, after the disaster on the 
Lena delta. Even the political exiles at 
Verkhoyansk, of whom there were under a 
score, had a good word for Katchcroffski, 
who is a geflrtfjt^ry ^ not a gaoler, like 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



COSSACKS EJtmjOYEP IN T*A NSPQRTTNG EX M BS TO £fcBptt(-KQLVM£K* 

Frvm a b$ Harm iftndt 




662 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


too many of his class. And yet Verkhoyansk 
must be a terrible a hiding-place for civilized 
beings. Although Yakutsk bears the reputa¬ 
tion, the former is undoubtedly the coldest 
place in Siberia, if not in the world. M. 
Abramovski, a Polish exile, who for some 
years past had kept a meteorological record, 
told me that careful observations showed a 
mean temperature for tlie whole year of four 
degrees below zero. In hard winters the ther¬ 
mometer fell repeatedly to seventy degrees 
below zero, and on one occasion touched 
minus eighty-one degrees Fahrenheit. During 
our stay in early March it only registered 
minus sixty-five degrees in Verkhoyansk 
itself, but at the first settlement we reached, 
two hundred miles distant, on our way north 
it fell to seventy-eight degrees below zero. 


long struggle for existence. Abramovski 
had vainly tried to grow* vegetables, but, 
although these thrive around Yakutsk, they 
obstinately refuse to appear in this ice¬ 
bound soil Only Katcheroffski had suc¬ 
ceeded in raising a few' miserable cabbages, 
which were served at his table with as much 
ostentation as early strawberries or asparagus 
at home. Beef and deer-meat were un¬ 
attainable luxuries, and horseflesh therefore 
proves the staple diet of the exiles in winter, 
when they cannot procure fish from the 
River Yana. But horseflesh is looked upon 
as a luxury by the Yakutes, and to my surprise 
many people here averred that they preferred 
it to reindeer, which is often ill-fed and 
therefore tough and stringy. Altogether 
Verkhoyansk may in many ways be likened 



lHarrp dt H twit 


GENERAL VIEW t>F 1 HE CONVICT SETTLEMENT OF SHHDNI-KOLVMSK. 


Abramovski had passed several years here, 
and his wife, a bright, pretty little woman, 
had voluntarily shared his exile, which was 
drawing to an end. According to Madame 
Abramovski, winter time here is preferable 
to the summer months, which are cursed by 
intolerable heat and clouds of mosquitoes. 
There is also, during the winter, a monthly 
post from Yakutsk, while in the open season 
Verkhoyansk, like other Arctic settlements, 
is cut off from the outer world by unfordable 
rivers and leagues of swamp and impassable 
forest. Verkhoyansk is not unhealthy, and 
epidemics and pulmonary diseases are almost 
unknown, although during the spring and 
autumn rheumatism is prevalent 

But all the exiles here bitterly complained 
of the inadequate allowance fur their main¬ 
tenance made by the Government. Provisions 
of all kinds were so dear that life became one 


to a paradise when compared to Sredni- 
Kolymsk, for literature, that golden lining to 
the cloud of every exile, is never lacking 
throughout the long winter darkness. I 
found the most recent works of Tolstoi, 
Zola, and Sienkiewicz in the small but well- 
stocked library, to say nothing of the transla¬ 
tions of many English authors, ranging from 
Charles Dickens to Anthony Hope, 

We left Verkhoyansk for the Arctic Ocean 
on the 2 nd of March. I will not linger over 
that weary journey of twelve hundred miles, 
an account of which appears in the current 
number of The Wide War id Magazine* 
For— 

league on league on league of desolation, 

Mile on mile on mile without a change, 


* The Magazine named is puMishing in a «nes of article* hy 
Mr. Harry dc Wiiuli an account of the whole of his daong 
journey “Overland from 1'aris to New Vork T " illustrated by 
\\K &utkjnc photographs taken ffl 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















DARKEST SIBERIA AND ITS POLITICAL EXILES , 


663 


accurately and sufficiently describes the 
bleak and barren stretch of country which 
lies between Central Siberia and the shores 
of the Polar Sea. Nearing Sredni-Kolymsk 
the expedition would occasionally be brought 
to a standstill by the howling 
blizzards that sweep down 
from the Arctic, and would 
be compelled to halt, some¬ 
times for a couple of days, 
seventy or eighty miles from 
the nearest shelter, until the 
gale moderated* Tainted 
fish or deer-meat was the 
only food obtainable in the 
filthy rest houses, never less 
than two hundred miles 
apart. But if we suffered, as 
we undoubtedly did, during 
those twenty-six days of 
hunger and cold, what must 
this journey mean to poorly 
clad, ill-nourished women, 
who generally take three or 
four times as long to accom¬ 
plish the distance? 

At last, one morning early 
in April we reached Sredni 
Kolymsk, It was a glorious 
day ; one of those peculiar 
to the Arctic, when the pure, 
frosty air exhilarates like 
champagne, and snowy plain and rime- 
covered forest sparkle like diamonds in the 
dazzling sunshine under a sky of cloudless 
blue. But the sight of that dismal drab 
settlement and its sad associations seemed to 
suddenly depress the mind and spirits, and 
to darken the smiling face 
of Nature like a coffin 
which has been borne by 
mistake into a brilliant ball¬ 
room. Imagine a double 
row of log huts, plastered 
with mud and lit by windows 
of ice, some of which, de¬ 
tached by the bright spring 
sunshine, have fallen to the 
ground. This avenue of 
hovels forms the main street, 
at one extremity of which 
stands a dilapidated wooden 
church and crowded grave¬ 
yard, at the other the resi¬ 
dence of the chief of police, 
the only decent and weather¬ 
proof building in the place. 

Picture a score of other 
dwellings, even more squalid 


than the rest, scattered around the village 
within an area of half a mile, and you have 
before you the last 11 civilized” outpost in 
North-Eastern Siberia: Sredni-Kolymsk. At 
first sight the place looked like a settlement 
deserted by trappers or some 
village cleared of every lb ing 
soul by some deadly sickness 
—anything hut the abode 
of human beings. For a 
while the sound of our bells 
attracted no attention, but 
presently skin-clad forms 
emerged here and there 
from the miserable huts, and 
haggard faces nodded a 
cheerless welcome as we 
drove through the village 
towards the police office. 
Here a hut was assigned to 
us, and we took up our 
residence for ten days in 
quarters colder and filthier 
than any we had occupied 
since leaving Yakutsk. And 
yet our lodgings were prefer¬ 
able to many of those occu¬ 
pied by the exiles. 

Of the latter, who at the 
time of my visit numbered 
twelve men and two women, 
only two had been banished 
here for actual crime* One of these was 
Madame Akimova, who was found with 
explosives concealed about her person at the 
Coronation of Nicholas II., and the other 
Zimmermann, convicted of complicity in ihe 
destruction of the Government workshops at 


Lodz, by dynamite, a few 
years ago. I was informed 
by the officials that, with 
these two exceptions, the 
Sredni -Kolymsk exiles were 
guiltless of active partici¬ 
pation in the revolutionary 
movement; and, indeed, 
most of them appeared to 
me to be quiet, intelligent 
men of moderate political 
views, who would probably 
have contributed to the 
welfare and prosperity of 
any country but their own. 
Only one or two openly pro¬ 
fessed what may be called 
anarchistic views, and these 

ZIMMERMANN, WHO CONSPIRED TO BLOW UP W CfC YOUTlg StlldeUtS* reCCTlt 

hie government WORKSHOP with arrivals, who looked more 

fvw, „ to I'iFxH. • 'ike robbing an orchid than 

r\rtftlp Ungmal from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




MADAME AKIMOVA, WHO TRIED TO MURDER 
THE PRESENT C2AK, AND HRR BABY. 
fV>jT« a Phattr bjf Harry de If’until. 








66 4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


threatening a throne* So far as I could see, 
however, most of these so - called political 
offenders had been consigned to this living 
tomb merely for openly expressing opinions in 
favour of a Constitution and freedom of speech. 

The most pitiable peculiarity about Sredni- 
Kolymslc is perhaps the morbid influence of 
the place and its surroundings on the mental 
powers. The first thing noticeable amongst 
those who had passed some years here was 
the utter vacancy of mind, even of men who, 
in Europe, had shone in the various profes¬ 
sions* Amongst them was a well-known 
Polish author,* who, upon his arrival here 
only three years ago, 
set to work on an his¬ 
torical novel to lighten 
the leaden hours of 
exile* But in six 
months the work was 
thrown aside in dis¬ 
gust, and less than a 
year afterwards the 
writer's mind had be¬ 
come so unhinged by 
the maddening mono¬ 
tony of life that he 
would, in civilization, 
have been placed 
under restraint I met 
also a once famous 
professor of anatomy 
{who had resided here 
for seven years), who 
seemed completely in¬ 
different to the latest 
discoveries of medical 
and surgical science 
at home, and yet dis¬ 
played an eager in¬ 
terest as to what was 
going on in the Paris music halls* Indeed, 
1 can safely state that, with three exceptions, 
there was not a perfectly sane man or woman 
amongst all the exiles I saw here* “A 
couple of years usually makes them shaky/ 1 
said an official, “and the strongest-minded 
generally become childish when they have 
been here for five or six*” “ But why is it. ?” 
I asked. My friend walked to the window 
and pointed to the mournful, desolate street, 
the dismal drab hovels, and frozen, pine- 
fringed river darkening in the dusk. “That,” 
he said, “and the awful silence—day after 
day, year after year, not a sound. I have 
stood in that street at midday and heard a 
watch tick in my pocket* Think of it, Mr. 
de VVindt, I myself arrived here only a few 

* l wjp lo suppress tbe nanie. 


months ago, but even I shall soon have to 

get away for a change, or-" and he tapped 

his forehead significantly* 

The insanity so prevalent among the exiles 
of Sredni-Kolymsk is no doubt largely due 
to physical privation. When a man is 
banished for political reasons to Siberia his 
property is confiscated, to the uttermost 
farthing, by the Russian Government, which 
provides a fixed monthly allowance for his 
maintenance in exile. The sum differs in 
the various districts. At Verkhoyansk it is 
sixteen roubles a month ; at Sredni-Kolymsk, 
nineteen roubles a month (about one pound 
sixteen shillings), 
although whether the 
extra six shillings is 
generously added to 
meet the increased 
cost of provisions 
twelve hundred miles 
farther north did not 
transpire. In any 
case, the allowance is 
absurdly inadequate, 
in a place where the 
necessaries of life are 
always at famine 
prices, by reason of 
the enormous dis¬ 
tance of Sredni- 
Kolymsk from the 
nearest civilized 
centre, and the primi¬ 
tive mode of travel by 
which it is reached* 
During our stay here 
flour was selling at a 
rouble a pound and 
an abominable kind 
of brick tea at two 
roubles a pound, while candles, sugar, and 
salt cost exactly five times as much as at 
Yakutsk, where European prices are already 
trebled* The price of deer meat is of course 
prohibitive, and the exiles were accordingly 
living, throughout the winter, upon fish 
caught the preceding summer, unsalted, and 
therefore putrid and quite unfit for human 
consumption. And this at midday was their 
sole nourishment, breakfast and supper con¬ 
sisting of one glass of weak tea and a 
diminutive piece of gritty black bread. 
Sugar was such a luxury that a lump was 
held in the teeth while the liquid was 
swallowed, one piece thus serving for several 
days in succession. VVere house rent and 
clothing provided, even the miserable pittance 
paid by the Government might suffice to 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



A WELL-KNOWN l*ttLISH Wh ITEK. WHO WENT MAD IN EXILE. 

FVwMi a Photo, hv Harry de H'huK 








DARKEST SIBERIA A AD ITS POLITICAL EXILES. 


665 


keep body and soul together, but this is 
not the case. Some of the exiles were 
therefore occupying filthy and dilapidated 
sheds, that had been vacated even by 
Yakutes, while many were so poorly clad 
that in winter-time they were unable to 
leave the cheerless shelter of their draughty 
and malodorous huts. 

The house occupied by M. Strajevsky, a 
Polish gentleman whose personality I shall 
always recall with sincere regard and sym¬ 
pathy, will serve as a type of the better class 
of dwelling occupied by the “political/ 1 It 
consisted of a losv, mud-plastered log-hut, 
about twelve feet in height, the flat roof of 
which, however, overtopped the adjoining 
dwellings by several inches. Fourteen feet 
by ten was the measurement of the one room 
it contained, the walls of which were of rough- 
hewn logs and the floor of beaten earth, 
glistening with damp and greasy with the filth 
of years. A yellow light filtered dimly, even 


warmth is scarcely a success, for we sat, during 
my visit, in an atmosphere of minus forty- 
seven degrees Fahrenheit by my thermometer. 
And in this miserable den Strajevsky, once 
a rising barrister at Warsaw, had passed eight 
of the best years or his life, and is still 
dragging out a dull, hopeless existence. 

In summer-time the life here is perhaps 
less intolerable than during the winter, for 
the Kolyma River teems with fish, and edible 
roots and berries are obtainable in the woods 
around the settlement. Geese, duck, and 
other wildfowl a/e plentiful in the spring, 
and, as the use of firearms is not prohibited, 
game is at this season a welcome addition 
to a generally naked larder. Man if l labour, 
too, is often procurable, for in addition 
to its exiles Sredni-Kolymsk has Lorn three 
to four hundred inhabitants, consisting of 
officials, discharged criminal convicts (who 
have received a grant of land from the 
Government), and Yakute natives. In sum- 



Frttmu t'hula. bu] TH& OLD HOSPITAL OF SKEBKt-KuLYMfiK. [Harry d« H'uuM. 


on the brightest day, through the slab of ice 
w hich formed the solitary window, but revealed 
only too clearly the miserable squalor of the 
room. Some planks on trestles covered with 
deer-skins formed my friend’s sleeping-place, 
and more planks, strewn with books and 
writing materials, his table. An old kero¬ 
sene tin was the only chair available, and, as 
I sealed myself, my friend went to the mud 
fire-place and kindled a few sticks, which 
burned brightly for a few moments and then 
flickered out, Strajevsky then left the hut, 
climbed on to the roof, and blocked up the 
chimney with a bundle of rags. This, lie 
explained, is Lhe Yakute mode of warming 
an apartment, and is practised for economy, 
for Sredm-Kolymsk is near the tree-line, and 
firewood, like everything else, is an expen 
sive article. Bui this method of obtaining 
Vol. 84. 


mer, therefore, an exile may earn a few 
roubles by fishing, trapping, wood-cutting, 
etc., but the dark winter months must be 
passed in a condition of inactive despair. 
During the latter season there are two mails 
from Russia, brought by the Cossacks in 
charge of the yearly consignment of exiles, 
hut in the spring, summer, and early autumn 
Sredni Kolymsk is as completely cut off from 
the outer world as a desert island in mid- 
ocean, by swamps and thousands of shallow 
lakes, which extend landwards on every side 
for hundreds of miles. A reindeer-sled 
skims rapidly over their frozen surface, but 
in lhe open season a traveller sinks knee- 
deep at every step, and progress becomes an 
impossibility. 

Summer here is no glad season of sun¬ 
shine and flowers, but only a few brief 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










666 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE 


weeks of damp and cloudy weather* Even 
on fine days the sun looms through a curtain 
of mist; rainy weather prevails, and the leaky 
huts are sometimes flooded for days together 
by an incessant downpour. Swarms of 
mosquitoes and sand - flies 
add to the general discom¬ 
fort, for there is no protec¬ 
tion against these pests by 
night or day. There is much 
sickness at this season, espe¬ 
cially a kind of low fever 
arising from damp dwellings 
and the miasma from thfe 
surrounding marshes. 

Epidemics are frequent, and 
during our visit smallpox 
was raging, chiefly, however, 
amongst the native popu¬ 
lation. Leprosy amongst 
the Yakutes is as prevalent 
here as in Central Asia, 
while the Russians suffer 
chiefly from bronchitis and 
diphtheria, which never fail 
to make their appearance 
with the return of spring. And yet in this 
hot-bed of pestilence there is no Government 
infirmary, or any provision whatsoever made 
for the sick. Miskievitch, a young medical 
student, and himself an exile, was attending 
the community as efficiently as circumstances 
would permit, hut an almost total lack of 
medical and surgical appliances rendered his 
task a hopeless one. 1 inquired for the old 
hospital, which I was told still existed, and 
was shown a barn-Iike construction, partly 
open to the winds, and occupied by a family 
of filthy but thriving Yakutes. The new in¬ 
firmary, for which a 
large sum of money 
was voted in St. Peters¬ 
burg ten years ago, ad¬ 
joined the older build¬ 
ing ; but the former 
was still in its initial 
stage of foundations 
and four corner posts, 
where it will probably 
remain, the silent wit¬ 
ness of a late Isprav- 
nik’s reign and rascality. 

Put there exists a 
mental disease far more 
d read cd t ha n a n y hod i ly 
affliction, 01 than even 
death itself, by this 
little colony ol martyrs. 

This is a form of hys¬ 


teria, chiefly prevalent amongst women, and 
common to all persons, officials, exiles, and 
natives alike, who remain for any length of 
time in this Arctic Inferno. The attack is 
usually unexpected, A person hitherto per¬ 
fectly calm and collected 
will suddenly commence to 
shout, sing, and dance with¬ 
out warning and at the most 
inopportune moment, and 
from that time the mind 
of the patient becomes per¬ 
manently deranged. A 
curious phase of this mys¬ 
terious disease is the irre¬ 
sistible impulse to imitate 
the voice and actions of 
others. Thus I witnessed a 
painful scene one evening 
in the hut of an exile who 
had assembled his comrades 
to meet me, and in the street 
one day a Russian woman 
born and bred here seized 
my arm and repeated, with 
weird accuracy, a sentence 
in French which I was addressing to my com¬ 
panion, the Vjcomte de Clinchamp. This 
strange disease is quite unknown in other 
Siberian settlements, and is probably due to 
the intolerable climate and surroundings and, 
last but not least, to the eternal stillness and 
monotony of this hell upon earth. The 
malady would seem to be essentially local, for 
the daughter of a Sredni - Kolymsk official 
who was attacked by it immediately recovered 
on her removal to Yakutsk. On the other 
hand, sufferers compelled to remain here 
generally become after a few years hopelessly 



TIIK liJiAVK OF AN KXlt.K WHO WAS UBlVFN TO M'lCIDK. 
JVon* a Jjy Harry <fe lltnrfl. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



All MCI F-V ITCH, THE DOCTOR OF tHR SETTLE* 
WENT, AND HJMSEI-F AN F-XIT.E. 

Frowi a jhfcrjfo, bu Mwrit ds Wimti. 


t 










DARKEST SIBERIA AND ITS POLITICAL EXILES. 


667 




cares of her squalid 
little menage to the 
exclusion of alt 
mundane matters, 
I sometimes won¬ 
dered, asl sat in her 
hut and watched 
the little woman, 
clad in rusty black 
and honestly striv¬ 
ing to make his 
home less wretched 
for a devoted hus¬ 
band, whether this 
could really be 
Theisa Akimova, 


From H PhoUj. by) MAIM ME AKIMOVa's HUT, 

insane. In the opinion of Dr, Miskievitch 
the affliction is chiefly due to total inertia 
of the reasoning faculties, which in time 
becomes a positive torture to the civilized 
mind. 

There are many ways by which this evil 
could be remedied. For instance, were 
mental work of any kind—even unremunera- 
tive—provided by the Government the inno- 
vation would be gladly welcomed by every 
exile with whom I conversed. But the 
authorities seem to consider apathy of the 
mind as essential a punishment as privation 
of the body. Some years ago the exiles were 
permitted to instruct young children of the 
free community, and their life was thus 
rendered infinitely less unbearable than 
before. But shortly 
afterwards, for no 
apparent reason,an 
order was issued 
from St. Petersburg 
prohibiting this so- 
called “privilege/* 

Oddly enough, I 
found an almost 
total lack of resent¬ 
ment amongst the 
disconsolate vie^ 
tims consigned 
here by an out¬ 
rageous travesty of 
justice. Madame 
Akimova {whose 
portrait has already 
been given) for 
instance, a plain' 
buthomely-looking 
person, devoted to 
ber child, seemed 

1 ;. 1 T«IE MlsRARV, FtHJNHEH HV THR KXU.E* TT1RM&RI VKS —STRAJKVSXV ANH VANflTlTCll H-AVlM* CHESS 

engrossed wun me Frifm fl Phljlit bjf ltarrif tle irfmR 

Original from 

Digitized by \^UV 11 UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


{Hamm* windt. the famous Nihi¬ 
list, whose name 
at one time electrified Europe. We often 
spoke of Paris, which she had visited, but 
Akimova evinced little or no interest in the 
political questions or the day, and I never 
heard her murmur a word of complaint as to 
her fate. Nevertheless, she is here for life, 
Zimmermann was another example of patient 
resignation, although I fancy that in his case 
years of exile had somewhat dulled the edge 
of a once powerful intellect Strajevsky, 
Miskievitch, and the others were enduring 
a life of intolerable suffering for so-called 
offences which, in any country but Russia, 
would not even have subjected them to a 
fine, and yet when they alluded to their loss 
of liberty the tone was never vindictive 
towards those who had sent them into exile. 










668 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


.And it is a significant fact that, although 
throughout my association with these people 
the higher officials of State in Russia were 
sometimes execrated, I never once heard a 
member of the Imperial Family spoken of 
with the slightest animosity or even dis¬ 
respect. The reason for this is, perhaps, to 
be found in the following incident. Upon 
one occasion I expressed my surprise to an 
exile that His Nlajesty the Oar, a ruler 
renowned for his humanity and tolerance, 
should sanction the existence of such a place 
of exile as Sredni-Kolymsk. “ The Em¬ 
peror ! " was the answer, with a bitter laugh ; 
“you may be quite sure that the Emperor 
doesn’t know what 
goes on, or we 
should not be here 
for a day longer/ 1 
Although the ex¬ 
pedition remained 
here for only ten 
days it seemed, on 
the day cf our de¬ 
parture, as though 
as many months had 
elapsed since our 
arrival. Each day 
seemed an eternity, 
for iny visits to the 
huts of the exiles 
generally took place, 
for obvious reasons, 
after dark. During 
the hours of day¬ 
light there was abso¬ 
lutely nothing to do 
but to stare moodily 
out of window at 
the wintry scene, as 
wan and cheerless as a lunar landscape. 
Outdoor exercise is undesirable in a place 
where you cannot walk three hundred yards 
in any direction without floundering into a 
snowdrift So during the interminable after¬ 
noons I usually found my way to the tiny 
log-hut known as the Library. It contained 
some seven or eight hundred works, on 
dull and dreary subjects, which, however, 
had been read and re-read until most 
of the volumes were torn and coverless. 
Amongst the numerous photographs of 
political exiles, past and present, that were 
nailed to the log-walls, one object daily 
excited my curiosity. This was a funeral 
wreath composed of faded wild flowers 
secured by a black silk ribbon and bearing 
the golden inscription, 11 Atif Wiedersehen ” 
in German characters. While supping one 


evening at the house of an official I happened 
to mention this withered garland, and learnt 
that it had been laid upon the coffin of a 
young exile by his comrades only a few 
weeks previously. The sad circumstances 
under which the man had met his death, and 
the startling denouement that followed the 
latter, form one of the darkest tragedies that 
have occurred of recent years in the annals 
of Siberian exile. I give the story word for 
word as it was related to me by the chief of 
police, the successor of the infamous Ivanoff 
who figures in the tale. 

In the w inter of 1900 there came to Sredni- 
Kolymsk one Serge Kaleshnikoff, who, pre¬ 
vious to his pre¬ 
liminary detention 
at the prison of 
Kharkoff, had held 
a commission in the 
Russian Votu nteer 
Fleet. For alleged 
complicity with a 
revolutionary society 
known as the ** Will 
of the People,”* 
Kaleshnikoff was 
sentenced to im¬ 
prisonment for 
twelve months in a 
European fortress 
and subsequent 
banishment for eight 
years to Siberia. 

Kaleshnikoff w p as a 
young man of about 
thirty years of age, 
whose cheerful, sym¬ 
pathetic nature and 
attractive m a 11 n e rs 
soon rendered him a universal favourite. Even 
the officials regarded him more as a friend 
than a prisoner with one exception. This 
was Ivanoff, the late chief of police, whose 
marked aversion to the young sailor w*as 
noticeable from the first day the latter set 
foot in the settlement. Rut as Ivanoff was 
an ignorant and surly boor, disliked even by 
his colleagues, Kaleshnikoff put up with his 
petty persecutions with equanimity. 

One day last summer, while fishing from a 
canoe in the Kolyma, Kaleshnikoff espied 
the barge of Ivanoff returning from Nijni- 
Kolymsk, a small settlement about three 
hundred miles down the river. The exile, 
who was expecting a letter from a fellow 
“political” domiciled at the latter place, 
paddled out into mid-stream and boarded 

* Uus>bll l " NiirvJiiua-Volya, 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






BA REEST SIBERIA AND ITS POLITICAL EXILES. 


66 y 


the barge, leaving his canoe to trail astern. 
Ivanoff, who met him at the gangway, had 
been drinking heavily, as was his wont. 
His only answer to KakshnikoflFs polite 
inquiry was an oath and a shameful epithet, 
to which the other naturally replied with 
some warmth. An angry discussion fol¬ 
lowed, with the result that 
the chief of police, now livid 
with rage, summoned the 
guard. By his orders Kaleslv 
nikoff was then bound hand 
and foot, flogged with rope- 
ends into a state of insensi¬ 
bility, and flung, bruised and 
bleeding, into his boat. The 
latter was then cast adrift, 
and the barge proceeded on 
her way up river. 

The incident occurred 
some miles from Sredni - 
Kolymsk. The next evening, 
as Madame Boreisha and 
M, Ergin (an intimate friend 
of Kaleshnikoff) were 
strolling by the riverside, 
they met the latter, who, 
weakened by exhaustion and loss of blood, 
had taken more than twenty-four hours to 
return to the settlement. Ergin, shocked 
by his friend’s wild and blood stained appear¬ 
ance, pressed him for an explanation, but 
Kaleshnikoff, with a vacant stare, waved him 
away and, with a despairing gesture, dis¬ 
appeared through the doorway of his hut, 
only a few yards distant. A few minutes 
later a pistol - shut was heard, and Ergin, 


An inquiry followed, and Ivanoff was 
placed under temporary arrest Unfortu¬ 
nately for the chief of police, this order 
did noi entail confinement to the house or he 
might have escaped the tragic fate which, 
oddly enough, overtook him on the afternoon 
of the very day that his victim was laid to rest 
in a lonely grave on the hanks 
of the Kolyma. As luck would 
have it the hated official was 
lounging outside his door¬ 
way, smoking a cigarette, as 
Ergin—a gun on his shoulder 
—strolled homewards from 
the marshes. The latter 
asserts that the act was un¬ 
premeditated, for at the time 
his thoughts were far away. 
But Ergin adds: “The 
sudden appearance of that 
evil face and the recollection 
of its owner’s foul and in¬ 
human cruelty suddenly 
inspired me with uncontroll¬ 
able fury, and I raised my 
fowling piece and shot the 
man dead. Just as he had 
divined my purpose and had turned to 
rush indoors.” Ergin lias ere this been 
tried for murder at Yakutsk, but I was 
assured that he would be acquitted. For 
IvanofTs conduct would in any case 
have met with severe punishment at the 
hands of the authorities in St. Peters¬ 
burg. Physical brutality is, as regards 
Russian political exiles, a thing of the past, 
and an official who now lays a linger on any 



M. EIU;in t who shot THP cm IFF OF kji.ice. 
From a Photo. tg Harrg tit H ' 1 c ju£<C. 



instinctively fearing what had happened, 
rushed to his friend’s assistance, only to find 
that the latter had taken his life. Beside 
the dead man was a sheet of paper bearing 
the words, hastily scrawled in pencil : 44 Fare 
well ! I go to a happier land/* 


person under Ids charge lays himself open to 
instant dismissal, or even to a term of im¬ 
prisonment. 

Such is a plain and unvarnished account 
of the penal settlement of Sredni Kolymsk, 
written less with the object of entertaining the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


670 



reading public than that 
of drawing attention to an 
accursed spot which should 
surely* and without delay* 
he erased from the face of 
civilization. The Kalesh- 
nikoff tragedy is only one 
of many that have occurred 
of recent years, and* 
although space will not 
admit of my giving the 
details of others* I can 
vouch for the fact that 
since 189S no fewer than 
three cases of suicide and 
four of insanity have 
occurred here amongst a 
score or so of exiles. And 
yet every winter more 
miserable hovels are pre^ 
pared for the reception of 
exiled comrades, every 
year Sredni-Kolymsk en¬ 
folds fresh victims in her 
deadly embrace. u You 
will tell them in England 
of our life, 551 said one, his eyes dim with 
tears, as 1 entered the sled which was to 


hear me, through months 
of Arctic desolation to the 
Bering Straits. And the 
promise made that day in 
that lifeless* forsaken 
corner of the earth, u where 
God is high and the Czar 
is far away/’ 1 have now 
faithfully kept. For the 
first time for thirty years 
I am enabled to give an 
“unofficial” account of 
these unfortunates, and to 
deliver to the world their 
piteous appeal for deliver¬ 
ance. May it be that 
these pages have not been 
written in vain, that the 
clemency of a wise and 
merciful ruler may yet be 
extended towards the un¬ 
happy outcasts in that 
Siberian hell of famine, 
cold, and darkness* scarcely 
less terrible in its ghastly 
loneliness than those frozen 
realms of eternal silence which enshrine the 
mystery of the world. 


YAKTSKOO* FXII-KL) FOR SMUGGLING RIFLES— 
I IS His HAND IS ills DINNER OF FROZEN FISH. 
Ftwh n Photo, bp Harry dr Witttft. 



Pnvm fi rJtit" ftp} a tittOUr OF E X I I.F.S, ( ffarr? dr lCiKiJf 

n- • f"*rkr*nlo Original from 

Digitized by VjCMJJjlC UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















Breaking a Spell. 


By W. W. 

ITCHCRAF 1 '?’’ said the 
old man, thoughtfully, us 
he scratched his scanty 
whiskers. No, I ain't heard 
o’ none in these parts for a 
long time. There used to 
be a little of it about when I was a boy* 
and there was some talk of it arter I’d 
growed up, but Clay bury folk never took 
much count of it. The last bit of it I 
remember was about forty years ago, and 
that wasn’t so much witchcraft as foolishness. 

There was a man in this place then—Joe 
Barlcomb by name—who was a lirm believer 
in it, and ’e used to do all sorts of things to 
save hisself from it. He was a new-comer 
in Clay bury, and there was such a lot of it 
about in the parts he came from that the 
people thought o’ nothing else hardly. 

He was a man as got f iniseif very much 
liked at fust, especially by the old ladies, 


and say wot nice, pretty ways he’ad. Joe Bari- 
comb was everything at fust, but when they 
got to ’ear that his perliteness was because r e 
thought arf of ’em was witches, and didn't 
know which arf, they altered their minds. 

In a month or two he was the laughing¬ 
stock of the place; but wot was worse to 
’ini than that was that he’d made enemies of 
all the old ladies. Some of ’em was free- 
spoken women* and ? e couldn’t sleep for 
thinking of the ’arm they might do ’irn. 

He was terrible uneasy about it at fust, but. 


Jacobs. 

as nothing ’appened and he seemed to go on 
very prosperous-like, ’e began to forget ’is 
fears, when all of a sudden f t went ’ome 
one day and found ’is wife in bed with a 
broken leg. 

She .was standing on a broken chair to 
reach something down from the dresser when 
it ’appened, and it was pointed out to Joe 
Barlcomb that it w T as a thing anybody might 
ha’ done without being bewitched ; but he 
said 'e knew better, and that they’d kept that 
broken chair for standing on for years and 
years to save the others, and nothing ’ad ever 
’appened afore. 

In less than a week arter that three of his 
young ’uns was down with the measles, and, 
’is wife being laid up, he sent for ’er mother 
to come and nurse ’em. IPs as true as I 
sit ’ere, but that pore old lady ’adn’t been 
in the house two hours afore she went 
to bed with the yellow jaundice. 

Joe Barlcomb 
went out of ’is 
mind a’most. He’d 
never liked J is 
wife’s mother, and 
he wouldn't ’are 
had ’er in the 
house on’y ’e 
wanted her to 
nurse ’is wife and 
children, and 
when she came 
and laid up and 
wanted waiting on 
’e couldn’t dislike 
her enough. 

He was quite 
certain all along 
that somebody 
was putting a spell on ’im, and 
when ’e went out a morning or 
two arterwards and found ’is best 
pig lying dead in a corner of the sty be gave 
up and, going into the ’ouse, told ’em all 
that they’d ? ave to die ’cause he couldn’t do 
anything more for ’em. His wife’s mother 
and ’is wife and the children all started 
crying together, and Joe Barlcomb, when 'e 
thought of ’is pig, he sat down and cried too. 

He sat up late that night thinking it over, 
and, arter looking at it all ways, he made up 
’is mind to go and see Mrs. Prince, an old 
lady that lived all alone by ’erself in a cottage 
near Smith’s farm. He’d set ’er down for 




** HE COT VJK&Y MUCH 

LIKE!?, MHBCIALLY ny THfc 1>LD 
UOfRS.*' 

owing to his being so per¬ 
lite to them, that they 
used to ’old T im up for an 
example to the other men, 


Copyright* 190J, ]>y \V. W, Jacobs in the Unileil Slated of America. 

Prv/-inlff Original from 

Digged by \ j * OOg 1C UNIVERSITY OF MICH IGA N 











6j2 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


wot lie called a white witch, which is the best 
kind and on y do useful things, such as 
charming warts away or telling gals about 
their future ’usbatids; and the next arternoon, 
arter telling 'is wife’s mother that fresh air 
and travelling was the best cure for the 
yellow jaundice, he set off to see ’er. 

Mrs. Prince was sitting at ’er front door 
nursing ’er three cats when ’e got there. She 
was an ugly, little old woman with piercing 
black eyes and a hook nose, and she 'ad a 
quiet, artful sort of a way with ’er that made ’er 
very much disliked. One thing was she was 
always making fun of people, and for another 
she seemed to be able to teli their thoughts, 
and that don't get anybody liked much, 
especially when they don't keep it to their- 
selves. She'd been a lady’s maid all Vt 
young days, and it was very ’ard t6 be taken 
for a witch just because she was old 

“Fine day, ma’am,” ses Joe Barlcomb. 


“Very fine,” ses Mrs. Prince. 

“ Being as I was passing, I just thought I’d 
look in,” ses Joe Barlcomb, eyeing the cats. 

“Take a chair,” ses Mrs. Prince,getting up 
and dusting one down with ’er apron. 

Joe sat down. “I'm in a bit o' trouble, 
ma'am,” he ses, “and 1 thought p'raps as 
you could help me out of it. My pore pig's 
been bewitched, and it s dead.” 

“ Bewitched ?" ses Mrs. Prince, who’d ’card 
of 'is ideas, “ Rubbish, han't talk to me.” 

Digitized by Google 


“ It ain’t rubbish, ma’am,” ses Joe Barl¬ 
comb ; “ three o’ my children is down with 
the measles, my wife’s broke 'er leg, 'er 
mother is laid up in my little place with the 
yellow jaundice, and the pig’s dead.” 

“ Wot, another one ? ” ses Mrs. Prince. 

“ No ; the same one,” ses Joe. 

“Well, f ow am I to help you?” ses Mrs, 
Prince. “ l>o you want me to come and 
nurse 'em ? ” 

“ No, no,” ses Joe, starting and turning 
pale; “ unless you'd like to come and nurse 
my wife's mother," he ses, arter thinking a 
bit, “I was hoping that you’d know who'd 
been overlooking me and that you’d make 
’em take the spell off.” 

Mrs. Prince got up from 'er chair and 
looked round for the broom she'd been 
sweeping with, but, not finding it, she set 
down agin and stared in a curious sort o' 
way at Joe Barlcomb. 

“Oh, I see,” she ses, nodding. 
“ Fancy you guessing 1 was a 
witch.” 

“ You can't deceive me,” ses 
Joe; “I’ve 'ad too much experi¬ 
ence ; I knew it the fust time I saw 
you by the mole on your nose.” 

Mrs. Prince got up and went 
into her back - place, trying her 
ardest to remember wot she'd done 
with that broom. She couldn’t 
find it anywhere, and at last she 
came back and sat staring at Joe 
for so long that J e was arf 
frightened out of his life. And 
by-and-by she gave a 'orrible smile 
and sat rubbing the side of 'er 
nose with 'er finger. 

“If I help you,” she ses at last, 
“will you promise to keep it a 
dead secret and do exactly as I 
tell you ? If you don't, dead pigs'll 
be nothing to the misfortunes 
that you will J ave.” 

“ 1 will,” ses Joe Barlcomb, very 
pale. 

“The spell,” ses Mrs. Prince, 
holding up tier ’ands and shutting 'er eyes, 
“ was put upon you by a man. It is one 
out of six men as is jealous of you because 
you’re so clever, but which one it is I can't 
tell without your assistance. Have you got 
any money?” 

“A little,” ses Joe, anxious-like—“a very 
little. Wot with the yellow jaundice and 
other things, 1 

“ Fust thing to do,” ses Mrs. Prince, still 
with her eyes shut, “ you go up to the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












BREAKING A SPELL. 


6 73 


Cauliflower to-night; the six men'll all be 
there, and you must buy six ha'pennies off of 
them ; one each." 

"Buy six ha'pennies?" ses Joe, staring at 
her 

“ Don't repeat wot I say," ses Mrs. Prince; 
11 it’s unlucky. You buy six ha'pennies for 
a shilling each, without saying wot it's for. 
You'll be able to buy 'em all right if you're 
civil," 

“ It seems to me it don't need much 
civility for that," ses Joe, pulling a long face. 

“When you've got the ha'pennies," ses 
Mrs. Prince, w bring ’em to me and I’ll tell 
you wot to do with ’em. Don't lose no 
time, because I can see that something worse 
is going to 'appen if it ain't prevented." 

“ Is it anything to do with my wife's 
mother getting worse?” ses Joe Barlcomb, 
who was a careful man and didn’t want to 
waste six shillings. 

“ No, something to you/' ses Mrs. Prince. 

Joe Barlcomb went cold all over, and then 
he put down a couple of eggs he'd brought 
round for 'er and went off 'ome agin, and 
Mrs. Prince stood in the doorway with a cat 
on each shoulder and watched ’im till 'e was 
out of sight. 

That night Joe Barlcomb came up to this 
'ere Cauliflower public-house, same as he’d 
been told, and by-and-by, arter he 'ad ’ad a 
pint, he looked round, and taking a shilling 
out of 'is pocket put it on 
the table, and he ses, 

11 Who’ll give me a ha'penny 
for that ? " he ses. 

None of 'em seemed to 
be in a hurry. Bill Jones 
took it up and bit it, and 
rang it on the table and 
squinted at it, and then he 
bit it agin, and turned round 
and asked Joe Barlcomb 
wot was wrong with it. 

“Wrong?" ses Joe; 

“nothing." 

Bill Jones put it down 
agin, “ You're wide awake, 

Joe," he ses, “ but so am I/' 

“ Won't nobody give me 
a ha'penny for it?" ses 
Joe, looking round. 

Then Peter Lamb came 
up, and he looked at it and 
rang it, and at last he gave 
Joe a ha'penny for it and 
took it round, and every¬ 
body 'ad a look at it. 

“It stands to reason it's 

Vd. jrsiv.— 06 , 


a bad 'un/' ses Bill Jones, “but it's so well 
done I wish as I'd bought it." 

“ H-s-h !" ses Peter Lamb ; “don't let the 
landlord 'ear you." 

The landlord ’ad just that moment come 
in, and Peter walked up and ordered a pint, 
and took his tenpence change as bold as 
brass, Arter that Joe Barlcomb bought five 
more ha'pennies afore you could wink a'most, 
and every man wot sold one went up to the 
bar and ’ad a pint and got tenpence change, 
and drank Joe Barlcomb’s health. 

“ There seems to be a lot o' money knock¬ 
ing about to-night/' ses the landlord, as Sam 
Martin, the last of 'em, was drinking 'is pint. 

Sam Martin choked and put 'is pot down 
on the counter with a bang, and him and the 
other five was out o' that door and sailing up 
the road with their tenpences afore the land¬ 
lord could get his breath. He stood in the 
bar scatching his 'end and staring, but he 
couldn't understand it a bit till a man wot 
was too late to sell his ha'penny up and told 
? im all about it. The fuss 'e made was 
terrible. The shillings was in a little heap on 
a shelf at the back o’ the bar, and he did all 
sorts o' things to 'em to prove that they was 
bad, and threatened Joe Barlcomb with the 
police. At last, however, 'e saw wot a fool 
he was making of himself, and arter nearly 
breaking his teeth 'e dropped them into a 
drawer and stirred 'em up with the others. 



HE TOOK IT ROUND AND EVERYBODY 'AD A POOK AT IT." 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











674 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Joe Barlcomb went round the next night 
to see Mrs. Prince, and she asked ’im a lot 
o' questions about the men as ’ad sold ’im 
the ha’pennies. 

“ The fust part ’as been done very well,” 
she ses, nodding her ’ead at ’im ; “ if you do 
the second part as well, you’ll soon know 
who your enemy is.” 

“ Nothing’ll bring the pig back,” ses Joe. 

“There’s worse misfortunes than that, as 
I’ve told you,” ses Mrs. Prince, sharply. 
“ Now, listen to wot I’m going to say to you. 
When the clock strikes twelve to-night-” 

“ Our clock don’t strike,” ses Joe. 

“ Then you must borrow one that does,” 
ses Mrs. Prince, “ and when it strikes twelve 
you must go round to each o’ them six men 
and sell them a ha’penny for a shilling.” 

Joe Barlcomb looked at *er. “’Ow?” he 
ses, short-like. 

“ Same way as you sold ’em a shilling for 
a ha’penny,” ses Mrs. Prince; “ it don’t matter 
whether they buy the ha’pennies or not. 
All you’ve got to do is to go and ask ’em, 
and the man as makes the most fuss is the 
man that ’as put the trouble on you.” 

“ It seems a roundabout way o’ going to 
work,” ses Joe. 

“ Wot /” screams Mrs. Prince, jumping up 
and waving her arms about. “Wot/ Go 
your own way; I’ll have nothing more to do 
with you. And don’t blame me for anything 
that happens. It’s a very bad thing to come 
to a witch for advice and then not to do as 
she tells you. You ought to know that.” 

41 I’ll do it, ma’am,” ses Joe Barlcomb, 
trembling. 

“You’d better,” ses Mrs. Prince; “and 
mind —not a word to anybody.” 

Joe promised her agin, and ’e went off 
and borrered a clock from Albert Price, and 
at twelve o’clock that night he jumped up 
out of bed and began to dress ’lmself and 
pretend not to ’ear his wife when she asked 
’im where he was going. 

It was a dark, nasty sort o’ night, blowing 
and raining, and, o’ course, everybody ’ad 
gone to bed long since. The fust cottage 
Joe came to was Bill Jones’s, and, knowing 
Bill’s temper, he stood for some ttme afore 
he could make up ’is mind to knock ; but at 
last he up with ’is stick and banged away at 
the door. 

A minute ar ter wards he ’eard the bed¬ 
room winder pushed open, and then Bill 
Jones popped his ’ead out and called to 
know wot was the matter and who it was. 

“It’s me—Joe Barlcomb,” ses Joe, “and 
I want to speak to you very partikler.” 

Diqilized by GoOQ le 

* O 


“ Well, speak away,” ses Bill. “ You go 
into the back room,” he ses, turning to his 
wife. 

“ Whaffor ? ” ses Mrs. Jones. 

“ ’Cos I don’t know wot Joe is going to 
say,” ses Bill. “You go in now, afore I 
make you.” 

His wife went off grumbling, and then Bill 
told Joe Barlcomb to hurry up wot he’d got 
to say as ’e ’adn’t got much on and the 
weather wasn’t as warm as it might be. 

“ I sold you a shilling for a ha’penny last 
night, Bill,” ses Joe. 

“ Do you want to sell any more? ” ses Bill 
Jones, putting his ’and down to where ’is 
trouser pocket ought to be. 

“ Not exactly that,” ses Joe Barlcomb. 
“This time I want you to sell me a shilling 
for a ha’penny.” 

Bill leaned out of the winder and stared 
down at Joe Barlcomb, and then he ses, in a 
choking voice, “Is that wot you’ve come 
disturbing my sleep for at this time o’ 
night ? ” he ses. 

“ I must ’ave it, Bill,” ses Joe. 

“ Well, if you’ll wait a moment,” ses Bill, 
trying to speak perlitdy, “I’ll come down 
and give it to you.” 

Joe didn't like ’is tone of voice, but he 
waited, and all of a sudden Bill Jones came 
out o’ that door like a gun going off and 
threw ’imself on Joe Barlcomb. Both of 
'em was strong men, and by the time they’d 
finished they was so tired they could ’ardly 
stand. Then Bill Jones went back to bed, 
and Joe Barlcomb, arter sitting down on the 
doorstep to rest ’imself, went off and knocked 
up Peter Lamb. 

Peter Lamb was a little man and no good 
as a fighter, but the things he said to Joe 
Barlcomb as he leaned out o’ the winder 
and shook ’is fist at him was ’arder to bear 
than blows. He screamed away at the top 
of ’is voice for ten minutes, and then 'e 
pulled the winder to with a bang and went 
back to bed. 

Joe Barlcomb was very tired, but he walked 
on to Jasper Potts’s ’ouse, trying ’ard as he 
walked to decide which o’ the fust two ’ad 
made the most fuss. Arter he *ad left Jasper 
Potts ’e got more puzzled than ever, Jasper 
being just as bad as the other two, and Joe 
leaving ’im at last in the middle of loading 
’is gun. 

By the time he’d made ’is last call—at 
Sam Martin’s—it was past three o’clock, and 
he could no more tell Mrs. Prince which ’ad 
made the most fuss than ’e could fly. There 
didn’t seem to be a pin to choose between 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




BREAKING A SPELL. 


6 75 


'em, and, arf worried out of Is life, he went 
straight on to Mrs, Prince and knocked 3 er 
up to tell ’er. She thought the ’ouse was 
afire at fust, and came screaming out o’ the 
front door in 3 er bedgown, and when she 
found out who it was she was worse to deal 
with than the men 'ad been. 

She ’ad quieted down by the time Joe 
went round to see ’er the next evening, and 
asked J im to describe exactly wot the six men 
J ad done and said. She sat listening quite 
quiet at fust, but arter a time she scared Joe 


by making a odd, croupy sort o 1 noise in ’er 
throat, and at last she got up and walked 
into the back-place. She was there a long 
time making funny noises, and at last Joe 
walked towards the door on tiptoe and 
peeped through the crack and saw ’er in a 
sort o’ fit, sitting in a chair with ’er arms 
folded acrost her bodice and rocking ’erself 
up and down and moaning, Joe stood as if 
Vd been frozen a’most, and then ’e crept 
back to 'is seat and waited, and when she 
came into the room agin she said as the 
trouble 3 ad all been caused by Bill Jones, 
She sat still for nearly arf an hour, thinking 
’ard, and then she turned to Joe and ses :— 

“ Can you read ? ” she ses. 

11 No,” ses Joe, wondering wot was coming 
next. 

“ That’s all right, then/ 1 she ses, “ because 
if you could I couldn't do wot I’m going to 
do / 3 


“ That shows the ’arm of eddication,” ses 
Joe. “ I never did believe in it” 

Mrs. Prince nodded, and then she went 
and got a bottle with something in it which 
looked to Joe like gin, and arter getting out 
*er pen and ink and printing some words on 
a piece o’ paper she stuck it on the bottle, 
and sat looking at Joe and thinking. 

“ Take this up to the Cauliflower,” she 
ses, “make friends with Bill Jones, and give 
him as much beer as he’ll drink, and give 3 im 
a little o’ this gin in each mug. If he drinks 
it the spell will be broken, 
and you’ll be luckier than 
you 5 ave ever been in your 
life afore. When Vs drunk 
some, and not before, leave 
the bottle standing on the 
table/ 3 

Joe Barlcomb thanked 
’er, and with the bottle in 
3 is pocket went off to the 
Cauliflower, whistling. Bill 
Jones was there, and Peter 
Lamb, and two or three 
more of ’em, and at fust 
they said some pretty ’ard 
things to him about being 
woke up in the night. 

“ Don’t bear malice, 
Bill,” ses Joe Barlcomb; 
“ ’ave a pint with me.” 

He ordered two pints, 
and then sat down along¬ 
side o’ Bill, and in five 
minutes they was like 
brothers, 

“'Ave a drop o’gin in 
it, Bill,” he ses, taking the bottle out of ! is 
pocket. 

Bill thanked 3 im and had a drop, and 
then, thoughtfuHike, he wanted joe to ’ave 
some in his too, but Joe said no, he’d 
got a touch o 1 toothache, and it was bad 
for it. 

“ I don't mind ’aving a drop in my beer, 
Joe,” ses Peter Lamb. 

“Not to-night, mate," ses Joe; “ it’s all for 
Bill I bought it on purpose for’im/’ 

Bill shook ’ands with him, and when Joe 
called for another pint and put some more 
gin in it he said that f e was the noblest- 
’arted man that ever lived. 

“You wasn’t saying so arf an hour ago,” 
ses Peter Lamb. 

“’Cos I didn’t know ’im so well then,” ses 
Bill Jones. 

“You soon change your mind, don’t 
you ? ” ses Peter. 



'* SHE SAT LISTENING QUITE QUIET AT FUST. - ' 


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Bill didn't answer ’im. He was leaning 
back on the bench and staring at the bottle 
as if 'e couldn't believe his eyesight His 
face was all white and shining, and 'is hair 
as wet as if it ’ad just been dipped in a 
bucket o' water. 

"See a ghost, Bill?” ses Peter, looking at 
'im. 

Bill made a 'orrible noise in his throat, 
and kept on staring at the bottle till they 
thought 'e’d gone crazy. Then Jasper Potts 
bent his 'ead down and began to read out 
loud wot was on the bottle. “ P- 0-1 — Poison 
for Bill Jones,” he ses, in a voice as if 'e 
couldn’t believe it 

You might *ave heard a pin drop. Every¬ 
body turned and looked at Bill Jones, as he 
sat there trembling all over. Then those 
that could read took up the bottle and read 
it out loud all over agin. 

"Pore Bill,” ses Peter Iamb, "I "ad a 
feeling come over me that something was 
wrong.” 

"You're a murderer,” ses Sam Martin* 
catching ’old of Joe Barlcomb. " You'll be 
'ung for this. Look at pore Bill, cut off in 
'is prime.” 

" Run for the doctor,” ses someone. 

Two of 'em ran off as 'ard as they could 
go, and then the landlord came round the 
bar and asked Bill to go and die outside, 
because ’e didn’t want to be brought into it. 
Jasper Potts told 'im to clear off* and then 
he bent down and asked Bill where the 
pain was. 

"I don't think 
he'll 'ave much 
pain,” ses Peter 
Lamb, who 
always pretended 
to know a lot more 
than other people. 

* 4 It'll soon be 
over, Bill* 

11 We've all got 
to go some day,” 
ses Sam Martin, 

“ Better to die 
young than live to 
be a trouble to 
yourself,” ses Bob 
Harris, 

To 'ear them 
talk everybody 
seemed to think 
that Bill Jones was 
in luck ; everybody 
but Bill Jones 
'imself, that is. 


" I ain’t fit to die,” he ses, shivering, 
44 You don't know ! ow bad I've been,” 

41 Wot 'ave you done. Bill ? ” ses Peter 
Lamb, in a soft voice, "If it’ll ease your 
feelings afore you go to make a clean breast 
of it, we’re all friends here.” 

Bill groaned. 

11 And it’s too late for you to be punished 
for anything,” ses Peter, arter a moment. 

Bill Jones groaned agin* and then* shaking 
'is ’ead, began to w'isper 'is wrong-doings* 
When the doctor came in arf an hour after¬ 
wards all the men was as quiet as mice, and 
pore Bill was still w'ispering as ’ard as he 
could w’isper. 

The doctor pushed 'em out of the way in 
a moment, and then 'e bent over Bill and 
felt 'is pulse and looked at ’is tongue. Then 
he listened to his 'art* and in a puzzled way 
smelt at the bottle, which Jasper Potts was a- 
minding of, and wetted ’is finger and tasted it. 

41 Somebody's been making a fool of you 
and me too,” he ses, in a angry voice. 41 It's 
only gin* and very good gin at that. Get up 
and go home,” 

It all came out next morning, and Joe 
Barlcomb was the laughing-stock of the 
place. Most people said that Mis. Prince 
’ad done quite right, and they 'oped that 
it ud be a lesson to him, but nobody ever 
talked much of witchcraft in Clay bury agin. 
One thing was that Bill Jones wouldn’t ‘ave 
die word used in 'is hearing. 



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From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 

LXXIX. 

(viewed by henry w* lucv.) 


LORD JAMES OF HERE- 

unique* FORD bolds a position 
unique among English public 
men, As everyone knows, at the time 
when the Liberal Party was riven by Mr 
Gladstone's nailing its flag to the Home 
Rule mast Sir Henry James (as he then 
ranked) was tempted to stand by his old 
chief by offer of the Lord 
Chancellorship. For con¬ 
science* sake he, to his 
honour, declined a prize 
dear to the heart of the 
barrister who has made his 
mark in poli¬ 
tics, It is less 
widely known 
that at an 
earlier date the 
certainly not 
less lofty posi¬ 
tion of Speaker 
of the House 
of Commons 
was within his 
grasp. On the 
retirement of 
Sir Henry 
Brand, Mr. 

Gladstone, on 
the look-out for 
a worthy suc- 
cessor, ap¬ 
proached his 
Attorney- 
General with 
offer of the 
Speakership* 

Having carefully considered the position and 
his own prospects, Sir Henry James begged 
to be excused. 

It was a stock criticism of Mr. Gladstone 
that, whilst an admirable judge and complete 
master of people en masse , he failed justly to 
estimate the possibilities of individual men* 
This incident certainly gives the lie to 
carping criticism. Sir Henry James would 
have made a model Speaker. Pre-eminently 
a man of judicial mind, long trained in 
courts of law, he has the ready wit, the 
facile yet precise gift of speech, and, not 


least, the fine presence which are essential to 
perfect success in the Chair* 

It was at this epoch that the 
dark Speakership was also offered to 
horses. Mr, Gosehen, In what order of 
precedence they were approached 
it would be rude to inquire, Mr. Goschen 
would have accepted the post, but felt un¬ 
equal to its 
duties on ac¬ 
count of defec¬ 
tive eyesight* 
Thus it came 
to pass that 
Mr* Gladstone 
discovered Mr, 
Arthur Peel, 
who proved 
one of the 
greatest Speak¬ 
ers of modern 
time. It is a 
curious coin¬ 
cidence that 
both the pre¬ 
sent Speaker 
and his pre¬ 
decessor hap¬ 
pened at the 
time of their 
selection for 
the highest position in the 
House to be personally un¬ 
known, even by appear¬ 
ance, to the majority of 
their fellow-members* Mr, 
Peel at the time of his 
election had been a member 
for nineteen years. He had even held 
minor offices* He was most prominent as 
Libera! Whip in the last Session of the 
great Parliament that disestablished the Trish 
Church and attempted to free Irish land. 
Ten years elapsed before he was named for 
the Speakership, and in that period the 
personnel of the House of Commons changes 
in astonishing degree. Members who knew 
not Arthur sal on the benches and marvelled 
that a comparatively obscure man, albeit 
endowed with a great Parliamentary name, 
should be nominated for Speaker, 



THE VISION of the woolsack* 


n- V -r* h Pnnnlp Original from 

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This ignorance of his personality made the 
more striking the disclosure of the real man 
which flashed upon the crowded House when 
the new Speaker, standing on the steps of 
the Chair, delivered his memorable speech, 
in which he expressed the determination to 
carry on its traditions unimpaired. 

Mr. Gully had been only nine 
“ not years a member of the House 
known.” when he was elected Speaker. 

A hard-working member of the 
Northern Circuit, his ambition limited by 
modest expectancy of a judgeship, he took 
little part in the debates or ordinary business 
of the House. It is a fact, as was reported 
at the time, that Mr. Balfour, meeting Mr. 
Chamberlain at dinner, asked him what he 
thought of the Liberal nominee for the 
Speakership. “ I never to my knowledge 
saw him,” said Mr. Chamberlain. “ Nor 
did I,” responded Mr. 

Balfour. “ I should not 
know him if he 
entered this room un¬ 
announced.” 

In a very short time 
both right hon. gentle¬ 
men came to know 
him very well, recog¬ 
nising in him a great 
Speaker. 

There was 
a true a period 
friend, when, quite 
apart from 
the running of Sir 
Matthew White Ridley, 

Mr. Gully's selection 
hung in the balance. 

Of all men in the 
Liberal camp Sir Henry 
Campbell - Bannerman 
looked longingly at the 
vacant Chair. By tem¬ 
perament, by ability, 
by long Parliamentary 
practice, and by high 
standing in the House he was peculiarly 
well qualified for the post. The marvel 
was that he should think of submit¬ 
ting to its honourable but exhausting 
drudgery. Wonderment being expressed in 
his presence, Sir Henry admitted that, beyond 
the supreme honour of election, what 
attracted him to the post was the fact that 
the Speaker is excused from the duty 
enforced upon prominent members of 
either party of breaking in on the sanctity 
of the recess by making speeches to 


their own constituency and those of other 
members. 

Happily for Sir Henry, the esteem and 
self-devotion of a colleague in the Cabinet 
spared him what would have been a personal 
sacrifice second only to that involved in 
leading a section of the Opposition in the 
House of Commons. On high constitutional 
principles the colleague took exception to 
a Cabinet Minister walking from the Treasury 
Bench into the Chair. So strong was his 
view on the subject that he threatened to 
resign if the proposal—which, of course, had 
not emanated from Sir Henry—were insisted 
upon. C.-B. met the growing difficulty by 
declining nomination, and the distracted 
Cabinet stumbled on Mr. Gully. 

Thus, with the Cabinet as with lesser folk, 

There’s a Divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough-hew them how we will. 

One import- 
pairing. ant result of 
the establish¬ 
ment under the new rules 
of a fixed dinner-hour 
has been greatly to ease, 
if not altogether remove, 
the strain for dinner 
pairs. Under the old 
order of things, with 
some estimable gentle¬ 
men the first duty of a 
member of Parliament 
on coming down to the 
House was to look for 
a pair. Questions over, 
they made their way into 
the Lobby 
and began the 
anxious hunt. 
The old stagers 
familiar at this 
game were 
naturally Min- 
i s terial i s t s. 
Their normal 
condition of 
being in a vast majority is in this respect 
increased by the fact that the Irish 
Nationalist members are forbidden to pair. 
The hunt was consequently limited to 
Liberal members who, as the dinner-hour 
approached, found themselves objects of 
endearing regard by members opposite who 
wanted to get away for dinner and dare not 
pass the Whips on guard at the door unless 
they had paired. 

Some years ago, a compassionate observer 
of this daily quandary, I threw out in these 



IN THE RUN FOR THE SPEAKERSHIP. 


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o 


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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR. 


679 


pages a practical suggestion. Why should 
not members on either side in search of a 
dinner pair wear a bit of coloured ribbon in 
their buttonhole indicating their desire ? If 
that were too simple a device for adoption by 
legislators, it would be easy to keep in an 
accessible place in the Library or Tea Room 
a book in which might be written the names 
of members on either side desiring a dinner 
pair. Under either system an arrangement 
would be quickly made, members being 
spared the wearisome search. 

The idea was very popular in the House, 
but no one took on himself to arrange for 
putting it in practice. Nothing came of it, 
and the dreary afternoon’s hunt by haggard¬ 
eyed members went on as before. 

A fresh danger has developed 
a real under the new rule. But it 
danger, chiefly affects His Majesty’s 
Ministers. The sitting being 
suspended at 7.30, members are free to go 
off to dinner on the understanding that they 
will again be in their places at nine o’clock, 
when-business recommences. For an ordi¬ 
nary dinner at a club, or a quiet meal at 
home within reasonable distance of West¬ 
minster, an hour and a half should serve. 
In the case of joining a dinner-party, it is 
cutting it a little fine to leave the House at 
7.30, go home and dress, get to your desti¬ 
nation, and be back on the stroke of nine. 

Failure to observe the understanding is, 
however, a serious matter for the Ministry. 
The greater number of the Irish Nation¬ 
alists do not leave the precincts of the 
House during the dinner-hour. Many 
others on the Opposition side find the place 
more comfortable than any alternative offered 
to them, and also remain. On more than 
one occasion during the earlier part of the 
Session Ministers had some exceedingly 
anxious moments as the fingers of the clock 
slowly moved beyond the figure IX. It 
several times happened that for fifteen or 
twenty minutes the strongest Ministry of 
modern times was actually at the mercy of 
the Opposition. The latter, borrowing the 
tactics of Brer Rabbit, had only to “ lay low, 
say nuffin,” and rush a division. On one 
occasion, on a really important issue, they 
ran the Government majority down to 
twenty-nine. 

It was after this that the Whips 
double devised a system which, if it 
shifts, would only work, would keep the 
fort safely garrisoned. The Minis¬ 
terial forces were divided into two wings, one 
moiety pledged to be in their places at nine 

Digitized by Goodie 
f © 


o’clock sharp on Monday and Wednesday 
nights, the other mustering on Tuesdays and 
Thursdays. Excellent in theory, this did not 
equal expectation in practice. Members of 
the House of Commons are, after all, only 
human. In the human breast there is 
ineradicable tendency to believe that some¬ 
one else, equally pledged in such circum¬ 
stances, is sure to be punctual, and if you are 
unavoidably a little late no danger to the 
Empire will accrue. 

The working of this sanguine view of other 
people’s reliability was shown with increasing 
force as the Session lengthened. With a 
majority which, even after Leeds, exceeds 
130 the Ministry should be safe between 
9 and 9.30 p.m. Experience shows that 
they are not, and some night there will be 
grievous calamity. 

If these things are done in the green tree, 
what shall be done in the dry ? If a majority 
of 130 cannot be depended upon to hold the 
fort between 9 and 10 p.m., what would 
happen in the case of a majority of forty— 
all Mr. Gladstone had at his command ten 
years ago, when he carried the Home Rule 
Bill? 

QnriirTv’Q The onl y ho P e of salvation for 
His Majesty’s Ministers is altera- 

* ' tion of the dinner-hour through 

the London season. Of late 
years it has steadily advanced. Most of us 
can remember a time when invitations were 
issued for 7.45, with the understanding that 
the guests would be seated at table on the 
stroke of eight. Perhaps, in the majority of 
cases, eight o’clock is the hour now named, 
with the understanding that no one shall 
be later than 8.15. But the fashion of 
inviting guests to dinner at 8.15, dinner being 
served a quarter of an hour later, is growing. 
In such circumstances it is obviously im¬ 
possible for members of the House of 
Commons dining out to be on guard at 
Westminster at nine o’clock. 

Compared with the federation of the 
Empire or a penny off or on the income- 
tax this may seem a trivial matter. In the 
Whips’ Room it is recognised that upon it 
may depend the fate of the Ministry. In the 
dinner-hour of Friday, 21st of June, 1895, 
Lord Rosebery’s Government was defeated 
in the House of Commons by a majority of 
seven. The occasion was apparently trivial, 
an attack on the administration of the War 
Office affecting the supply of cordite. Had 
the Ministerialists foreseen the gravity of the 
issue they would have remained at their 
posts and repelled the guerilla attack. They 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


thought little about it, went off to dinner, 
and came back to learn that the Ministry 
had been defeated. On the following Monday 
Sir William Hareoim announced the resigna¬ 
tion of the Government, a step that made 
way for Lord Salisbury's third Administration* 
What stupendous phases of history fol¬ 
lowed thereupon, succeeding each other 
through seven memorable years, we know. 
But few of us reflect on the circumstance 


The heir to a peerage, whom we will call 
B** in due time went off to bed* Opening 
what he believed was his bedroom door, he, 
to his horror, discovered that he had happed 
on that belonging to the Princess of Wales. 
He was so upset by the accident that, making 
some excuse* he left the house after an early 
breakfast and fled back to town. 

The Princess of Wales came down to 
luncheon on the day following the awkward 



THE CORDITE CUNSJ’lS ACV — M R. HKOOHICK At PLIES THE TORCH. 


that the possibility was created by a snatch 
division taken in the dinner-hour in a 
half-empty House* 

I hear from one of the house- 
at cross party a pretty story of an adven- 
eur poses. ture that some years ago befell 
one of our hereditary legislators. 
It happened before he came into the peerage. 
He was staying at a country house honoured 
by the presence of the Prince and Princess 
of Wales, now our gracious Sovereigns* Her 
Royal Highness having retired for the night, 
the gentlemen of the party sat down to cards. 
In the course of a game at whist one gentle¬ 
man, whom we will call A** revoked, an 
incident made the subject of much good- 
humoured remonstrance. 


Digitized by Google 


incident and found herself seated by A* He 
was the object of renewed chaff about his 
revoking, veiled allusions to the slip being 
made. Her Royal Highness, not having 
heard of the incident at the card'table and 
not quite catching the drift of the conversation, 
turned to A* and, with an amused smile, 
said \ “So it was you who made the little 
mistake last night ? " 

A., who had not heard of the bedroom 
incident and was full of his own mis¬ 
adventure, bowed his head and blushingly 
said: “Yes ; but I assure your Royal Highness 
it’s not a thing I’m accustomed to do.” 

It was not till he met B. in London a 
week later that he realized the scope of his 
confession. 


Original from 

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TOE MINE-FIFTEEN 

By Florence Warpen. 

Author of “ The House on the Marsh” “A Thief in the Night” etc . 


T was Christmas time, and the 
nine * fifteen train from St. 
Pancras to Edinburgh was 
fairly well filled when 1 took 
my seat in a third-class com¬ 
partment, and thought myself 
lucky in getting a corner. 

The weather was bitterly cold, and the 
prospect of an all-night journey not a 
particularly pleasant one. Snow had been 
falling all day in London, and, although a 
good deal of it had melted as it fell, there 
was reason to fear that the state of affairs 
would be worse farther north, and that the 
journey might be longer and more tedious 
than usual. 

These fears were reflected on the faces of 
my fellow-passengers in the compartment, of 
whom there were five. 

In one of the far corners sat a shrewd- 
looking, sandy-haired young man, whose 
accent and appearance proclaimed him to be 
a Scotchman, of an unsympathetic type. I 
took a strong dislike to him from the moment 
of my first observing the manner in which 
he settled himself in his corner, and the 
satisfied smirk on his face when another 
passenger got in and looked disappointed 
on seeing that all the corners were occupied 
already. 

' Not that I myself felt very warmly towards 
this new-comer, who was a showily-dressed, 
florid woman of about forty, with hair which 
looked as if art had assisted Nature in the 
production of a beautiful copper - coloured 
tint, and a grand manner of looking round 
upon her fellow-passengers as if they were 
so many worms, upon whom she had a right 
to tread if she chose. A slender, mild- 
looking girl was seeing her off, and handing 
her the various encumbrances of dressing- 
bag, and rug, and millinery-box, and large 
and small parcels, with which the imposing 
lady proceeded to surround and wall her¬ 
self in. 

The corner opposite to the young Scotch¬ 
man was filled by a tall, thin man, dressed in 
black clothes, and wearing a soft, wide- 
brimmed black hat and gold spectacles, 
which helped to give him an aspect, not only 
of respectability, but of benignity and saint¬ 
liness. He was munching biscuits in a 
furtive and severely respectable manner, 


having evidently come away on his journey 
without having had time to dine. 

The man next to me was a stout, well- 
dressed man, who looked like a prosperous 
stockbroker, and, if one ever dared wonder 
why strangers did things not expected of 
them, one would have wondered why he, 
with his sleek and prosperous appearance, 
his smart luggage and his general air of 
being used to the best share of the best 
things, should be travelling in a modest 
third-class carriage, instead of in a more 
luxurious “ first.” I was very glad to have 
him nearest to me, for, with all his lordly 
grumblings at the porter and sneers at British 
railway travelling, I felt that the man was by 
nature good-humoured, and preferred his 
neighbourhood to that of the canny Scot or 
the prim-looking elderly gentleman who sat 
opposite to him. 

Now, I have left to the last the description 
of the person who sat in the opposite seat to 
mine, although from the first moment I 
caught sight of her I felt in her an interest 
overwhelmingly greater than that inspired by 
any of the rest. Of course, I hold the only 
sane opinion about love at first sight, and I 
know, therefore, that it is for the most part a 
fallacy, an illusion of the eye, and not in the 
least a guarantee that the individual who 
inspires it is calculated to realize the dreams 
of which her too willing victim has made her 
the unconscious heroine. 

Nevertheless, I suppose that most men 
have been, at one time or another, the 
victims of some such seizure as that which 
attacked me within the first few minutes of 
finding myself face to face with the girl 
in the corner-seat. 

For a long time I could not even see her 
face properly, but the more I saw, the more 
I involuntarily admired, the more I felt that 
there was a glamour of witchery about this 
woman which I had never seen in any other. 

She was very young, of that I felt sure 
long before I had discerned more of her face 
than was to be made out through the folds 
of one of those curious silky gauze veils 
which leave the features they cover some¬ 
times a vague, unrecognisable mass, while at 
any moment a movement may reveal each 
feature in delicate distinctness. 

She was dressed in dark clothes of con- 
1 I 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


ventional shape and cut, not at all calculated 
to enhance the power of her charms ; yet 
charming she was in spite of all disadvantages 
of thick black cloth jacket, plain dark stuff 
skirt, and insignificant small black hat. 

There was something more than usually 
graceful, too, about her movements, as I saw 
when she rose to get one of her parcels down 
from the rack above ; while her voice, as she 
apologized for touching the shoulder of the 
imposing lady beside her, was refined, sweet, 
and winning. About her whole person and 
manner there were a modesty and a timidity 
very uncommon in women as pretty as she 
was ; so that, as I was only five-and-twenty, 
and as I had been out in West Africa for 
some months, fighting in one of our un¬ 
considered and trifling minor wars, there are 
perhaps excuses to be made for the strong im¬ 
pression the beautiful stranger made upon me. 

We were all in our seats some minutes 
before the starting of the train, and it was 
while we were quietly shuffling down into 


The prosperous-looking City man beside 
me drew himself up and craned his neck 
hastily to see. The prim man in the corner 
left off munching his biscuit 

“ How do you know ? ” be asked, in exactly 
the dry tones his appearance had prepared 
one for. 

The Scotchman smiled and slightly shook 
his head. 

a There’s something about the man that’s 
enough to ‘give him away/ M he answered, 
“just observe the way he’s pulled down his 
travelling cap over his eyes, and the sharp 
way in which he peers out under it But if 
that’s not enough, then look at his feet. 
Those policeman’s bools are. an autobio 
graphy;" 

“ H’m,” assented the prim man, and he 
sat farther back and finished his biscuit 
thoughtfully. 

In the meantime everybody else in the 
carriage had shown more or less interest in 
the little incident My pretty companion had 



14 WE WFKE ALL IK UU K SEAT* S'* HE MINUTE'S NEFOKE THE STARTING Of’ THE TRAIN.' 


our places, undoing rugs and making our¬ 
selves as comfortable as we could in view of 
the long, cold journey in front of us, that 
the Scotchman, who had been looking out 
of the window, pointed out to the prim man 
opposite a person who was walking slowly up 
and down the platform, looking into the 
different compartments as he went. 

“ That man’s a detective," said the Scotch¬ 
man, in a voice just loud enough to reach the 
cars of all the rest of us. 

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appeared quite startled by it, as one might 
have expected such a sensitive and shy little 
creature to be at this mere reminder of the 
fact of the existence or criminals and crime. 
The showily-dressed lady by her side seemed 
to be quite disturbed by the circumstance, 
and watched the man on the platform with a 
certain nervousness which seemed altogether 
unaccountable. As for me, I looked from 
one to the other of my companions, hoping 
for an adventure, and wondering whether any 
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THE NINE-FIFTEEN 


683 


one of these apparently law-abiding citizens 
would prove to be the person of whom the 
detective appeared to be in search. 

As for this man himself, I thought the 
Scotchman's conjecture a shrewd one. For 
although I was too lame from a recent wound 
in the right foot to care to get up and cross 
the carriage to look for the tell-tale boots, I 
could see enough of the man in question, 
and of the piercing glance of his eyes from 
under his peaked cap, to feel pretty sure that 
he was not only a detective by profession, 
but that he was on special duty. 

It was curious to see how this impression 
gained ground among us all, and with how 
much interest, if not indeed anxiety, we all 
watched, more or less furtively, for the man’s 
passing and repassing. My pretty girl drew 
farther into her corner, but I could see the 
gleam of her blue eyes behind her veil as 
she turned her face towards the farther 
window. The City man and the smartly- 
dressed lady affected to take no interest in 
the man’s movements, but it was clear that 
this was only a pretence, and they both 
looked out for his coming as keenly as the 
rest of us. Both the prim man and the 
young Scotchman made no secret of their 
interest. 

But when the man in the peaked cap 
began to pass the window of our compart¬ 
ment more and more frequently, and when it 
became increasingly evident that he never 
did so without passing the whole of us in 
swift but careful review, then it was strange 
to note what a restlessness grew upon most 
of us, and how some turned away as if by 
accident, while others offered a sort of defiant 
front to the man’s gaze. 

I believe I was the only person of the six 
who maintained any sort of composure under 
this new and closer scrutiny, and I confess I 
was much amused by the sort of veiled con¬ 
sternation I could read in two out of the five 
other faces. My City friend became apoplec¬ 
tic; the middle-aged lady with the copper- 
coloured hair began to suffer from a sort of 
nervous rage which set me wondering what 
the state of her conscience might be; while 
the pretty, fair-haired girl opposite shrank into 
herself, and looked as if she would like to 
hide under the seat. 

Yet she at least could have nothing on 
her mind to make her fear the scrutiny of an 
inquiry agent, whether from Scotland Yard or 
elsewhere ! 

A sense of relief and satisfaction became 
clearly evident to me throughout the com¬ 
partment when at last the train began to 

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move, and the spirits of my next neighbour,- 
the City man, improved at once. 

Whether a common sense of trouble 
escaped made a bond of sympathy between 1 
us I do not know, but we soon became 
more communicative and friendly than a 
party of British strangers usually becomes 
at such short notice. So that before we 
reached Bedford—the first stopping- place* 
out of London—I had heard enough talk 
from all my fellow-travellers, with one excep¬ 
tion, to give me a little insight into their 
character and habits. 

But the one exception was an important 
one: it was the pretty girl. The more friendly' 
the rest became, the more she seemed to 
shrink into herself and to avoid intercourse 
with the rest of us. While this behaviour 
made her more interesting, it irritated, piqued 
me. I should so much have liked to hear 
that gentle voice again—a voice which had 
struck me as the sweetest I had ever heard. 
But then I was in love, in a sort of way, 
and my opinion must be taken with reserve. 

Conversation was in full swing when the 
train stopped for the first time; but a sudden 
deadly pause ensued when the face of the 
detective was once more seen at the window. 
There was no mistaking the fact that this 
incident had an intense interest and signifi¬ 
cance for some of us. 

He passed, and for a moment the talk 
flowed on, intermittently. Then the door of 
the compartment was thrown open from the 
outside, and the man in the peaked cap, 
standing on the platform with his bag in his 
hand and his rug over his arm, asked if there 
was room for one. 

Nobody answered. Why, indeed, should 
anybody answer any more than ask such 
a question ? For it was patent that there 
was room for more than one, and we all 
knew instinctively that the man had a motive 
for wishing to hear somebody’s voice. 

Whose ? 

There was a moment’s dead silence, and 
then, without waiting further, the man got in, 
put his bag, with an apology, in the rack facing 
my side, and sat down between the young 
Scotchman and the prosperous City man. 

The smartly-dressed lady had become as 
quiet as a mouse ; the pretty girl turned her 
face away; the prim man looked straight in 
front of him ; the City man whistled softly 
to himself; the Scotchman watched the new¬ 
comer narrowly. 

The last-named, however, had scarcely 
seated himself when he got up again, gave 
one glance at his bag, put his rug to keep 

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his seat, and got out of the carriage, making 
for the refreshment room. 

I had a presentiment that someone would 
seize the opportunity of his momentary 
absence to escape from the compartment, 
and with this conviction strongly in my mind 
I sat back in my corner, half closed my eyes, 
and waited. It was with a spasm of horror 
that I found my hypothesis correct. Some¬ 
one did take the opportunity to escape : it 
was the pretty girl. Scarcely had the detec¬ 
tive disappeared than she sprang up, got 
down her light luggage from the rack, and 
hurried out of the carriage. I confess to a 
feeling of the utmost consternation. For 
there was, I felt sure, something more than a 
mere woman’s reluctance to be present at 
any sort of “ scene ” in her mind ; her 
manner was not only hurried, but furtive. 
And even as she stepped out on the plat¬ 
form I saw the gleam of her blue eyes under 
her veil watching the door of the refreshment- 
room while she turned to look for another 
carriage. 

I had not yet got over my surprise and 
consternation when this first disappearance 
was followed by another, and then another. 
My eyes grew round with astonishment as 
my fellow-passengers, gathering up their light 
luggage, popped out of the compartment, one 
after the other, like rabbits disturbed by the 
sound of a gun. Out into the darkness they 
all went, disappearing this way and that; so 
that by the time our friend the detective re¬ 
entered the compartment I was its only 
other occupant. 

I thought I heard him chuckle to himself 
as he got in at the last moment before the 
train restarted, and settled himself in the 
corner which had been vacated by the prim 
man in the wide-brimmed hat and the gold 
spectacles. Then he pushed up his peaked 
cap a little, and I saw a shrewd pair of eyes 
under thick black eyebrows, a commonplace 
nose, and a heavy black moustache. He 
caught my eye and nodded. 

“ Afraid I’ve frightened the rest of our 
friends away,” he said, somewhat sardonically. 
“ Looks as if there were some uneasy con¬ 
sciences about, don’t it, sir ? ” 

But I was too discreet to admit that I 
guessed what his profession was; so I said, 
politely :— 

“Indeed! I don’t see what there is in 
your appearance alarming enough for that.” 

But he smiled and shook his head gently. 

“ Oh, you won’t hurt my feelings by owning 
you’ve guessed my business,” he said; and 
thrusting out one of the tell-tale boots, which 

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had, indeed, helped to betray him, he added : 
“These boots give us all away. I’m sure 
I don’t know why the authorities haven’t 
tumbled to that and set us up before this in 
patent leather.” 

I laughed in my turn. 

“ Well, I think myself you can be detected 
as quickly by the eyes as by the boots,” I 
said; “and you couldn’t get rid of those, 
could you ? ” 

The detective looked rather amused. 

“ By Jove, I hadn’t thought of that,” said 
he. “ But I suppose we do get into a sharp 
way of looking about us, which, as you say, 
is another trade-mark. At any rate, it has 
served me well on this occasion, for it has 
cleared the decks a bit.” 

And he glanced round the compartment, 
which was now empty but for himself and 
me. 

“ Cleared the decks ? ” echoed I, wonder¬ 
ing. 

“Yes. There’s nothing to be gained by 
denying that I’m on business, and that, as my 
work lies very near to my hand, I prefer to 
do it without too much of a crowd at my 
elbow.” 

“ You’re after someone who is in the 
train ? ” hazarded I, with interest. 

The detective nodded. 

“ That’s it, sir. A well-known jewel thief, 
who’s got away with something like ten 
thousand pounds’ worth, unless they’ve made 
a mistake.” 

“What!” cried I, uneasy, remembering 
who it was that had left the carriage first. 
“ And you think it was one of the passengers 
in here-” 

But he relieved my mind by a shake of the 
head. 

“ Oh, no. He’s in the next compartment 
to this, I believe. But I haven’t been able 
to make quite sure yet, because I don’t want 
to frighten him.” 

I was puzzled. 

“Then why-” I began, and then I 

stopped. 

He took up my words where I had left 
off. “ Why did all the people in here get out 
in such a hurry ? Why, for the same reason 
that nineteen out of every twenty people will 
keep out of the way of one of us if they can. 
Ten to one, sir, they’ve all got their little 
secrets and their little worries, and feel easier 
out of my company than in it. And I may 
tell you, between ourselves, that for that 
reason one can pretty well reckon on making 
one’s company select by a few artful looks 
round. The sheep and the goats separate 
Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


THE NINE-FIFTEEN. 


6S5 


as if by instinct at a whisper of Scotland 
Yard.” 

“ But,” said I, smiling, “at that rate I'm 
the only sheep.” 

He laughed. 

“Well, I shouldn't say that, except in the 
best sense,” said he. 

And then he asked if he might smoke, 
and we both fell into silence, while 1 
wondered whether I too should have changed 
my compartment if the wound in my foot 
had not made it still inconvenient to me to 
move about very fast For 1 remembered 
that, though I certainly had no very heavy 
burdens on my conscience, I had myself not 
been without a transitory qualm of uneasi¬ 
ness when the detective’s piercing eyes had 
been fixed upon me in my turn. 

What troubled me chiefly was the fact that 
my pretty girl had apparently had the worst 
conscience of us all, since it was she who 
had been the first to disappear. It was ex¬ 
traordinary how greatly this thought troubled 
me, and I was quite glad to be diverted from 
my musings on this head by my companion, 
who, apparently soothed and 
rendered gen ial by the influ¬ 
ence of his pipe, began to 
entertain me with some of 
his adventures as a thief- 
taker, until I became too 
much interested to think of 
anything else. 

He was so much more 
entertaining than my late 
companions had been that 
the time passed quickly, 
and I was quite surprised 
when the train began to 
slow down, and I dis¬ 
covered that we had 
reached Carlisle. The snow 
was by this time coming 
down so fast that our rate 
of progress was perceptibly 
slower, and the detective, 
who told me his name was 
Birch, began to express 
doubts whether we should 
be able to get on to Edin¬ 
burgh without accident. 

“I’ve been snowed tip 
on this line before now,” 
he said, with a shake of the 
head. “ Up in this part or 
the country one gets it worse 
than in the south.” 

In spite of the falling 
snow, however, I saw that 


he was making ready to get out, for he took 
down his Gladstone hag from the rack and 
prepared to let down the window. As he 
did so he kept his face close to the glass, peer¬ 
ing out with his sharp eyes into the darkness, 

“ Do you get out here ? ” I asked, in sur¬ 
prise, for I had understood that he was 
making the entire journey. 

“ Only for a moment,” he answered, quickly, 
in a low voice. And I wondered whether he 
suspected my honesty, since he appeared un¬ 
willing to trust me alone with his property. 

A few moments later we drew into the 
station, and 1 heard the door of the next 
compartment open. My companion had 
drawn back a little, but he was watching as 
keenly as ever. A couple of seconds after I 
had heard Lhe next door open, and had seen 
a man hurrying down towards the refresh¬ 
ment-room, the detective let down the 
window very quietly and, with remarkable 
quickness, got out of our compartment and 
into the next, carrying his bag with him. 

I decided that something interesting was 
going to happen, since he and the suspected 



“HE HAD AND RE A l‘P F A R Eli 50 RAPIDLY, SO QUIETLY, THAT I WAS 

LOST IN 

,uv c5 K UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








686 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


thief would be travelling together. So I slid 
along my seat to the window which looked 
upon the platform. To my surprise, how¬ 
ever, Birch was back again in a few moments, 
his bag still in his hand, and a look of con¬ 
siderable satisfaction on his somewhat stolid 
face. He had disappeared and reappeared so 
rapidly, so quietly, that I was lost in admira¬ 
tion and wonder. But before we exchanged 
any remark I saw the suspected man hurry¬ 
ing up along the platform, and pressed my 
face against the glass to get a good view of 
him. He was a well-dressed, clean-shaven 
man, spare and active looking, of middle 
age, and he looked like a gentleman's 
servant. The expression of his face, though, 
betrayed that he was not what he seemed. 
It appeared to me that there was an expres¬ 
sion of furtive anxiety in his eyes as he 
turned them towards the window of our com¬ 
partment ; and I wondered whether he had 
any notion that he was being followed and 
watched. 

A few moments later we were again on 
our way. But now, as my companion had 
predicted, we found our progress so much 
impeded by the snow that I also began to 
have grave fears that we should not reach 
Edinburgh in the early hours of the morning, 
as we ought to have done. My companion 
had by this time put his bag upon the seat, 
and, standing with his back to me, was 
feeling in his pockets for the key. 

“It’s not of much use trying to get any¬ 
thing to eat on these journeys,” said he, 
“even if one were travelling for one’s own 
pleasure and had time to look about one. I 
always come provided. I suppose you’re 
supplied also, or may I offer you some 
sandwiches ? ” 

I thanked him, but said I had brought my 
own. All this time he was fumbling for his 
keys, and at last he turned to me with a 
rather long face. 

“ By Jove ! ” said he, in a tone of annoy¬ 
ance, “ I’ve left them behind ! I shall have 
to force the lock.” 

“ Oh, it’s not worth while just for a sand¬ 
wich. Have some of mine,” I said, and I 
began to hunt in my own bag for the refresh¬ 
ments with which I had been carefully 
provided. 

But he would not listen to this ; and 
wrenching open his bag with a pocket-knife 
he fumbled about in it, and transferred two 
or three small parcels into the capacious 
pockets cf his overcoat. Then he strapped 
up the bag again, pushed it under the seat, 
and, again plunging his hands into his over- 

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coat pockets, produced from one a box of 
sandwiches and from another a flask, and we 
proceeded to sup together ; not with the same 
cheerfulness that we had shown a few minutes 
before, but with apprehension growing strong 
upon us that we should not see Edinburgh 
within the next four-and-twenty hours. 

Indeed, we were going more and more 
slowly, and the snow was falling in such 
blinding showers that it was impossible to 
discern any object on either side of us as we 
went along. Before very long the expected 
happened—the train came slowly to a stop. 

Birch rose from his seat irt evident anxiety. 
He had made no remark to me concerning 
his brief visit to the .adjoining compartment, 
and I had, therefore, been too discreet to 
allude to it myself. But when the stopping 
of the train brought our fears to a head he 
became suddenly communicative. 

“ I must wire up to Ix>ndon,” he said in a 
low voice, rather to himself than to me, 
“ or we may lose him after all.” 

From which I gathered that in his light¬ 
ning visit he had satisfied himself as to the 
identity of his “ man.” 

“ Where are we ? ” asked I. 

“ I can’t say I know myself,” he answered, 
“ but I don’t think it’s long since we passed 
a station of some kind. I saw lights close 
to the line some minutes ago.” He was 
standing up with a reflective frown upon his 
face. We could hear voices, and the noise 
of opening doors and windows. Nervous 
passengers were calling the guard. Birch 
opened the door. 

“I must get back there somehow,” he 
said, desperately. And turning to me as he 
stepped out, he added :■— 

“ You won’t mind looking after my bag 
till I come back, will you ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” said I, while it occurred 
to me to be amused that he should trust me 
with his luggage now that the lock was 
broken, while he had been so particular when 
it was intact. 

The snow was so thick that he was lost to 
sight almost as soon as his feet reached the 
earth, where he sank, and I could not even 
hear the sound of his footsteps on the snowy 
ground. 

Indeed, the rest of the passengers were by 
this time making such a clamour that no one 
sound could be discerned above the din- 
The guard was philosophic, desperate ; there 
was a drift in front of us, he said, and the 
engine could not get through. There was a 
driving wind, blowing the snow in clouds to 

the east of us, and he reckoned we might 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE NINE-FIFTEEN 


687 


think ourselves lucky if we were not snowed 
up altogether, since, though we had been 
able to get thus far, ir was by no means 
certain that we should be able to get back 
again \ for drifts that we had been able to 
plough through half an hour before might be 
impassable by this time. 

The consternation was general and acute* 


The train was not very full, the badness of 
the weather having interfered with the traffic, 
which is usually heavy so near to Christmas* 
Still, there were enough of us to make a 
great noise, and I distinctly heard the voice 
of the florid lady who had been one of 
my travelling-corn pan ions in the earlier part 
of the journey, alternately uttering threats 
against the railway company and pleading to 
the guard to make one more effort to get 
forward. Bur this was itnpossible ; and we 
should have been in sorry plight but for the 
approach of a stalwart northerner, who had 


seen from afar that something was wrong, 
and who had come up to inform us that he 
had an inn not many hundred yards away, 
and that if some of us would accompany 
him thither he and his wife would do the 
best they could for us. 

The passengers, as one man, accepted the 
invitation. Taking our light luggage with us 
and leaving the rest to 
its fate, we were stream- 
ing after our host 
through mountains of 
soft snow when I be 
thought me that I was 
in some sort respon¬ 
sible for the detective's 
bag, and decided to 
take it with me. 

As I was lame, how- 
ever, I had to get help 
in carrying both his 
and my own luggage, 
and I made my w F ay so 
slowly that by the time 
I reached the little inn 
I found its accommo¬ 
dation stretched to the 
utmost by this sudden 
influx of visitors. 

My fellow-travellers 
of the early part of the 
journey, who had, I 
imagine, spread them¬ 
selves about in dif 
ferent parts of the train, 
had now instinctively 
foregathered again, and 
were sitting in a group 
by the Are in the stone- 
flagged kitchen, all but 
the pretty girl with the 
fair hair, who was by 
herself in a distant 
corner* 

Every chair being by 
this time occupied, and 
even the deal table and the coal-box having 
been converted into seats, 1 put the detec¬ 
tive’s bag on the top of my own arid, regard¬ 
less of the consequences to their contents, 
made myself a seat of them. 

I observed that a certain constraint 
appeared to fall upon these good people at 
my approach, and presently the young Scotch¬ 
man glanced at my heap of luggage and 
said : — 

" I'm thinking ye are not like the Yankee 
who can travel round the world with a tooth¬ 
brush and a paper collar, sir.’ 1 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










688 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


I laughed a little. 

“Oh, jthis isn't all mine,” I said. “I'm 
taking care of part of it for a chance travelling- 
companion.” 

At once I caught, not only upon his face, 
but on the faces of his companions, a look 
which told me they considered this remark 
a perversion of the truth. And it flashed 
through my mind that they took me for a 
detective also, and thought that my remaining 
in the carriage when they all left it was a proof 
of this. Coupled with my care of his luggage, 
no doubt it seemed a conclusive proof. 

• I was much tickled with this idea, and 
resolved, for the fun of the thing, to live up 
to my new character. 

“ Oh, yes, quite a chance companion,” I 
repeated, truly enough, but with just suffi¬ 
cient emphasis to confirm them in their own 
opinion. 

“ And where may he be gone ? ” asked the 
City man, with assumed carelessness. 

“ Oh, just to send off a wire from the 
nearest station to give news of our mishap.” 

A manifest ripple of uneasiness passed 
over the whole party. This was curious, but 
the fact that the pretty girl in the distant 
comer shared the general feeling worried 
me again not a little. There was silence 
among us for a few moments. The rest of 
the passengers in the room chatted and 
grumbled, but my group fidgeted in their 
seats and watched me furtively. When at 
last the silence was broken, and they began 
to talk again, even noisily, as if to appear at 
their ease, the sanctimonious man in the 
gold spectacles, who was sitting beside me 
on the coal-box, spoke confidentially in my 
ear:— 

“And who may you be after, sir? We 
know very well that you are from Scotland 
Yard also. And I suppose you're both on 
business.” 

I was considerably surprised by this 
address, and I felt a malicious pleasure in 
maintaining his anxiety, as there was some¬ 
thing piquant in the discovery of a guilty 
conscience under such a smug and sancti¬ 
monious manner. 

“ By-the-bye,” I said, turning to look well 
in his face, but keeping my tone at the same 
level as his, “ what made you leave the 
carriage so quickly just because another 
passenger got into it ? ” 

The man stammered a little before 
answering. 

“I—I—I would not willingly be present 
ta see a fellow-creature's pain and distress,” 
he then said, solemnly. 

Digitized by CiOO^IC 

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“ No, Mr. Smith; I dare say not,” I 
answered.. 

It was amusing to see the shock the sound 
of his own name gave him. 

“ How—how did you know-” 

Then he faltered and stopped. Indeed, 
my knowledge had been arrived at very 
simply, for he had been passing the time by 
reading a second-hand book, on several pages 
of which the name “ Robert Smith ” was 
impressed with a common rubber stamp. I 
said nothing, however, but looked very wise. 
Growing more and more uneasy, he at length 
jumped up, dragged me back into a corner 
near the dresser, and whispered hurriedly in 
my ear :— 

“ If you've come to arrest me for deserting 
my wife and family, I can explain everything ; 
1 -” 

But I cut him short, appalled by the dis¬ 
coveries I had innocently made. 

“Oh, that's all right. I know nothing 
about that,” I said, hastily, as I tried to get 
away. 

The man actually staggered back a step 
against the dresser, his forehead white and 
glistening under the wide-brimmed black hat 
which he was still wearing. I heard him 
utter a broken murmur of thankfulness as he 
let me go, and it was evident, as he presently 
followed me back to his place in the group, 
that a great burden had been taken off his 
mind. 

As his brow cleared, however, it was plain 
to me that those of his companions clouded 
still more. And after a little interchange of 
speech with me, in which his manner was 
half bumptious and half deferential, the man 
on the other side of me, the City man, as I 
had decided that he must be, whispered to 
me in his turn. 

“ Do you happen to know anything about 
this Turf fraud they’re trying to keep so 
dark ? ” he said, in a would-be airy manner. 

“ Oh, yes, I know a great deal about it,” I 
cried, promptly. 

He rubbed his chin and looked at me 
askance. 

“ If you think I had anything to do with 
it,” he said, sullenly, in a low voice, “ you're 
mistaken. But I tell you what: I can give 
you the straight tip as to the men who werd 
in it,” he added, in a lower voice than ever. 

I took out my pocket-book with assumed 
alacrity. 

“ Your name first, please,” I said, trying to 
look very knowing as I bit my pencil. 

“ Oh, you know my name well enough,” 
said he, shortly. “ Granby Hillier, of Fen- 

Ongmal from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE NINE-FIFTEEN. 


689 


church Street, that's my name, and I’ve never 
been known by any other/’ 

As I was not anxious for his further com¬ 
munications, having carried the joke far 
enough with him, I shut up my pocket-book 
suddenly, as if this last piece of information 
made me doubtful of his good faith. The 
action frightened him very much. 

“ Do you mean to say,” he hissed into my 
ear, ** that you or your pa! have got a warrant 
for my arrest ? ” 

11 I haven’t, certainly,” said I ; “and if he 
has I haven't heard of it.” 

The man looked hard at me and heaved a 
sigh of relief. Satisfied in his turn, he left 
the seat beside me and went out into the bar. 
The next moment the important-looking lady 
with the numerous hat-boxes took the seat 
he had left. It was evident that her nervous¬ 
ness had got the better of her discretion, 
for she began without any opening at all 
“If you think Tm leaving London to 


avoid paying my debts,” she said, in an 
agitated whisper, “ you are wrong, quite 
wrong. And as for my calling myself 
Madame Maude, why, that’s nothing. All 
ladies of social position, w-hen they take up 
millinery or anything of that sort, do it under 
another name 

“ I am perfectly aware of that, madam,” 
said I, politely; and I added, truly enough, 
“and if you were to use a dozen names I 
assure you I should consider it no concern of 
mine/’ 

She looked at me hard, as if not quite 
certain whether this was satisfactory or not. 
But I think she at last came slowly to the 
conclusion that I meant her no harm, for she 
gave me a gracious bend of the head, and 
said, with a smile which was meant to be 
sweet, but which was still rather quivery ;— 

“Oh, I could see at a glance that you 
were a gentleman ; otherwise I should not 
have said so much to you,” 

The first part of this 
sentence I thought hardly 
tallied with the last ; but I 
returned her smile, and 
was glad when she turned 
to busy herself with her 
numerous parcels. 

After this experience I 
could scarcely be surprised 
when the young Scotchman 
engaged me in confidential 
discourse, and I felt much 
interested in wondering 
what his particular pecca¬ 
dillo would turn out to be. 
But he w T as cute and canny, 
after the manner of his 
race, and though he held 
me in conversation for a 
long time and touched 
upon all sorts of subjects, 
1 not only failed to discover 
whether he too had a whole¬ 
some fear of the law’s grip, 
but I fancied that he 
guessed the truth concern¬ 
ing me. At any rate, I 
noticed him examining very 
carefully, though as if casu¬ 
ally, the luggage on which 
I was seated, and there was 
a smug air of satisfaction 
on his face when he had 
done with me. 

Of all my five fellow-pas¬ 
sengers there remained now 
only my pretty girl uninter- 
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





























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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


viewed, and I own I was very anxious to be 
addressed by her, and to make her mind easy, 
should that be necessary, as I could not but 
feel that it was. For indeed I could see her 
eyes watching me from behind her gauze 
veil as I moved about. 

She did not, however, address me of her 
own accord, as the others had done; and at 
last I, overcome by my own anxiety to speak 
comfort to her, seized the occasion of the 
entrance of a woman with some tea for the 
ladies of the party to take the initiative in 
addressing her. 

So I took a cup of tea from the tray, and 
made my way into the corner where she sat 
alone. She seemed to shrink into herself as 
I approached, but I cannot help thinking she 
felt some sort of reassurance as soon as I 
spoke to her, offering her the welcome 
refreshment as gently as I could. 

She took the cup, and, forced to raise her 
veil a little, showed me a face even more 
attractive than I had supposed. I found 
myself stoutly denying, in my own mind, the 
possibility that this fair and sweet young 
creature could have anything very heavy on 
her conscience, and yet there was a sort of 
entreaty in her eyes which made me wonder. 

I followed up my first attention by others, 
bringing her cakes and sandwiches, and 
trying to arrange the curtain of the little 
window behind her in such a manner as to 
keep out the draught. And all the while I 
talked to her, not trying to make her talk in 
return, but striving to put her at her ease. 

I think she began to look at me with less 
suspicion, and at last she expressed a 
courteous regret that I should move about so 
much on her account. 

“ Oh ! Because of my foot ? ” said I. 
“That’s nothing. I had a shot through 
it fighting out in Africa, but the lameness has 
nearly gone now, and it looks w’orse than it is.” 

1 could see that she was looking at me 
earnestly through her veil. 

“ You have been in Africa, fighting? And 
you’ve just come back ? ” she said, in an 
anxious voice scarcely above a whisper. 
“Then —then you’re not-” 

Her voice sank and died away. 

“ I’m not anybody to be afraid of,” I 
answered, in a low voice, “ but I’ve been 
amusing myself by pretending that I am to 
those people over there.” 

The tears rushed suddenly to her eyes, and 
her voice trembled as she said: “Oh, but 
you shouldn’t do that ! You don’t know 
how’ much misery you may be causing! 
Surely, surely-” 

Digitized by Google 
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I w f as so much moved by her emotion that 
I could not at first answer her. 

At last I said :— 

“Surely we need not waste much com¬ 
passion upon wrong-doers, for they certainly 
must be wrong doers if their consciences are 
so very tender ! ” 

“You are too hard,” said she, quickly. 
“ Everybody is a wrong-doer, more or less, 
at some time or other, and very often it is 
more by misfortune or by weakness than by 
wickedness. It seems to me that cruelty is 
as bad as crime.” 

I looked at her earnestly. Her face, her 
voice, her manner, all seemed to me to inspire 
a perfect belief that she herself w r as the most 
innocent of human creatures. 

“ At any rate,” I said, “ no one would be 
hard or cruel to anybody for whom you were 
to plead! ” 

A change came over her face. It broke up 
into an infinite tenderness. 

“ If I could only believe that! ” faltered 
she. 

And in an instant I understood that it was 
not upon her own account, but upon that 
of another, that she was in such distress. 
Realizing, with a quick look of terror, that 
she had in a measure betrayed herself, the 
pretty girl bit her lip, rose hurriedly, and 
looked at the hanging Dutch clock on the 
wall. 

“ How long do you think it will be,” she 
w^ent on, nervously, “ before we can get on 
to Edinburgh ? ” 

“ A week, perhaps,” said I, rashly. 

I w’as sorry the next moment, for the tears 
rushed to her pretty blue eyes. 

“ Then it will be too late,” said she, below r 
her breath, in a tone of anguish. And then 
some instinct, some impulse, made her turn 
to me again, and looking up into my face 
with the most piteous look of entreaty she 
whispered : “Oh, sir, if you can do anything 
to help me to get on with my journey I do 
beg you to do it ! I’m sure you would if 
you knew how much depends on it—the 
safety, the salvation, of one very near and 
dear to me, my only brother.” 

“ I would do anything I could,” said I, 
earnestly ; “ but-” 

“ If there is any way of going on, no 
matter how difficult or even dangerous,” she 
went on, still in a whisper, and with her veil 
now quite raised, so that I could see every 
movement of her beautiful eyes, every quiver 
of her lips, “let me know of it—let me try 
it. Listen ! I’m sure you would not betray 
a confidence. I don’t know’ why, but I do 

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HE OJ J ESED ONE AND SHOWED THAT IT CONTAINED A HAKT^OME DIAMOND BRACELET." 

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feel sure of that. It is a matter almost of 
life and death to me. I have to find a sum 
of money within two days to save a great 
disgrace, a great sorrow. I can, I think, 
get it in Edinburgh from some relations; 
hut if I can’t get to them within that time 
it will be too late, and I shall break my 
heart” 

1 was distressed beyond measure by her 
words, even while I was conscious that the 
eyee of the young Scotchman were fixed upon 
us with a sort of shrewd malevolence which 
was disconcerting. I assured her that I 
would make inquiries as to the possibility of 
proceeding, and did my best to keep up her 
hopes, even though I could not but feel 
something like despair of her attaining her 
object. 

We were still talking earnestly in a low 
voice when I was startled to see a face 
pressed against the glass of the latticed 
window from the outside. Looking out I 
recognised the face of the man who had 
occupied the next compartment to mine in 
the train—the thief who had carried off the 
jewels. 

The cause of the terrible expression on his 
face only became clear to me in the light of 
after events. He had discovered the loss of 
the stolen property, and his haggard eyes and 
look of fierce despair were shocking to see. 

He looked at everybody in the room, 
staring in with bloodshot eyes, but dis¬ 


appeared when an exclamation from my 
lips drew the attention of the occupants to 
him. 

The men went to the window and tried to 
look out, but the snow was still falling too 
thickly for them to be able to do so. 

The appearance of this haggard and 
ghastly face, however, pressed close to thd 
window-panes, had filled everybody with some 
uncanny sense of approaching misfortune. 
The women uttered faint screams, and there 
grew among us all a vague sense that some 
tragedy was happening, or about to happen. 

The men began to file out into the bar, 
leaving the rest of the company in a state of 
suspense and uneasiness, which was increased 
when a loud murmur of voices, swelling with 
excitement, came into the room. 

“ What is it ? What is happening ? ” asked 
the stout lady, nervously. 

I was going out in my turn, in spite of 
my lameness, to see what was wrong, when 
the door of the room burst open, and Mr. 
Granby Hillier came in, much excited and 
apparently somewhat relieved. 

“ What is it ? ” asked the Scotchman, who 
was the only man besides myself who had 
remained in the room, u What’s a’ the 
excitement ? ” 

“There’s been a robbery/* cried he, “a 
great jewel robbery, and the thief was in the 
very same train with us.*' 

The ladies exclaimed and asked a dozen 












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questions, but the young Scotchman and I 
held our tongues. 

“Luckily,” went on Granby Hillier, 
“there were two detectives after * him—in 
the train, too.” 

“ Detectives ! Ah ! ” 

The ladies looked interested and relieved 
at the same time. Poor Madame Maude, 
especially, gave a soft sigh of contentment. 
There was a worse malefactor than herself 
abroad ! 

“ So they’ve caught him ? ” said she. 

“ Not yet. But he’s been seen close by 
this house, and we may hope at any 
moment-” 

He was interrupted by a shout from out¬ 
side. We were by this time all upon our 
feet. But those of us who would have rushed 
out to learn the news were prevented by a 
sudden inrush of people from the bar. They 
entered in a body, bringing with them a strong 
perfume of whisky toddy. 

“ Here’s one of the ‘ tecs * coming in 
here,” explained Granby Hillier, in a loud 
whisper. 

But it was not my friend of the train who 
came in, with a group of interested observers 
at his heels. It was a tall, thin man, with 
grizzled hair and whiskers, in a long, light 
overcoat and heavy muffler. He was a dis¬ 
appointing person after my friend, common- 
place-looking, and without any particular 
keenness of eye. Moreover, he did not wear 
policeman’s boots, and I felt inclined to 
doubt his pretensions. 

However, he came into the room, looked 
round casually, and asked if he could see the 
light luggage which had been brought from 
the train. With the greatest alacrity most of 
those present offered their bags and their 
parcels for his inspection ; but I stood by 
the pretty girl’s side without offering mine. 
The Scotchman, however, officiously dragged 
my luggage into view. 

“ Maybe ye’ll care to see these things; 
they’re the property of the young gentleman 
over yonder,” said h?, with a glance of 
malice, which I attributed to a sort of 
jealousy he felt at my companion’s honour¬ 
ing me with her conversation. 

The detective, who was closely followed 
by the landlord, looked at the luggage and 
then at me. I came forward and explained, 
in a low voice, that one of the bags was 
mine. 

“ The other,” said I, “ was left in my 
charge by your colleague.” 

He looked into the bag which did not 
belong to me, and then he gazed steadily 

Diqitized by GoOSZ le 

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at me. And as he did so the Scotchman 
sniggered. 

Then, for the first time, a glimmering of 
the truth broke in upon me. Cold from 
head to foot, I struggled for my breath, and 
said, hoarsely :— 

“ Surely, surely you don’t take me for a 
thief?” 

The man in the long overcoat still looked 
at me in the same stolidly irritating way. 

“ Oh, no, sir, that’s not what I take you 
for,” said he. “But — would you mind 
coming with me a minute? ” 

I felt cold from head to foot, and the self- 
satisfied expression of smug content with the 
turn things were taking which I saw in the 
face of the Scotchman made me angry as 
well as anxious. All the group round us 
began instinctively to draw away from me, as 
I was suddenly conscious. Only the pretty 
young girl made a movement in my favour. 
Taking a step towards me, she smiled up in 
my face, and said :— 

“And I’ll take care of your things till you 
come back.” 

The words were not much, but the comfort 
they gave me was so great that I could 
scarcely stammer out a conventional word of 
thanks. 

Then, feeling that I was an object of 
suspicion to everyone but her, I went out 
with the man in the long overcoat. 

He led me past the bar, up the narrow 
staircase, and unlocked a door on the upper 
floor. 

“ Go in, please,” said he. And he followed 
me in, still carrying the bag of which I had 
taken charge. 

The room was of fair size, and was 
evidently used for lodge - meetings and 
farmers’ dinners. On the long table stood 
two lamps, and at the end sat three men. 
One of them w*as the man who had run away 
with the jewels, and whose face I had seen 
at the window downstairs ; the second was 
unknowm to me; and the third was Birch. 

I had had an uncanny fear that Birch, of 
the shrewd eyes and the policeman’s boots, 
would turn out to be somebody else when I 
next met him. But he pushed back his 
chair, looked up at me as I entered, and 
burst out laughing. 1 gave a sigh of relief. 

“ You’ve taken care of my bag, I hope ? ’’ 
said he. 

“Oh, yes,” said I. “At least, I’ve given 
it—I’ve had it taken-” 

And, without finishing my speech, I glanced 
at the man who had brought me in—the man 
in the long ccat. He, however, was taking no 
Original from 
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THE NINE-FIFTEEN. 


notice of me* He placed the hag in front of 
the suspicious traveller from the next com- 
partment to ours. 

“Is this your hag? ” said he* 

“ Yes,” said the man, at once* “This is it. 
And look; here are some of the cases left at 
the bottom.” 

He pulled out, as he spoke, some shabby 
leather jewel-cases, and then he opened one 
and showed that it contained a handsome 
diamond bracelet. 

Ha ! ha ! ” laughed Birch, from his seat 
at the table* 

But the speaker Look no notice of him. 

“ No doubt/’ he went on, “ he emptied all 
he could into his pockets and left what he 
couldn’t carry away.” 

I looked at Birch again, but he made 
no remark* I was getting puzzled once 
more. The man who was talking did not 
now look like a thief* He looked like a 
respectable gentleman’s servant, and now 
that his expression was no longer furtive and 
anxious his appearance 
and manner were not 
unprepossessing. He 
went on:— 

u I wasn’t gone from 
the carriage more than 
a minute, and when I 
came back my bag was 
gone and another put 
in its place* I didn't 
find it out till the acci¬ 
dent, when I dragged it 
out from under the seat, 
and saw that it had been 
exchanged for another 
like it The fellow must 
have watched me when 
Tve been in charge of 
her ladyship’s jewels 
before.” 

“ Ha ! ha 3 ” laughed 
Birch again* 

And then I saw that 
he was handcuffed. 

“(rood heavens ! " 
cried L “Then—then 
you’re not a detective 
at all?” 

tl No,” said Birch, in¬ 
solently ; “ but I pass 
very well for one—with 
the mugs ! " 

The remark was ex¬ 
ceedingly pointed, and 
I grew' red. More than 
that, I felt sick and cold 


with the shock of this discovery, and with the 
fear that i was suspected of being the man's 
accomplice* I staggered a little, and when 
the man in the long coat gave me his arm I 
made sure he meant to arrest me* 

“I--I know nothing about it—really!” 
stammered I* 

“Bless you, sir! Of course you don’t* 
You’re as innocent as a babe/’ said he. 

This was meant to be reassuring, but I 
confess I should have preferred a different 
form of words* I felt more and more keenly 
the sense they all had of my gullibility as the 
man in the long coat good-naturedly made 
clear to me what had happened* 

My supposed detective, Birch, was an 
expert thief, who had found out that the 
jewels of a certain very great lady were to be 
sent to her by train by a confidential and 
trusted servant who had frequently been 
employed on similar errands. As he was a 
member of a gang who devoted their time to 
these matters, Birch knew that it was the 


TlfFV HAD 


V MAHV MALLOW TO CONSOLS THEM." 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




r «^ui 

S a 


custom for this servant to carry the jewels in 
a common Gladstone bag, to avoid exciting 
suspicions as to the value of the parcel. He 
had therefore provided himself with a similar 
bag, and had deftly exchanged the one for 
the other on the first opportunity. 

Then, transferring as much of the jewellery 
as he could conveniently carry from the. bag 
to his own pockets, he had left the bag itself 
in my care, and he would probably have 
succeeded in making his escape but for the 
mishap, which had caused the servant to 
find out his loss almost immediately. 

This latter had given the alarm to a couple 
of real detectives who had been sent by the 
same train as the servant, by way of extra 
precaution. One of them, seated in the next 
compartment to the servant, had seen the 
entrance and departure from the carriage of 
Birch, and when the accident happened 
and the alarm was given he had little 
difficulty in identifying the escaping thief, 
horn he and his colleague promptly brought 
to bay and overhauled. 

To turn out his pockets, recover the 
stolen property, and then to handcuff and to 
take him to the inn were their next cares. 
And when I was brought in with the missing 
bag the smallest details of the robbery were 
made clear. 

It was with a burning face and an uneasy 
sense of my own stupidity that I went down¬ 
stairs again, leaving the thief, the servant, 
and the two detectives together. 

The sore point with me was that the 
miserable Scotchman looked upon me as 
the greatest duffer that ever drew breath, and 
piqued himself upon his discernment in 
finding it out. 

To my secret satisfaction, however, things 
turned out differently from what I had 
expected. No sooner had I re-entered the 
room where I had left my travelling-com¬ 
panions than the Scotchman sprang up, 
scared and pale, ejaculating in unmistakable 
dismay :— 

“Then ye’re no the thief?” 

Quick to take advantage of this, I drew 
myself up and said, quietly :— 

“The thief! No, not exactly. But I’m 


very happy to have been of use in running 
the scoundrel to earth.” 

The sensation caused by these words was 
indescribable. All the travellers talked at 
once, asking questions, and trying to prove 
that they had never themselves had the 
least doubt of the truth. 

“They had, though,” whispered my pretty 
girl to me, presently, when the commotion 
had calmed down a little and the group had 
become broken into twos and threes. “ They 
all followed the lead of that Scotchman, who 
thought you had been arrested too.” 

We laughed together over this little joke, 
for my pretty companion’s spirits were rising 
since the information had been brought in 
that the snow had ceased to fall and that in 
a short time it was hoped the line might be 
clear enough for us to continue our journey. 

By the time we did so I had learnt that 
my heroine’s name was Mary Mallow, and 
that we had some friends in common, by 
means of whom I had already made up my 
mind to improve my acquaintance with this, 
the sweetest girl I had ever met. I sympa¬ 
thized with her anxiety for the young brother 
who had, in a weak moment, done the rash 
act from the consequences of which she 
hoped to rescue him by an appeal to their 
relations. And I had already made up my 
mind on one of the most important subjects 
in the world to a previously heart-whole 
young man. 

A certain reserve on the part of the rest of 
our travelling-companions, engendered by the 
remembrance of their rash confessions to me, 
helped to throw us two together. 

And in the pleasure I felt in her society I 
was able to overcome the annoyance caused 
by Birch, who, as he walked over the snow 
towards the train between the two real 
detectives, said to me as he passed :— 

“Good-bye, old pal! I wish I could come 
across a few more of your sort, that I do! ” 

I felt myself grow red under the taunt; 
but after all, if I had made some mistakes on 
that journey, my fellow-passengers had made 
more. 

And they had no pretty Mary Mallow to 
console them ! 


Google 

o 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



To Meet Charles Dickens. 

Written and Illustrated by Harry Furniss. 


my article on 
“ Auto graph 
Hunters ” in 
the last number 
of The Strand 
Magazine I 
omitted to men¬ 
tion a curious 
case in New 
York five years 
ago. I was 
making an 
afternoon call, 
to wish a literary 
friend a merry 
Christmas, 
when his two 
daughters, about fifteen and sixteen years 
of age, came in armed with their autograph 
albums. 

“ As this is Christmas Day it would be 
just sweet of you, Mr. Furniss, to give us 
a sketch of that love of a man, Charles 
Dickens. We reckon he must have been an 
intimate acquaintance of yours in London, 
England.” 

This startling supposition so surprised me 
that I all but dropped the pen on the nice 
clean page. 

“ Bless you, children, when Charles Dickens 
died I was, unfortunately, only your age. 
One of my regrets in life has been that I 
was not born ten years sooner ; then I might 
not only have known Charles Dickens, but 
possibly 1 might have been doing then what 
I am engaged upon now—illustrating the 
works of the immortal humorist*. But if 
you ever come to London- you shall do a 
Dickens tramp and I will be your guide.” 

This “ fall ” I carried out my promise. I 
showed the charming American “ gurls ” the 
Old Curiosity Shop that wasn’t the Old 
Curiosity Shop ; I showed them where Tom 
All-Alone’s had been, but where the ground 
is now County Councilled fiat. I showed 
them places associated with Dickens north, 
south, east, and west of London. After 
seeing them back to their hotel I hurried 
home. Being thoroughly tired out I fell to 
sleep in the arm-chair in my studio, with two 


* I began to illustrate Charles Dickens’s works about seven 
years ago, but in consequence of other business I make slow 
progress. 


things running in my mind—Dickens and 
dinner. 

‘‘Telegram, sir.” 

“Thanks.” 

The telegram ran :— 

“Just received your invitation to dinner 
Christmas Day. I accept with pleasure. 
How are the drawings getting on ? Mr. 
Pickwick and his motor suggests great possi¬ 
bilities. From Charles Dickens, Gad’s Hill.” 

I woke laughing. What a funny idea ! 

“Well,” thought I, “suppose my dream 
were a true one, whom should I ask to meet 
Charles Dickens ? ” 

No one questions the fact that Charles 
Dickens popularized Christmas in England. 
“ I will honour Christmas in my heart, I 
will live in the Past, the Present, and the 
Future. The spirits of all three shall strive 
within me. I will not shut out the lessons 
that they teach.” 

The lessons Charles Dickens taught are 
rcmc'inbered to this day. It is at Christmas 
time that the thoughts of thousands turn to 
Dickens; even the thoughts of those who 
do not read Dickens and do not keep 
Christmas think of him who made Christmas 
sentiments household words. “ Christmas 
time! The man must be a misanthrope 
indeed in whose breast something like a 
jovial feeling is not roused—in whose mind 
some pleasant associations are not awakened 
—by the recurrence of Christmas.” This 
sentiment is applicable to the wnter of it. 
Every Christmas Dickens’s name rises before 
us, and we are reminded of some pleasant 
associations either with Dickens personally 
or with him through his Christmas creations. 

I would invite such as these—men who 
either knew him or were associated with his 
work. I would make up a Christmas party 
to meet Dickens, as he himself wrote : “ Who 
can be insensible to the outpourings of 
good feeling, and the honest interchange of 
affectionate attachment, which abound at 
this season of the year ? A Christmas family 
party! We know nothing in Nature more 
delightful. There seems a magic in the very 
name of Christmas.” The magic was that I 
found myself inviting Charles Dickens to 
meet those still living whom he either knew 
or ought to know. 

It is not to be a dinner such as Dickens 

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE , 


describes in “ Little Dorrit,” of “ the rarest 
dishes, sumptuously cooked and sumptuously 
served ; the choicest fruits; the most exquisite 
wines; marvels of workmanship in gold and 
silver, china and glass ; innumerable things 
delicious to the senses of taste, smell, and 
sight/ 1 When my guests arrive there will be 
“ something peculiar in their air and manner, 
though you could hardly describe what it is ; 
you cannot divest yourself of the idea that 
they have come for some other purpose than 
mere eating and drinking.” 

To parody a description of a dinner-party 
in “ Our Mutual Friend ” : The great looking- 
glass above the sideboard reflects the table 
and the company. Reflects the chair from the 
study at Gad’s Hill in which 
Dickens sat and wrote so much 
of his work. Reflects Lord James 
of Hereford, president of the Boz 
Club ; reflects Lord Brampton, 
who knew Dickens so 
well ; reflects the accom¬ 
plished Hamilton Aid£ ; 
reflects my old friend J. 

Ashby Sterry, whose 
graceful pen keeps the 
memory of Dickens green; 
reflects F. G. Kitton, who 
is the Dickens compiler 
and chronicler of the 
time; reflects the hand¬ 
some presence of my 
friend Arthur a Beckett, 
who knew Dickens and 
wrote for him, together 
with Mr. Moy Thomas, 

Sir Edward Dicey, and 
Dickens's dear old friend 
Dean Hole. Reflects the 
pleasant, legal, and any¬ 
thing but Buzfuzzian face 
of Dickens's acquaintance, 

Mr. Inderwick, K.C, and many other mutual 
friends, not the least interesting and charm¬ 
ing of all being that grand old illustrator and 
cartoonist Sir John Tenniel ; for, as is natural, 
I first hold out my hand to greet the artists 
who worked with Dickens, or knew him. 

No living artist was better acquainted with 
Charles Dickens than Mr. Marcus Stone, 
R*A. He is the son of the late Frank Stone, 
A.R.A., a conventional painter of a type of 
picture such as “The First Appeal” and 
“The Last Appeal,” which found favour with 
the public in the early Victorian era. 
Through this intimacy of his father with 
Dickens young Stone got the chance of 
illustrating the author; in fact, Dickens, with 



a kindness peculiar to him, did all he could 
to start the “son of poor Frank Stone” as an 
illustrator. The title of the book, “Our 
Mutual Friend," was therefore happily sugges¬ 
tive as the one for him to illustrate, followed 
by “ Great Expectations,” which, however, 
were not realized altogether, as Mr. Marcus 
Stone abandoned illustrating for painting - in 
which there is nothing in evidence to show 
any influence of his early patron, Dickens. 
Although he has declared that “as a man 
Dickens influenced my hfe enormously,” his 
art shows it not ■ in fact, he has honestly 
confessed that, although he was greatly struck 
with the dramatic force of Dombey’s paternal 
pride in the birth of his heir, while he cared 
little for his daughter, 
being determined to paint 
a picture on the subject, 
he was forced to paint 
Dombey as Henry VIIL, 
Paul as Edward VI., and 
Florence as Princess 
Elizabeth. 

My eye will be attracted 
to Mr. Luke Fildes, who 
has sketched on the back 
of the menu one of the 
famous characters from 
“Edwin Brood*” There 
is a sadness in Mr. Fildes’s 
look, for he always thinks 
of that unfinished w-ork 
and of the empty chair 
which he painted at Gad’s 
Hill immediately after his 
newly - found friend had 
breathed his last. 

It was in “Edwin 
Drood ” (chapter xiv.) 
that Dickens for the last 
time described his beloved 
Christmas time, “Christ¬ 
mas Eve in Cloister ham,” the striking of the 
cathedral clock and the cawing of the rooks 
from the cathedral tower, “ when the circle 
of their lines was very nearly traced, and the 
beginning and the end were drawing close 
together.” At that time poor Dickens’s life 
was very nearly traced, and the beginning 
and the end were rapidly drawing dose 
together! 

Mr. Luke Fildes Is not afraid of modern 
dress, as is shown by his pictures entitled 
“ The Doctor,” “ The Village Wedding,” and 
“The Return of the Penitent”; and more 
important than all these, “The Casuals.” It 
was the appearance of the latter subject in 
the first number of the Graphic which, 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



MR. MARCUS STONK t K.A., ILLUSTRATOR OF 
* l OLTR MUTUAL FRK-NIX ' 




TO MEET CHARLES DICKENS. 



M K. L1TKK KlLUtS, K, A r , ILLUSTRATOR UF 4< THE MYSTERV 
OF EDWIN DKOOD/' 


brought under the notice of Charles Dickens, 
ended by Mr, Hides illustrating his unfinished 
work, 11 The Mystery of Edwin Drood,” The 
11 mystery n was buried with the author. In 
illustrating Dickens, Mr. Tildes found him 
difficult to please and rather puzzling to 
work with, Dickens was determined that the 
mystery should be a secret, and reluctantly 
gave sufficient details for the pictures to 
illustrate the story. In one instance the 
great author showed an extraordinary lack of 
perception, “ I want you to draw the man 
creeping up the winding stairs to the belfry; 
he must have no lamp—there must be no 
light of any kind, and no moon ; the man 
must have the face of ——** 

li But,” interrupted the artist, “without 
any light whatever how can I show a face ?* 1 

Dickens laughingly replied, “ Oh, I never 
thought of that” 

The mirror in my dining-Toom will also 
reflect the interesting head of the Hon. Sir 
Charles Cavan Duffy, K.CM.G., and my old 
and treasured friend, Mr. F. IX Finlay* 
These two Irishmen were intimate with 
Dickens, and I shall overhear them compar¬ 
ing notes as to Charles Dickens's utter want 
of appreciation of Irish humour. In no book 
does he touch upon Irish wit or introduce 
an Irish character, I understand by the 
letters of these two that in Dickens's 
estimation the Irish have no humour; it 
appeared to him that the Irishman either 
spoke as a fool or was insolent. One 
has told the story how he tried to 

VcjL xxiv.—B C, 


697 

explain to Dickens that this was not so and 
gave the Irish definition of nothing — “a 
footless stocking without a leg.” Dickens, 
when this was mentioned to him, shook his 
head, and could not see any humour in it. 
Then the other has recorded how he tried to 
explain Irish humour to Dickens by mention¬ 
ing the fact that Irish people invariably build 
strong stone walls round their chapels and 
churches to keep out the pigs and the cows. 
When they were building a wall around a 
certain church in his neighbourhood the 
workmen pulled down the church to supply 
the stones with which to build the wall 
The peculiarly Irish humour here, however, 
Dickens failed entirely to grasp. 

Mr* F* D. Finlay was proprietor and editor 
of the Northern Wktg, and when Charles 
Dickens visited Belfast to give his readings 
he stopped with Mr. Finlay* To look at the 
evergreen Frank Finlay one would hardly 
believe that he is old enough to remember 
those fortunate days, and to keep the com¬ 
pany in good humour with his genial, bright 
stories and memories of Dickens. 

The other celebrated Irishman, Sii Charles 
Gavan Duffy, the oldest and most interest¬ 
ing guest I shall ask, was born in 1816, 
Although springing from a family of eminent 
scholars and ecclesiastics, he jumped into 
notoriety as an Irish Nationalist writer 
and editor, and by being tried and 
convicted of sedition in company with 
Dan O'Connell. The House ot Lords set 
aside the conviction. He was subsequently 
unsuccessfully tried for treason felony* At 



HON* SIB OHaRLEJ di.VAW WlWir, K.C.M.G. —" ANOTHEH 


698 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



MR. G. A. STOREY, A.K.A. 


the polls he opposed the Government Under¬ 
secretary who had prosecuted him—defeated 
him, and entered Parliament. In those days 
the Independent Irish Party in the House of 
Commons was very different from the familiar 
object of the Dependent Irish Party of to¬ 
day. And in looking back Dickens’s old 
acquaintance must see the truth of the 
author’s words in “ Martin Chuzzlewit ”: 
“ The mine which Time has slowly dug 
beneath familiar objects is sprung in an 
instant; and what was rock before becomes 
but sand and dust. Most men, at one 
time or other, have proved this in some 
degree.” Certainly no man more than 
Sir Charles Gavan Duffy, for he, when 
forty-six, gave up all the exciting political 
Irish struggle and Parliamentary life in Great 
Britain and emigrated to Australia. He 
practised at the Bar in Melbourne, became 
Minister of Public Works, Prime Minister, 
Speaker of the Legislative Chamber, etc. 
After twenty-four years he returned to Eng¬ 
land and to literature, and a year ago became 
president of the newly-founded Irish Literary 
Society, London. But this is digression. I 
am forgetting my artist gu'. Us. 

Another artist who iooks back with grati¬ 
tude to Dickens I note sketching a little boy 
who, with a great lump of clay in front of 
him, is seated in the sculptor’s studio, begin¬ 
ning his art career, and tells once more 
the story of when he was engaged in 
this artistic effort. “A bright, lively young 
man, good-looking, and with dark flowing 
locks, entered the studio, accompanied 
by Behnes, and took his seat in a comfortable 
arm-chair on a revolving platform. He, too, 
seemed amused at the scene — and very 
much so when he caught sight of a small 
boy sitting in front of a foot almost as big as 


himself, with a bun on one side and a large 
lump of clay on the other, which he was 
trying to thumb into shape. I was the little 
boy, and the lively young man with the dark 
flowing locks was Charles Dickens. He 
came and looked over me, patted me on the 
head, and said some kind things; but I did 
not know who he was till afterwards.” So 
says Mr. G. A. Storey. And the same genial 
artist takes from his pocket a sketch of 
“Old Weller,” his first artistic effort, which 
eventually he discovered was the finger-post 
pointing to art and fame. 

From art we come to music. Here sits a 
handsome gentleman playing, through force 
of habit, an imaginary tune on the table-cloth. 
This is Mr. Francesco Berger, the ever 
bright, genial, indefatigable director of the 
London Philharmonic, who comes to renew 
his early acquaintance with Charles Dickens. 
Indirectly he owes his living all these years in 
London to Dickens, for it was when studying 
music in I^eipzig in the fifties that he made the 
acquaintance of the younger Charles Dickens, 
then living with Tauchnitz’s, the booksellers, 
who were initiating him into the mysteries 
of the trade. This intimacy led to his 
returning to England with young Charles 
(for Francesco Berger was born in England), 
and subsequently to the introduction to 
the author, who invited him to compose 
the overtures and incidental music to the 
two plays, “ The Lighthouse ” and “ The 
Frozen Deep.” Francesco Berger also pre¬ 
sided at the piano at the Tavistock House 



TO MEET CHARLES DICKENS. 


699 



SIR SQUIRE Ofil-IGKf* WITH A HEAPING OK 
CHRISTMAS CAROL. ' 


entertainments and 
other places* He 
tells us of his plea- 
sant trip to Bou¬ 
logne in 1856, 
where he was 
much with the 
Dickens family ; 
of how Charles 
Dickens carried 
his baby boy on 
his head all the 
way to the fair; he 
tells us of the re¬ 
hearsals, of Augustus 
Eggs's realistic acting 
of sea-sickness which 
so delighted the 
Queen and Prince 
Consort* T h e 
Dickens musical 
composer and per¬ 
former wears in 
honour of his 
“ manager ” the three 
blue enamelled studs 

set in diamonds, “ From C D. to F. B., 1857.” 
41 They arc as bright and fresh-looking as 
their wearer/ 1 I say to him* ** Ah/' he 
replies, 44 for brightness, sparkling like these 
diamonds, with a heartiness as pure as this 
enamel, no one ever equalled * The Manager/ 
Charles Dickens.” 

From music we come to the stage* For, 
after all, Dickens was born to be a great 
actor; by a kicky accident he became a great 
author. All those who have ever heard him 
read admit that he was the 
greatest actor of his day ; and 
it was his love for the stage 
that, in a measure, hastened 
his death, Just before his 
fatal seizure, when very ill, he 
presided on the stage at a 
friend's house, superintending 
the performance of his daugh¬ 
ters, who were, as amateurs, 
taking part in the play* One 
of his last letters was to Miss 
Marie Wilton, now Duly 
Bancroft* It is interesting to 
note that the words Scrooge's 
nephew sj>caks in praise of a 
charitable Christmas time Sir 
Squire Bancroft has often and 
often repeated in giving the 
“ChristmasCarol” “Though 
it has never put a scrap of 
gold or silver in my pocket, I 



SIR HENRY IRVING AS 
SIKES," 


believe that it has 
done me good, and 
will do me good ; 
and I say, God 
bless it! ” might 
well be applied to 
this talented reader 
of Dickens him¬ 
self, for he has 
given his readings 
for charity, and, as 
he said to me, he 
has had a “kind, for¬ 
giving, charitable, 
pleasant time/'in read¬ 
ing Dickens at Christ¬ 
mas* Apropos of this 
mythical dinner to 
Dickens be writes 
“ 18, Berkeley Square, 
“September rath, 
1902* 

“ My Dear Fur- 
Ntss,—*Just up from 
the country I find your 
invitation, and hasten 
to answer it* Alas ! I never knew Dickens ; 
I just missed the privilege—one of his very 
last letters was written to my wife. 

“All I can suggest, in reply to your kindly 
expressed wish, is that by my ‘reading' of 
the ‘Christmas Carol' I have had the 
pleasure to give fifteen thousand pounds to 
hospitals, and, perhaps, have done some¬ 
thing to ‘keep his memory green.'—Sincerely 
always, Squire Bancroft.” 

And after dinner I am sure Sir Squire will 
honour us with a reading from 
the “ Christmas Carol” 

Two of my most treasured 
friends — everybody's friend, 
dear “ Johnny " Toole, and 
our greatest and most scholarly 
actor, Sir Henry Irving—will 
come together. I wonder, 
as they are coming to meet 
Charles Dickens, will Sir 
Henry appear, as he did in 
1868, as Bill Sikes ; and will 
his old chum, Toole, once 
more don the dress and give 
that never - to - be - forgotten 
whistle in the character of the 
Artful Dodger ? Alas ! how 
seldom we see Dickens re¬ 
presented on the stage now¬ 
adays ! It would be difficult 
to find actors at present with 

UNT ERsfrofWfStT ,h "" “ 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


700 


play Dickens parts. 

Dickens was essentially a 
dramatic writer. More 
than that, he was a fine 
actor, and no doubt in 
writing his books he 
selected his characters and 
situations more as a drama¬ 
tist than as a novelist. His 
characters were all strongly 
drawn. They had to play 
so that the last man in 
the gallery heard them and 
saw them. In the reading 
world “the gallery” is 
represented, and it was 
Dickens's object to reach 
the bourgeois reader. To¬ 
day the actor who “plays 
to the gallery ” is called 
stagey, old-fashioned, and 
out-of-date. To test this, find a cast to play 
Dickens. 

That most excellent actor, James Fer¬ 
nandez, has played many Dickens parts. 
“Aye,” he said to me, “what splendid 
character-acting I have seen in those plays! 
Sam Emery and little Clarke as Squeers and 
Uriah Heep, Miss Harriet Coveney as Miss 
Squeers, and every part, no matter how 
small, played to the life. I recollect at the 
Adelphi playing Martin Chuzzlewit. On the 
table were 1 property 1 books. Old ledgers 
of the theatre served the purpose; in the 
scene we opened them, and it was curious 
to note the takings 
of the theatres in the 
old days as compared 
with now-. Seventy or 
eighty pounds was a 
big Boucicauit suc¬ 
cess ; a hundred to a 
hundred and twenty 
pounds on Satur¬ 
days.” Nowadays 
with such a return a 
manager would close 
a theatre. But then 
in those days an 
actor and his wife 
playing leading parts 
received four pounds 
a week between 
them ; now the same 
would demand a 
hundred and forty! 

All readers of 
Forster’s “ Life of 
Dickens ” will re¬ 


member that the novelist 
was rightly angry beyond 
control at the premature 
dramatizing of bis stories. 
The worst culprit was 
Edward Stirling, and it is 
notorious that in conse¬ 
quence of this manufac¬ 
turer of plays supplying 
the last act of one of his 
books caused Dickens to 
alter the ending of the 
novel. 

Dickens was terribly in 
earnest in everything con¬ 
nected with the stage. He 
was really himself the first- 
tragedy man he referr to 
in “Nicholas Ntckleby ”: 
44 We had a first-tragedy 
man in our company once, 
who, when he played Othello, used to black 
himself all over. But that’s feeling a part 
and going into it as if you meant it; it isn't 
usual—more’s the pity.” 

Then I find chatting with Mr. Toole and Sir 
Henry their old friend, John Hollingshead, 
who wrote so much for Charles Dickens’s 
“ All the Year Round,” before the days he 
turned theatrical manager and held up at 
the Gaiety “the sacred lamp of burlesque.” 
John Hollingshead wrote a few years after 
Dickens’s death, in reply to the snarlings of 
more modern authors, the following charac¬ 
teristic tribute ; “ When the turmoil of the 
present century, with 
all the virulence of its 
political debate and 
all the petty jea¬ 
lousies of its litera¬ 
ture, shall have 
passed away ; when 
those who penned the 
stinging epigram or 
thecaustic satireshall 
be weak, or dead, or 
dying — dying; and 
anxious to give worlds 
to cancel many a 
brilliant injustice 
which their hasty 
pens have put upon 
record, then, and 
not till then, shall we 
arrive at a calm esti¬ 
mate of the value of 
the writings of 
Dickens.’ 1 

Original from Another constant 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



UK. J. L. TOOLE AS THE ARTFUL 
DOUGER.*' 






TO MEET CHARLES DICKENS. 


701 



VERY RAftE fORTKAIT OF DICKF-NS, TAKEN SHOrtTl.V HEFOftti HIS D^A J H. 
IN THE POSSESSION OF MR. J. C. PARKINSON, 


contributor to Charles Dickens’s magazine, 
Mr. J. C. Parkinson, arrives, with a highly- 
valued portrait of the great novelist—the only 
good photograph of Dickens taken in his last 
years, and I know of only one other of this 
in existence—which I here reproduce* Mr* 
Parkinson was not only a friend of Dickens’s, 
but, as a quotation from his letter to him will 
show, a very valued contributor* It is a 
specimen also of Dickens’s kind appreciation 
of those who worked for him, “In my 
editorship both of Household Words and 
All the Year Round you know very well that 
I have invariably offered you those subjects 
of political and social interest to write upon 
in which integrity, exactness, a remarkable 
power of generalizing evidence and balancing 
facts, and a special clearness in stating the 
case were indispensable on the part of the 
writer* My confidence in your powers has 
never been misplaced, and through all our 
literary intercourse you have never been hasty 
or wrong. Whatever crust you have under¬ 
taken has been so completely discharged 


that it has become 
my habit to read your 
proofs rather for my 
own edification than 
(as in other cases) for 
the detection of some 
slip here or there, or the 
more pithy presentation 
of the subject/* 

“ Have you uverdined 
with Dickens?” 1 ask* 
“Yes, 1 dined with 
Dickens at Tavistock 
House on Christmas 
Day, 1859 — a family 
party* These I remem¬ 
ber to have been present: 
Chauncey Hare Towns- 
bend and his pet spaniel 
and Mr. Sheriff Cordon 
were there ; Mrs. D., 
Senior (his mother), and 
also Alfred Dickens, 
engineer (brother), and 
wife, who is still alive 
and a great friend of 
mine* We played chil¬ 
dren’s games in the 
evening, Dickens lead¬ 
ing — * Proverbs * and 
4 Yes and No/ ” 

Then the father of 
the Royal Academy, 
Dickens’s old friend, and the favourite artist 
of the Dickensonia period, William Powell 
Frith, may honour the memory of the novelist 
by being present* For no pictures gave 
Dickens greater pleasure than Frith’s “ Derby 
Day,” “The Railway Station,” and “The 
Ramsgate Sands*” I could see that great 
artistic success of the Victorian era resting 
on the arm of Mr. Marion Spielmann, the 
proud possessor of Frith's portrait of Charles 
Dickens ; while the Poet Laureate of England, 
who is numbered among Dickens’s personal 
acquaintances, may write an Ode for this 
important occasion* 

With such a company I leave the details 
of the evening to the imagination of the 
reader. It is not for me to say what would 
be the result of such a gathering. To once 
more quote Charles Dickens, I feel certain 
my reminiscence of such an evening would 
be that “ Every man among them hummed a 
Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, 
or spake below his breath to his companion 
of some bygone Christmas Day*” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





Christmas for Three. 

By Winifred Graham. 



SMALL child sat curled up 
on a white rug enjoying the 
warm glow of the big log fire. 
Such a luxurious little soul 
she looked in her velvet frock 
with its quaint lace collar, her 
feet tucked away under her supple body, her 
hair hanging round her face like a mane of 
ruddy gold. 

The childish eyes, wide and wistful, doubt¬ 
less saw in the bright flames pictures of 
wonder and delight, for was not the spirit of 
Christmas in the air with all its fantasy—the 
spirit of Christmas which bespoke mystery 
and charm ? 

So still she sat that two women conversing 
in low tones as the twilight gathered forgot 
the presence of Viva and talked unreservedly. 

“Of course he will come back for Christ ^ 
mas/ murmured Viva's aunt, a very girlish- 
looking young matron, who had motored over 
to spend the day with Mrs. Arundel. 

Her sister sighed, shaking her fair head, 
which in the 
firelight appear¬ 
ed the exact 
shade of Viva's; 
and the sigh 
made the child 
look up from her 
reverie to listen 
attentively, 

41 1 am afraid 
not. He is 
engrossed heart 
and soul in this 
one absorb¬ 
ing passion- 
science 1 n 

Mrs, Arundel 
spoke with a 
bitterness she 
usually control¬ 
led in Viva's 
hearing, and 
continued with 
the sound of 
tears in her 
voice, while a 
suspicious mois¬ 
ture made her 
eyes unnaturally 
bright. 

“ Be thankful, 

Carina, your klam^s ncrvitEs of 


husband finds no joy in the solitude of a 
laboratory—consider yourself lucky you have 
not married a man with Dudley's tastes. 
Only think of it: Viva and I are eclipsed by 
the study of chemistry, put on one side, 
ignored—that the world may be the wiser 
through a few experiments ! As if the world 
were not quite wise enough already ! n 

41 Why should he not work at home ? ” 
asked Carina* 

“He declares we should distract him ; so 
he built himself a bungalow at Moreton, 
where he buries himself month after month, 
and, though it is only eight miles away, as 
far as we are concerned he might as well be 
at the North Pole ! I sent him just one line 
yesterday (he hates letters): 1 Expect you 
home to-morrow —nothing more. I am too 
proud to tell him how my heart yearns for 
the love and companionship of old days.” 

** I pass through Moreton to-night/ 1 said 
Carina, “ I shall call on him. He ought to 
be told. It isn't treating you fairly*” 

Carina folded 
her arms; there 
was a bright flush 
in her cheeks 
kindled by re¬ 
sentment Tall, 
athletic, singu- 
larly deter¬ 
mined, she 
looked as if she 
might carry out 
her threat. 

“Please do 
nothing of the 
kind. Dudley 
would be furi¬ 
ous. Ah ! ” 

The exclama¬ 
tion broke from 
Mrs, Arundel’s 
lips with unmis¬ 
takable delight 
as a telegram 
was handed to 
her — a yellow 
envelope, which 
doubtless bore 
some kindly 
message of re¬ 
assurance* 

“He will 

ND DELLIGHT/' COIT1C buck fOF 

DfflVB&ITY OF MICHIGAN 


WONDER AMC 





CHRISTMAS FOR THREE. 


7°3 


Christmas; he must come back for Christ¬ 
mas !” she inwardly told herself, thoygh out¬ 
wardly she confessed, “ I am afraid not! ” 

The child on the hearthrug noticed her 
mother’s fingers tremble as she read the 
writing. The flames leapt » p with strange, 
almost fiendish, glee, illuminating Mrs. 
Arundel’s haggard face. Viva fancied they 
laughed and crackled purposely—to accen¬ 
tuate the pain, the disappointment “Not 
coming! ” 

Only two words, but Christmas brightness 
and Christmas cheer dwindled and vanished ; 
only two words spoken with assumed callous¬ 
ness, yet they affected the whole outlook of 
the glad to-morrow. Viva rose and, drawing 
nearer, nestled closer to her mother’s side. 
She felt at a loss for words. Aunt Carrie’s 
remark kept ringing in her ears—“ He ought 
to be told.” 

“ We wanted him, didn’t we, ever so 
much ? ” whispered the little voice. “ I think 
perhaps we had better not light up the 
Christmas tree now; he will like to see it so 
much when he does come. Do you think if 
he knew we had fastened his present right at 
the top he would change his mind ? ” 

Mrs. Arundel did not reply, but Carina 
suggested that Viva might go and play 
upstairs, evidently discerning that the child’s 
innocent v marks were calculated to harrow 
rather than console her mother. 

Viva slipped away gladly, for the atmo¬ 
sphere of the room seemed suddenly fraught 
with depression, and the child was keenly 
sensitive to influences. 

It quite staggered her—the mere idea that 
Christmas might after all not be a time of 
rejoicing, and that even the merry bells 
which would peal from the church tower 
could sound a mournful note to the ears of 
the disappointed and lonely. The thought 
came as a revelation, a shock—she stretched 
out her baby arms and breathed hard. The 
realities of life pressed upon her with a 
weight of responsibility, the big things made 
themselves felt. 

A woman’s happiness—that was the matter 
at stake. She did not think of her own dis¬ 
appointment ; all unconsciously her generous 
little mind dwelt only upon Mrs. Arundel’s 
heartache and suffering. 

What was this bogey her mother called 
“ Science,” which had come into their lives 
and rendered their home a blank ? The horrid 
spectre meant to spoil their Christmas now, 
as it had spoilt so many pleasant plans 
already since it builded itself a house and 
walled her father round within a tower of 


solitude. Viva stood quite still in the low- 
roofed hall, thinking. Across the ceiling 
long rafters of oak gave an old-fashioned air 
to the building. The firelight played on 
carved settees and quaint furniture, while the 
great chimney seemed inviting Viva to 
shelter and forget her woes in its ingle-nook. 

Though a lover of warmth and comfort, 
just as dogs and kittens delight in the glow 
of a friendly hearth, Viva shook her head at 
the invitation, crossing to the rattling window, 
which a cold wind shook freezingly—a blizzard 
from the north-east. The garden below 
looked bare and cheerless, but the child’s 
imagination travelled back to one day last 
summer, and, instead of the rough voice of 
Boreas, she heard again the hum of bees 
revelling in a perfect prairie of intoxicating 
mignonette, and losing themselves in the 
delight of gillyflowers. 

She remembered watching her father and 
mother strolling up and down the narrow, 
winding path through an avenue of scented 
bloom, while she ran at their side catching 
snatches of the conversation. 

“The bungalow will be finished next 
week,” he had said, cheerfully; “ then I can 
begin my experiments in real earnest.” 

Mrs. Arundel, joining in his enthusiasm, 
talked of the happy hours he would spend in 
his new haunt, adding that she hoped his 
studies might never keep him long away, 
but only make the lazy leisure of their 
country life the sweeter when he came home. 

She stood as she spoke by a great feathery 
bush of larkspur. Viva saw it all again—the 
fair, tall woman crowned by a picture hat of 
crimson and pink roses. 

“That is the prettiest hat I have ever 
seen,” the scientist remarked, and the words 
which followed sank deeply into Viva’s heart 
—“ the very prettiest hat! If my Queen 
Esther ever wishes to ask me a favour, be 
sure no man could possibly resist the charms 
of that wonder in millinery.” 

From that day, as the summer advanced, 
Mrs. Arundel constantly wore the favoured 
confection, till even the marvellous Paris 
roses so cunningly manufactured lost their 
bloom, faded in the sun, and finally expired 
in their bed of limp chiffon under the 
harmful influence of an August shower. 

“ The poor old hat is done for; I shall 
never get another he likes so well ! ” Esther 
Arundel had said to herself, as she threw 
the disfigured thing of beauty upon an un- 
beautiful heap of rubbish. 

No one saw Viva, a few minutes later, 
carefully lift the hat beloved of her father 

IJNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


7°4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



lore, imbued the once 
dainty trifle with magic 
significance. It hdd, she 
believed, a secret power, 
as many an odd relic in 
the pages of juvenile 
fiction* She thought of 
Aladdin’s lamp, of the red 
rose which brought fortune 
in war, and the love flower 
coveted by those whose 
natural charms were not 
sufficiently powerful to 
attract affection. With a 
leap she sprang from the 
window-seat upon which 
she was kneeling, hearing 
only the wild beating of her 
heart as she ran upstairs. 
Her large play room was 
empty; the nursery gover¬ 
ness being away for Christ¬ 
mas holidays, Viva lelt 
delightfully free. 

A great resolution took 
possession of her soul. She 
must prevent Christmas 
being a failure, for mother’s 
sake ! She struggled with 
a desire to laugh and cry 
at the same time, yet oddly 
enough she did neither. 
She just stood by her box 
of toys, very still and 
passive, though inwardly 
emotions keen, forcible, 
agonizing, rent her spirit* 
Christmas meant so 
much, held such vast 

from its lowly position in the dust, consign¬ 
ing the crushed roses and limp straw decked 
in chiffon to her play-box, a large receptacle 
kept for her own special properties* 

To the child's untrained eye the long 
rose-sprays were just as attractive as when 
Queen Esther walked among the mignonette 
in the lovely old herbaceous garden so full of 
fragrant odours, and rich with love unchilled 
by wintry blasts. 

Now, as Viva’s eyes rested on the frost¬ 
bitten grass and bare, gaunt trees, her father’s 
words re-echoed through her brain, sounding 
the chords of memory, waking music in 
her heart* 

Had he not declared emphatically no man 
could possibly resist the charms of that won¬ 
derful hat ? Father always spoke the truth, 
she knew that for certain ! Ever since his 
chance remark, the child, steeped in fairy 


possibilities* Mother had told her it was a 
time of happy reunions, when father would 
be sure to come home. If the carollers sang 
under their windows it would only serve to 
remind them of his absence at this fateful 
time; even the thought of the big, round 
plum-pudding all ablaze, with the mysterious 
bright sixpence hidden in its luscious cavities, 
became a hollow mockery ! 

A deep, tremulous breath escaped Viva’s 
lips as she bent down and opened her box of 
treasures* Two or three exceedingly stylish 
dolls dressed for walking, in poke bonnets and 
yachting caps, reposed limply upon the faded 
remains of Mrs* Arundel’s rose-garlanded hat* 
With eager fingers Viva drew it to the light, 
and even in its decay traces of Parisian 
handiwork were visible. Under the lace 
scarf wound -amongst the chiffon a handsome 
paste ornament in,the form of a serpent 








CHRISTMAS FOR THREE . 


7°5 


glittered with emerald eyes* Possibly the 
hand of a wizard had placed it there, for 
the little green eyes seemed looking at Viva 
in a way that sent an uncanny shiver down 
her spine* The rose-stalks boasted large 
brown thorns which did not prick—another 
evidence of magic, and the whole appeared 
so redolent of charm to the child's dazzled 
gaze that the soft, sweet influence of summer 
seemed creeping into the room* Viva placed 
the wonderful hat on her 
own small head, mounting a 
chair to examine the effect 
in a mirror over the chimney- 
piece. She mimicked her 
mother’s attitude as she 
poised the dilapidated relic 
on her loose mass of wavy 
hair. Strangely grotesque 
it looked, this faded master¬ 
piece of fashion framing the 
childish face ; but 
Viva's anxious 
heart saw no 
humour in the 
quaint vision the 
mirror reflected. 

She only knew 
that attired thus 
she must go forth 
to conquer, bear¬ 
ing her battered 
helmet of finery 
with the dignity of 
absolute convic¬ 
tion* No queen 
ever wore a crown 
with greater faith 
in its invincibility, 
but between Viva 
and the kingdom 
to be conquered 
lay a vast expanse 
of country—eight 
long miles of 
frozen road* Night 
was closing in, and 
the cold outer air 
held terrors for 
Viva* She loved 
warmth and light, yet this petted child never 
faltered in her resolve. She just covered 
her eyes for one moment to blot out the 
vision of the night and gather her courage 
together, when a way of escape flashed 
through her mind, setting her heart beating 
wildly with hope, thrilling her pulses with 
expectation. 

The roses nodded on their frayed stems, 

Yul. 89* 


showing the fatal wires that added to the 
general shabbiness of their condition. But 
to Viva they smiled encouragement and 
breathed fragrance. They were beautiful 
emblems of a summer’s day, when the bees 
were busy—when the birds sang. 

Carina bade her sister good-night, looking 
like a huge bear in her enormous motor-coat, 
which enveloped the slight figure from chin 
to toe* 

11 1 can't bear to think of you 
driving back in the bitter 
cold! 1 * said Mrs* 



WITH b'AiiCR FIBERS VIVA tlREW JT TO THE LIGHT. 


Arundel, as Carina 
raised a thick veil 
for a last embrace. 
u But really your 
wraps defy the 
weather, and as 
you say the roads 
are in splendid 
condition you will 
be home in no 
time*” 

“ I shall not 
forget,” replied 
Carina, “ to stop 
at the bungalow 
and drop your 
note in Dudley's 
letter-box* just a season¬ 
able greeting with no word 
of complaint 3 You are 
indeed a good wife; I 
should storm the citadel, 
and give him no peace 
till he came back to eat 
his mince - pies in the 
bosom of his family*" 
Mrs, Arundel whispered 
a warm Christmas wish 
as she disengaged herself 
from Carina’s furry arms* 
She did not call Viva, for 
the cold night winds were 
blowing in at the open 
door and she feared the 
draughts* The swift car, 
with its brilliant lights, 
looked weird enough as Carina sprang into 
a comfortable seat, keeping her hands in a 
monster muff while her chauffeur drove. She 
nurtured hard thoughts of Dudley Arundel, 
and there was little “goodwill” in her heart 
as she contemplated his attitude towards 
Esther* 

Meanwhile Mrs. Arundel went back to her 

lonely fireside* and sat like one in a dream, 

Trginalfnom 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


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THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


staring into the flames with eyes that were 
quite tearless. 

She would not allow herself to review the 
situation ; she could not bear turning over in 
her mind the gradual drifting of love to the 
great seas of disillusion. She remembered, 
of course, how in the past they had welcomed 
the cheerful Yuletide together, when the man 
of science had not been above playing his 
part of Santa Claus with smiling good- 
humour, enjoying the sight of his child’s 
happiness. Oh, cruel, torturing memory, 
spinning out the weary moments with threads 
of vivid recollection ! Esther Arundel closed 
her eyes, the sleepy embers mesmerized her. 

Outside Jack Frost strode across the earth 
with chilling fingers, painting the bare houghs 
white and edging the ivy leaves with silver. 

During the night the world was to be 
transformed into a veritable Christmas card, 
clothed in spotless array like an infant child. 

On, on, across the hard white roads, 
Carina’s racing car made sport of those long 
eight miles. It seemed to a little 
figure hiding under the back seat 
that the swift carriage stopped in 
a marvellously short time. 

“ Put this note in Mr. Arundel’s 
letter - box,” said 
Carina’s voice to the 
driver, and Viva, 
who had almost sup¬ 
pressed her breath¬ 
ing for fear of dis¬ 
covery, raised her 
head and looked 
quickly round. 

Now was her 
chance ! The chauf¬ 
feur, whose vigilant 
eye she had carefully 
evaded in the stables 
at home, was now 
disappearing through 
the bungalow gnte, 
and her aunt, muffled up to her forehead, 
was not likely to see or hear, since eyes and 
ears were alike buried in the recesses of a 
Storm-collar. 


bite of Jack Frost’s icy kisses. In the small 
body there burned a fire which defied cold 
and dispelled bogeys, which drove away the 
fancied horrors, bracing Viva to daring deeds. 

She looked up at a window from which a 
light glowed brightly, catching the reflection 
of her father’s figure as he moved to and 
fro in the room, A rush of joy at the sight 
sent the blood to her head. Impetuously 
she filled both her hands with gravel, and 
flung a tingling shower of stones full at the 
glass panes. Her signal had the desired 
effect, for a hand quickly unbolted the 
window, while a familiar voice called out : 
14 VVho’s there ? ,J 

The tone in which the question was put 
startled the child. Her father appeared 
evidently annoyed, and repeated his remark 
in less restrained language. 



Viva slipped noiselessly to the ground, vault¬ 
ing over the little door at the back of the 
car, and quickly concealed herself under the 
shadow of the wall. She felt desperately 
frightened of the surrounding loneliness, of 
tne darkness and space ! It was with diffi¬ 
culty she prevented herself crying out to 
Aunt Carina as once more the car agitated 
itself into motion. But love gave her heart 
courage, and love made her forget the sharp 


“viva SLIh h l'F-T> NOISM.ES&LY TO THE &Rf?USt) ” 

* ( It’s me,” she replied ; “it’s Viva I” 

The juvenile accents, sounding so very 
small and thin as they reached him faintly, 
came as a shock to Dudley Arundel. He 
had been working for days and nights till his 
brain reeled ; toiling, with little sleep, no 
exercise, and scant food 4 to assist the huipan 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


CHRISTMAS FOR THREE. 


707 


frame. Now, he told himself, the result of 
his folly was at hand, his senses were giving 
way, he saw visions and dreamed dreams! 

Viva’s voice! Impossible! His ears 
played him false, and his strained eyes must 
be conjuring up the little, shadowy form 
gazing towards his window. 

“ I want to come in—please,"continued the 
childish treble, and it was evident her teeth 
were beginning to chatter with cold. 

A moment later the door of the bunga¬ 
low opened wide, and Viva stood facing her 
father with lips that trembled. He stared 
and stared, wonderingly, at the odd little 
figure-of-fun she made. To keep herself warm 
she had wrapped round her shoulders the 
small eiderdown quilt off her own bed, since 
she found her arms were not long enough to 
detach her outdoor coat from the peg upon 
which it hung. Crowning the quilt of varied 
hues she proudly wore her famous talisman, 
the crushed rose hat of last July, fashioned 
to rest on a coiffured head, to live for a few 
bright summer days under the kindly shade 
of a parasol. Poised on Viva’s hanging hair 
and resting above the face of a child, Mrs. 
Arundel’s discarded hat looked pitiful indeed. 
The very roses hung their faded heads in 
shame, as if regretting this cruel resurrection. 

“ How on earth are you here ? ’’ gasped 
her father, bewildered, “and why have you 
dressed yourself up in this extraordinary 
way ? ’’ 

Viva dropped the quilt with a reassuring 
smile, and shook out the folds of her short 
velvet frock, sadly crumpled from the cramped 
position she had maintained in the car. 

“ The quilt isn’t very pretty, I know,’’ she 
said, apologetically, “ but Aunt Carina told 
mother it did not matter how fat a person 
looked on a motor-car; and then, you see, I 
am wearing this beautiful hat because I 
remembered you liked, it so much. Mother 
threw it away ages ago, only I saved it to 
please you. Don’t you know you said if she 
ever wanted to ask a favour she must wear 
this hat, and I have come to tell you about 
Christmas, and the tree with the presents on 
it, which is waiting at home. I just want to 
beg you to come back." 

Viva came close to his side and touched 
his arm. He was very cold, she noticed, as 
her fingers strayed down to the clenched 
hand hanging at his side. The fire was 
almost out, and the house gave Viva a chill 
sensation of discomfort—of dread. 

“ Christmas ! " he murmured, looking very 
hard at her; “ you don’t mean to say we are 
getting near Christmas yet?" His voice had 

Digitized by CiOOqIc 
* o 


a note in it which Viva did not understand. 
She only saw his astonished expression, she 
could not read his heart. Impossible for one 
so young to discern the sudden revulsion of 
feeling working within the breast of the man, 
who had trained himself through study to 
be a mere machine. The tender touch of 
humanity, awakening him to the realization 
of all he was foregoing, kindled w r ithin him 
a sudden glow. A thousand ghastly imagin¬ 
ings had for a moment crowded his brain 
when Viva entered his lonely haunt. She 
had come to bring bad news. Esther was 
ill—Esther needed him—Esther might pos¬ 
sibly be dead ! Oh ! horrible vision of hours 
wasted, of days lost, of a past that might 
never be retrieved. The manhood in him 
sprang to life like a river swelling into 
flood, a longing forgotten rose upon the 
ashes of neglect, revived by the sight of a 
blue-eyed, white-souled child. She had come 
to “ tell him about Christmas," to set the 
deadened memories in motion, to draw him 
back with those tiny fingers, to make him 
alive again. After his long retirement he. 
came out into the light with quivering pulses 
and a strange, torn sensation at his heart¬ 
strings. He had, in his absorption, lost all 
count of time. His extraordinary ignorance 
amazed Viva. 

“ It’s Christmas Eve night," she gasped, 
bubbling over with information ; “ and to¬ 
morrow will be Christmas Day. That was 
why mother felt so very, very disappointed 
when your telegram came. You had never 
been away at Christmas before." 

There was a world of reproach in the baby 
voice, and the pink roses waggled their 
heads mournfully. Dudley Arundel seemed 
stunned ; the sight of the flower-bedecked hat 
brought Esther back in her summer glory 
to the fog-clouded brain—Esther in the old- 
world garden amongst the hollyhocks and 
carnations. 

“ Christmas Eve ! ” he repeated; “ Christ¬ 
mas Eve ! ’’ He passed his hand over his 
forehead, and turning slowly closed and 
locked the door of his laboratory. Then he 
said again, “ Christmas Eve ! ” He touched 
the crushed blossoms on Viva’s head, and for 
a moment his fingers rested among the dis¬ 
hevelled chiffons with a lingering embrace. 

Viva glanced up proudly conscious of his 
admiration. She was wearing the prettiest 
hat, the very prettiest hat, that had ever been 
seen, and the magic charm was working, for 
were there not tears in her father’s eyes as he 
gazed at the enchanted chiffons ? She heard 
him murmur once more, “ Christmas Eve ! 5 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



in a tone of wonder; and Viva smiled as he 
turned his back on that bogey “Science,'* 
leaving it safdy locked away in the dreary* 
fireless room. 

Mrs. Arundel woke with a start. She 
heard a carriage stop at lhe door and, peering 
through the window, saw a four-wheeled cab 
from which two figures emerged. She had 
just been dreaming of Dudley, and the shock 
of returning consciousness brought a pang of 
redoubled pain. The room was nearly dark, 
and groping her way to the door she came 
out into the brightly-lighted hall feeling 
dazzled and slightly confused. The hall, 
decked with boughs of holly, wore a festive 
air, while a great bunch of mistletoe hung 
from an oak rafter by a crimson cord. The 
old-fashioned chairs and settees, with piles of 
bright coloured cushions, gave a cosy, home¬ 
like welcome; the fire blazed 
mightily, yellow tongues o. 
flame leaping around the 
large togs of pine. 

Under the mistletoe 
stood a pale - faced man, 
whose eyes kindled at sight 
of the woman he had so 
long neglected. With a cry 
she threw herself into his 
arms, while a grotesque little 
figure danced round in wild 
glee, waving the wreck of 
that magic sun-hat with the 
red roses of love, hanging 
now- by a few frail threads 
to the heart of the withered 
chiffon. 

“It's Christmas—Christ¬ 
mas — Christmas !” sang 
Viva, delightedly. 11 Fancy, 
mother, daddy said we’ll 
order 4 Christmas for three/ 
and he has told Santa Gaus 
to call as usual, and well 
light the tree and the pud¬ 
ding; and listen! listen! 
the carols have come, the 
carols-——” 

She could say no more. 

She just paused for breath, 
stifled by a great wave of 
boundless ecstasy. 

From without voices 
chanted of goodwill, of peace 
on earth, of joy and love. 

Within, the “Christmas for 
three ” had begun. As 
Esther learned the history 

Digitized by' 


of her discarded bat a tender smile parted 
her lips, while her eyes grew moist with 
unspeakable gratitude. 

“ I thought the old thing had been thrown 
away long ago,” she said. 

“ The old thing,” answered Dudley, softly, 
“was only hidden in a dark cupboard, and 
it came out for Christmas to bring me a 
message, to speak of summer when the earth 
looked dead and cold.” 

Viva still gazed admiringly at her beloved 
talisman. 

“ Don’t part with your treasure, my child,” 
he said ; “it is worth preserving, though, as 
far as I am concerned, it will never be 
wanted any more ! 51 

“Of course I shall keep it,” replied the 
little voice, earnestly, “and next summer 
mother can wear it again.” 

She wondered why both her parents laughed. 


WITH A CUV SHE THRFU HFFrSEt.F INTO HIS ARMS," 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











Ruskin and His Books. 


AN INTERVIEW WITH HIS PUBLISHER. 
By E> T* Cook* 


ALF a century ago it was a 
grand thing to be a student at 
the Working Men's College, 
The college had just been 
founded by Frederick Denison 
Maurice (father of the pre¬ 
sent Major-General Sir Frederick Maurice, 
K*C*B.), a man whose theology may have 
been misty, but whose efforts in the service 
of man were wise and good, and who was 
beloved by all who came near him. The 
helpers whom he gathered round him at the 
college formed the most brilliant group of 
teachers ever brought together for such 
a purpose, Foremost among them was 
Ruskin, who for several years was in 
charge of the art classes 
at the college. Ruskin 
was at that time in 
close intimacy with the 
poet - painter, Dante 
Gabriel Rossetti, and 
he also became a 
master at the college* 

Ruskin taught land¬ 
scape ; Rossetti, the 
figure* For a time 
Burne-Jones also was 
pressed into the service. 

Opinions differed as to 
the technical quality of 
the teaching given by 
these distinguished 
men, 

William Bell Scott, 
also painter and poet, 
once went to the college 
to see Rusk in's class 
at work. “Everyone," 
he says, “ was trying to 
put on small pieces of 
paper imitations by pen 
and ink (? pencil) of pieces of rough stick 
crusted with dry lichens ■ I came away 
feeling that such pretence of education 
was in a high degree criminal—it was intellec¬ 
tual murder! ” But Scott at the time was a 
master in the South Kensington Schools, 
and was, perhaps, not impartial Rossetti's 
own account of his class is lively* 41 None 
of your freehand drawing-books used,” be 
wrote to a friend; “ Lhe British mind is 
brought to bear upon the British mug at once, 
and with results that would astonish you.” 


Whatever else it may have been, to attend 
classes conducted by Ruskin and Rossetti 
cannot have been dull Among the young 
men who had the good fortune to be 
students at the Working Men's College, 
and the good sense to make the most of 
the opportunity, was Mr* GeoTge Allen, now 
so well known as publisher of Rusk in's works. 
He was one of the most regular of the 
students, and attracted the special attention 
both of Rossetti and of Ruskin* Mr* Allen 
entered the college in 185^, and first became 
associated with Mr* Ruskin in 1857* Of 
Rossetti, then in his prime, Mr, Allen speaks 
enthusiastically. He was, he says, the most 
lovable of men. Rossetti was one of the 
founders of the firm of 
art - decorators which, 
under the title of Morris 
and Company, was to 
effect a revolution in 
domestic art in Eng¬ 
land. Rossetti suggested 
that Mr* Allen should 
join the firm as a 
partner. But by this 
time he was already 
attaching himself to 
Ruskin, and did not 
care to break the con¬ 
nection. Ruskin had 
noticed bis industry, 
discerned his sterling 
character, and encour¬ 
aged his artistic talent. 

One of the first pieces 
of work in which Mr* 
Allen was associated 
with Ruskin was the 
sorting and arranging 
of the Turner sketches 
at the National Gallery, 
Judicious lovers of pictures in London know 
well the rooms where a selection of these 
drawings is exhibited, (Ruskin always called 
the rooms “a cellar”; as a matter of fact 
they are on the ground floor of the building, 
and were once the Library ami Council 
Room of the Royal Academy of Arts,) 
There are few more interesting artistic 
haunts in London* Here, in the desks, 
you may see several of Turner's loveliest 
colour effects, while on the walls the leaves 

from hit sketch-books show how the painter 

Original from 1 

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t'i'tim a fhoto. bit VifUr„ BtjrhUL 











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7 io 


lived for sixty years 
with pencil in hand. 

But the drawings ex¬ 
hibited to the public 
are only a small por¬ 
tion — about one 
twentieth of those 
which passed into the 
possession of the 
nation under Turner’s 
will. There were nine¬ 
teen thousand pieces 
in all, left by the artist 
in blind disorder: 
creased, dirty, and 
sometimes torn, Ras¬ 
kin undertook to sort, 
clean, arrange, and 
catalogue them. The 
work occupied him 
throughout the 
autumn and winter of 
1857, “every day, all 
day long, and often 
far into the night.” 

Stacy Marks, the R.A., 
who made Rusk in’s acquaintance at this 
time, has given a description of him lt sur¬ 
rounded by piles of sketch-books and loose 
drawings by the master, which he was 
arranging, mounting, and framing/ 1 He 
had two assistants in the task, and Mr. 
George Allen was one of them. 

Another picked 
student at the Working 
Men’s College was Mr. 

William Ward (after¬ 
wards an under-master 
there), and Ruskin 
encouraged them to 
devote themselves to 
the interpretation of 
Turner—Mr. Allen as 
an engraver, Mr. W ard 
as a copyist. Mr. Allen's 
skill of hand as an 
engraver is known to 
all readers of Rusk in's 
later hooks. I asked 
him which of his plates 
pleased “ the master” 
most. “ Mr. Ruskin 
always said,” he told 
me, “ that the feather 
printed in ‘The laws 
of Fesole 1 was iht best 
thing I ever did.” The 
drawing and the en¬ 
graving are now at 


Sheffield. Much of 
Mr. Allen’s work as 
an engraver has, how¬ 
ever, never been pub¬ 
lished ; it was done 
in connection with 
schemes which Ruskin 
did not complete. 
Chief among these 
was the Oxford Art 
School Series, for 
which many plates 
{size half imperial to 
serve as drawing 
copies) were engraved. 
These have never been 
published, but they 
include a varied assort¬ 
ment of subjects—the 
Etruscan cup (500 n.c.) 
which had its place 
by the Luca della 
Robbia altarpiece in 
Mr. Ruskin’s study, 
the hippocampus, the 
lily of the valley leaf, 
the Plantagenet shields, and many other 
examples, from drawings made by Mr, 
Ruskin. Another unfulfilled scheme was 
the illustration of Turner's drawings in 
the size of the originals. Mr. Allen showed 
me some plates which he engraved from 
pencil drawings in pursuance of this scheme. 

Ruskin himself would 
pin down the drawing 
and trace it with his 
own hand on to tracing 
paper, for reversal nn 
the engraved plate. 
This scheme, however, 
was never carried out, 
but Ruskin entered 
upon it w r ith character¬ 
istic enthusiasm, Mr. 
Allen naturally pos¬ 
sesses many pieces of 
Ruskin’s handiwork. 
One of these, an early 
drawing of Fribourg, is 
facsimiled in our pages ; 
in drawing, as well as 
in writings, Ruskin’s 
skill w T a$ precocious. 
He was fifteen when 
this drawing was made. 

One day in 1862 
Ruskin wrote to Mr. 
Allen, telling him to 
leave England forthwith 



WILLIAM BfcLL SCOTT, HOS5ETTI, AN U HL'SKfK. 

a Photo), by I4 r . D, iJuinuf. 



I*VWI uJ JOHN kUSKJK, ABOUT 1S59. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










RUSK IN AND If IS BOOKS. 


7 11 


and come with his wife to Geneva. The 
master was sick, he said, of u the London 
mob/' Life could only be properly lived 
in the free air of the Alps. Mr. Allen 
was to join him there, where they would 
live quietly and happily ever afterwards. 
The disciple obeyed the master's call, 
packed up his belongings, and joined 
Ruskin at Geneva, Ruskin at this time 
was deep in political economy ; his special 
work was to be the writing of the “Six 
Essays on the Elements of Political 


little garden and rustic summer-house* is the chalet, 
or t&ttage omh, where Mr. Ruskin werl into 
hermitage and wrote his <( Political Economy/ 1 You 
can enter now * it is a place of public entertainment \ 
and in the cool* broad-windowed dining room you 
can drink a glass to the memory. 

Ruskin himself revisited the spot twenty 
years after wards, and wrote a long and 
interesting account in a private letter to Mr. 
Allen 

Hotel des Bergues* 

Friday Evening, Sept. 8th, ]S$2, 
Dear Allen,— I’ve had a glass too much Bur* 
gundy, or shouldn’t have Wgun wrong side of paper ; 



A VIEW of FfiIBOUBG—A DRAWING HV KUSKIN AT THE AGE OF FIFTEEN. 


Economy, 1 ' which he entitled “ Munera 
Pulveris/* Mr. Allen's special work was to 
be engraving Turner drawings as described 
above. He took out his printing-press with 
him, and the work went for a time well 
ahead. They settled first in a chalet at 
Mornex, which, says Rusk in’s biographer, 
will one day perhaps become a place of 
pilgrimage - 

The tourist of the future, after seeing Voltaire’s 
Fernex in the morning, will pick his way among 
the fields beyond Carouge, and through the gorge of 
Monnetier, or drive on his pilgrimage by Annemasse 
round the Tetit Saleve, to another shrine at Mornex, 
There* two thousand feet above sea-level, l>asking in 
I he morning sun, and looking always over ihe broad 
valley of the Arve at Mont Blanc and its panorama, 
are country retreats of the Genevese, beneath the old 
mother-castle 11 of Savoy 5> \ and there, with its, shady 


but the day’s been hot and thundery, and I drove to 
the foot of the Grande Gorge before taking the Pas, 
and let the sun come round on it. I walked up 
nearly as well as ever, and got lovely views to the 
right towards Annecy as soon as I passed MonneLier. 
When I came in sight of Mornex I saw they had new- 
roofed my old house, and (having Mr. Colling wood 
and Baxter with me) was rather taken a Kick at finding 
it a flourishing hotel 3 I took them in and walked 
along the terrace to (he old Pavilion without saying 
anything. The view was lovelier to me than ever, 
but there were people on the terrace having fore* 
noon Wer I 1 went into the house and sat down in 
the sal lea-manger under my old room. The waitress, 
after taking order for bread and cheese, stared at 
Wing asked for news of the Chevaliers ; but the 
landlord, though young, knew ot them, and after 
Wing asked a few probing questions, asked in his 
turn, 41 Seriez-vous M. Ruskin ? ” 

To my surprise and considerable complacency I 
found that English paoele often carne up to see 
s n:iin^1 fi'iuri 1 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








712 


THE STRAND* MAGAZINE. 


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[The published passage reads thus : 11 Or that ghost of a cloud, which steals by yonder clump of pines ; nay, which does «<?/ 
steal by them, but haunts them, wreathing yet round them, and yet,— nd yet,—slowly ; now falling in a fair waved line like 
a woman's veil; now fading, now gone ; we look away for an instant, and look back, and it is again there. What has it to do 
with that clump of pines, that it broods by them, and weaves itself among their branch :s, to and fro? Has it hidden a cloudy 
treasure amo-tg the moss at their roots, which it watches thus? Or has some strong enchanter charmed it into fond returning, 
or bound it fast within those bars of bough? ’ ] 


A WELL-KNOWN PASSAGE FROM THE ORIGINAL MS. OF “ MODERN PAINTERS.” 


where I lived, and that the landlord even knew 
that I always slept in the Pavilion ! I asked leave to 
see the old room. It was turned into a bedroom, but 
otherwise it and its galleries unchanged. 

Then I got news of Franceline. She was living 
with her husband in her father’s house. I went up 
by myself, and she came running out—had seen me 
go down, and known me at once. She isn’t im¬ 
proved, by the twenty years’ “progress,” but was 
very glad to see me—showed me her four daughters — 
gave me some excellent tea and currant preserve and 
a bunch of while roses ; listened attentively while I 
described Sunnyside and its business to her—and 
heard with reverence of my Oxford Professorship. 

She sent you all manner of regards. 

After saying good-bye, with some promise of com¬ 
ing again, I walked down to Etrembi^res, and drove 
home here from the pont; and had a lovely walk 
and study of the Rhone, and made a sketch of it and 
the old town at sunset. 

As I was up the Dole yesterday—good 1,500ft. 
climb above the road at its highest point—I’m rather 
pleased to find myself as fresh as if I had done 
nothing, or rather fresher ! having, as I said, had a 

glass too much Burgundy after dinner. 

—Ever yours affectionately, J. Ruskin. 

The Chevaliers were the good people in 
the village who used to send in Mr. Ruskin’s 
meals. 

Here, then, in 1862, Ruskin and Mr. Allen 
settled down, Couttet, the Alpine guide, being 
also of the party. For a time, too, Ruskin had 
with him his valet and factotum, Crawley. 
He was well attended, it will be seen, but 
not well enough for his anxious mother, who 
was never reconciled, Mr. Allen says, to her 
son being absent from her watchful care. 


Ruskin was a good walker, but no athlete. 
He and Mr. Allen were out one day 
upon the mountain-side. They passed a. 
group of men engaged in rough work 
with pickaxes. “ How I wish,” said 
Ruskin, “I could do what those men are 
doing ! I was ne\er allowed to do any work 
which would have strengthened my back. 
I wasn’t allowed to ride, for fear of being 
thrown off; nor to boat, for fear of being 
drowned ; nor to box, because it was vulgar; 
I was allowed to fence, because it was 
genteel.” But Mr. Allen cannot remember 
ever seeing Ruskin with the foils. Some¬ 
times when he was living with his parents 
at Denmark Hill he would enjoy a surrep¬ 
titious row on the river. “I used to be 
told,” says Mr. Allen, “ not to let his parents 
know where he was gone.” Ruskin at this 
time was in the forties. 

What a companion must Ruskin have 
been on mountain walks around Bonne¬ 
ville and Chamonix! Mr. Allen looks 
back, as one can well understand, to those 
days among the Alps as the most stimulating 
and interesting of his life. “ Ruskin’s great 
work,” he says, “ was to teach people to 
see. He had an eye for everything—clouds 
and stones, hills and flowers, all interested 
him in the same intense way. And what 
he saw and felt he communicated in 
inimitable and inevitable eloquence to 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















RUSK IN AND HIS BOOKS. 


others. I seem to hear him now breaking 
forth into a rhapsody of delight as we came 
unexpectedly, on a walk up the Brezon, upon 
a sloping bank of the star-gentian. He was 
full, too, of sympathy with the life of the 
people. I can see him now kneeling down, 
as he knelt on Easter Sunday, 1863, and 
praying with a peasant woman at a wayside 
chapel. ‘ When I first reach the Alps,’ he 
said to me once, 1 1 always pray/ Mr. 
Ruskin’s printed passages of adoration in 
presence of the sublimity of Nature were 
the expression of his inmost feelings and in 
accord with his own practice.” Here is a 
characteristic letter:— 

Assisi, June 8th. 

My Dear Allen, —I find your letter here to-day 
enclosing Tyndall, etc. I have no intention of 
getting into controversy with him ; the glacier 
lectures will state all the facts gravely and sternly, 
taking no notice of his equivocations or imper¬ 
tinences, and will set the men on glacier work them¬ 
selves next year. 

I can’t write more to-night. We can talk over 
all this better at Courmayeur.—Ever affectionately 
yours, J. R. 

June 9th, Morning. 

I have opened my letter to copy for you a bit of 
glacier lectures I’ve just chanced upon, which may 
amuse you. 

Here, then, is your first group of questions : What 
sort of forces are—(were)—these which take—(for 
familiar instance in our own chalk formation)—the 
whole of the North Foreland, with Dover Castle on 
it—turn it slap upside down and put it on the top of 
the Parade at Margate—then sweep up Whitstalde 
oyster beds and lay them in a heap on the top of the 
bottom of Dover cliffs turned upside down — and 
finally strew blocks of Aberdeen granite over the 
whole, of the average size of an omnibus ? That is 
the sort of thing which produces the north side of the 
hake of Thun, and provides after-dinner “objects of 
interest ” lor the company at the Hotel de Bellevue. 

At one time Ruskin was bent upon 
building himself a house in Savoy. ' It was 
to be a “ hill top ” house. He had been 
for a solitary ramble up the Brezon, above 


7*3 

Bonneville, and was entranced with the flowers 
and the view. There on the mountain 
summit was the place chosen for his chalet. 
He entered into his scheme with character¬ 
istic enthusiasm. “The hardest day’s work 
I ever did in my life,” says Mr. Allen, “ was 
marking out the boundaries of Mr. Ruskin’s 
intended purchase.” He was resolved to 
buy the greater part of the mountain. There 
was no water; he would construct a dam to 
collect the snow. Dante Rossetti was to 
come out and design the decoration of the 
chalet; Burne-Jones was to paint the walls. 
Alas! this “house beautiful” among the moun¬ 
tains remained a chalet in the air. Ruskin 
has himself told the sequel:— 

I entered into treaty with the Commune of Bonne¬ 
ville for the purchase of the w'hole top of the Brezon ; 
but this negotiation came to nothing, because the 
Commune, unable to see why anybody should want 
to buy a waste of barren rock, with pasturage only 
for a few' goats in the summer, concluded that I had 
found a gold-mine or a coal-lied in it, and raised their 
price on me till I left the Brezon on their hands ; 
Osborne Gordon (Ruskin’s old tutor at Christ 
Church) having also walked up with me to my pro¬ 
posed hermitage, and, with his usual sagacity, calcu¬ 
lated the daily expense of getting anything to eat 
up those four thousand feet from the plain. 

The good people of Bonneville were not a 
little disappointed. They had thought to 
see Ruskin permanently established among 
them as an earthly providence; they even on 
one occasion “discharged salvoes of artillery,” 
says Mr. Allen, “ in our honour. They over¬ 
reached themselves; but it was a lovely 
spot; the Alpine rose that Mr. Ru^Jcin 
loved so much was magnificent, and the 
flora generally very rich.” Much of the 
geological and botanical work that Ruskin 
did in Savoy was afterwards used in his un¬ 
completed works, “ Deucalion ” and “Proser¬ 
pina,” and many of Mr. Allen s engravings 
were also thus employed. 


Jf . * +CU ^ TL 

^ J *• Ju* - u> 

- -tv y „ cm ^ 

[“ Her successor, like her in perfection o r beauty, though less in endurance of dominion, is still left lor our beholding in the 
final period of her decline; a Ghost upon the sands of the sea, so weak—so quiet—so bereft of all but her loveliness, that 
we might well doubt, as we watched her faint reflection in the mirage of the lagoon, which was the City, and which the 
Shadow.”) 

A PASSAGE FROM THE OPENING PAGE OK ‘ SIGNER OP VlitftcE.7 ' H IGA N 


VoL xxiv.—90. 







7*4 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



Ruskin's “hermitage” in the Alps— 
alleviated, it should be said, during its 
continuance by two or three flying visits to 
England—came to an end in March, 1864, 
owing to his father's illness and death. 
Mr. Allen remained in Savoy from Decem¬ 
ber, 1862, till July, 1864. On returning to 
England he continued in various ways to 
assist his “ master*” Ruskin was very hos¬ 
pitable, and was always ready to show his 
collections at Denmark Hill—his Turners 
and his minerals—to friends, acquaintances, 
or even strangers who were really interested. 
But he did not care to be lion-hunted. 
44 1 am afraid/' says Mr* Allen, “ that visitors 
bent on that pursuit were often disappointed, 
for if Mr, Ruskin suspected anything of the 
kind he would employ me to take his place and 
show the collections*” Among Ruskin's most 
cherished visitors at this period was Carlyle, 
Ruskin would send his carriage to drive Carlyle 
out from Chelsea, or the old man would ride 
over and spend the day. 44 No one,” wrote 
Mrs. Carlyle, “ managed Carlyle so well as 
Ruskin. It was quite beautiful to see him. 
Carlyle would say outrageous things, running 
counter to everything Ruskin cared for. 
Ruskin would treat Carlyle like a naughty 
child, lay his arms around him, and say, 
‘Now this is too bad/” Mr. Allen remem¬ 
bers a characteristic little trait of Ruskin’s 
thoughtfulness* Carlyle loved tobacco; 
Ruskin hated it, and his mother could not 
tolerate it. When a visit from Carlyle was 
expected, Mr* Allen would be sent up to 
London to buy a box of the best cigars for 
the “Sage of Chelsea” to carry away with 
him from Denmark Hill. 

I asked Mr. Allen about Ruskin's Turners. 
“ Is it true, as related by Mr. 

Frederic Harrison in his mono¬ 
graph, that Rusk in’s mother 
was so strict a Sabbatarian as to 
insist on having all the Turners 
covered up on Sunday ? ” Mr* 

Allen said that this was a mis¬ 
take. Mr. Harrison perhaps 
visited Denmark Hill on Sun¬ 
day, and, noticing that the 
drawings were covered, con¬ 
cluded that this was a piece of 
Sunday observance. But the 
Turners were always thus 
covered up. Ruskin was con¬ 
vinced that water-colours dete¬ 
riorated seriously under direct 
sunlight. Mr. Allen remembers 
some experiments made f by 
Cozens, the engraver, which 


Ruskin saw, and which seemed conclusive. 
14 There was one of his Turners/ 1 continued Mr 
Allen, “which Mr. Ruskin was not proud of. 
He used to say to me, * Don't show' it, or, if you 
do, tell them it's a bad one/ This was the 
Rochester. 1 My father gave it to me once/ 
said Mr. Ruskin, 1 just to bring me home 
a fortnight earlier from abroad, and it’s the 
worst Turner I have/ But Mr. Harrison 
is quite correct,” said Mr. Allen, “ in writing 
of the beautiful deference and tender affec¬ 
tion which Mr. Ruskin ever showed to his 
parents. His mother's watchfulness was 
unfailing, but perhaps sometimes excessive. 
In these years Mr. Ruskin did much lectur¬ 
ing and other work which took him away in 
the evenings. His devoted nurse Anne 
always required to know where he was 
going ; sat up for him till he returned, and 
tucked him up in bed.” Two little writings 
by Ruskin, not generally known, may be 
given here. They are inscribed on the tomb 
of his father and mother in Shirley Church¬ 
yard, near Elmer's End, Kent 

Here rests from day’s well- Here, beside my 
sustained burden, John James father's L>dy, t 

Ruskin, born in Edinburgh, have laid my 

May i!iih T 1785. He died in mother’s. Not was 

his home in I ondon, March dearer earth ever 

3rd, 1864. He was an entirely returned to earth, 

honest merchant, and his nor purer life re¬ 
memory is, to all who keep corded in Heaven, 

u, dear and helpful. His sou, She died December 

whom he loved to the utter- 5th, 1871, aged 

most and taught to speak ninety years, 

truth, says this of him. 

A photograph of the tombstone is repro¬ 
duced here, but, unfortunately, it was found 
impossible to show the inscription at the top, 
owing to the metal lettering having become 
almost identical in colour with the stone. 


THE LO. A.™*, IM. 





RUSKIN AND MIS BOOKS . 


715 


It was in the year of old Mrs, Rusk in's 
death that Mr. Allen was surprised one day 
in his cottage home at Keston by receiving a 
bulky parcel of pamphlets from Mr, Ruskin, 
He had been told nothing about the matter 
beforehand, and now was informed that he 
was to publish and sell the pamphlets. They 
turned out to be copies of the first monthly 
part of that wonderful miscellany which Mr. 
Ruskin entitled ** Fors Clavigera/ 1 Thus 
was it that chance with the nail and hammer 
drove in upon Mr, George Allen, engraver, 
that he was henceforth to turn publisher, 
Ruskin had resoled to be rid of those wiles 
of publishers and tricks of the trade of which 
other authors, wrongly or rightly, are used 
to grumble. Sir Walter Resant’s crusade, 
authors* societies, the net system : all these 
things were in 1871 still in the future, 
Ruskin struck out a line for himself, and 
resolved to try the experiment of establishing 
a publisher and 
bookseller of his 
own and on his 
own terms. The 
passage in which 
he first explained 
his scheme is 
worth citing as a 
curiosity in the 
annals of the book- 
world : — 

It costs me ten 
pounds to print a 
thousand copies, and 
five pounds more to 
give you & picture, 
and a penny off my 
sevenpence to send 
you the book ; a 
thousand sixpences 
are twenty-five 
pounds ; when you 
have bought a thou¬ 
sand 11 Fors 11 of me 
I shall therefore have 
five pounds fur my 
trouble, and my single 
shopman, Mr, Allen, five pounds for his ; we won*t 
work for less, eh her of us. And I mean to sell all 
my large books, he nee forward, in the same way ; 
well printed, well bound, and at a fixed price ; and 
the trade may charge a proper and acknowledged 
profit for lheir trouble in retailing the book. Then 
the public will know what they are a.lx>ut, and so 
will tradesmen. I, the first producer* answer, to 
the best of my power, for the quality of the hook— 
paper, binding, eloquence, and all ; the retail dealer 
charges what he ought to charge, openly ; and if the 
public do not choose to give it, they cank get the 
book. That is what I call legitimate business. 

Jt was on these principles that Mr. Allen 
was set up in the publishing trade. As 
might be expected, progress was slow. 


Ruskin’s publications had now to steal their 
way, as it were, into the world. Booksellers 
showed them no favour, and they were 
seldom noticed in the Press. At first 
Ruskin only published his new books in 
this way. His books already in print were 
still issued on the usual terms by his old 
publishers, Messrs, Smith, Elder, and Co. 
But gradually he transferred the whole of 
his hooks to Mr, Allen—not without some 
regret at the severing of old associations, for 
Ruskin, like so many other distinguished 
authors of the time, had been on very 
pleasant terms with the late Mr. George 
Smith. “ I should like much again/ 1 he 
wrote, u to be on terms with my old pub¬ 
lisher, and hear him telling me nice stories 
over our walnuts, this Christmas, after 
dividing his years spoil with me in Christmas 
charity,’* From a business point of view 
Ruskin had no cause to regret the change. 


It was, as we shall see, a brilliant success. 
His experiment was much ridiculed at the 
time. His idea of publishing “in the wilds 
of Kent ” was decided as visionary; he was 
" mad ” once more. But he lived to see his 
books obtain a new lease of popularity and 
to receive from their sale rewards which, in 
the case of that style of literature, were 
probably unprecedented. 

“ Mr. Ruskin has transferred his publish¬ 
ing/ 1 said a trade circular at the time, “ to 
the middle of a country field, 11 The remark 
was quite true. The imprint for many years 
was 4l SH#6BSCl(a)pi^ttW|QMtit/ J and there 









yi6 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


the whole business was con¬ 
ducted. Visitors who sought 
out Sunnyside on business 
were often, Mr. Allen says, a 
good deal surprised. “ They 
would not believe it was 
the right house; apologized 
for their mistake ; explained 
that they wanted ‘ the shop/ 
and asked me kindly to 
direct them to Allen’s.” The 
mistake was natural enough, 
for Sunnyside is a pleasant 
private house, standing in its 
own gardens, and the ware¬ 
houses which contained the 
stock of Ruskins might easily 
have passed for the more 
usual appurtenances of a 
rural residence. Ruskin him¬ 
self used often to visit his 
publisher at home. “ We 
used to try and get him to 
come and help,” says Miss 
Allen (for the publishing was 
in those days a purely family 
and village industry), “but 
he said he hated parcels and 
didn’t believe anybody really 
wanted to read all those 
books ; he preferred us to go 
with him to the flowers and 




Jt 

<-) gig - 




- cr* 

Brantw&od, Coniston, Lancashire. 

My Dear Allen, — I do extremely wonder whaj you think my brains are 
made of? Catgut? or Caoutchouc? or macaroni?—or glass bottles that can be 
blown to balloons? 


A CHARACTERISTIC LETTER FROM RUSKIN TO HIS PUBLISHER. 


elotu. 


6CCJU, c^ 






tu ^ ^ urt^ -riUXL^ 

y „ ^ ^ ^ 



2 cr^ 


My Dear Allen, —You really are a considerable goose. Of course you mustn’t take booksellers’ orders for less than a 
dozen—an l they must pay their own carriage. This will still leave you a shilling (and over) profit on every parcel you make 
up—allowing twopence for paper and siring, and it’s not everybody who can get a shilling for making up a parcel.—Ever 
affectionately yours, J. R. 


ANOTHER CHARACTERIST 1 iliKrf^ rV OF MICHIGAN 






















RUSK IN AND • HIS BOOKS. 


7*7 


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Assisi, aoth June, '74. 

My Dear Allen ? —I am very glad you are ready to start, and send you a cheque lor ^50. 

.Through from Pans to Geneva. Then diligence 10 St. Martins; go up to the fields under the 
Aiguille de Varens if the village of St. Martins is at V, the path goes up in the dotted line—it is a 
frequented one, two hours’ or more climb—and the meadows are where the blot is—and see if there 
are the low while lilies growing there yet; they'll be faded, but you'll be able to tell me if they’re 
branched, or how they grow. I ve talked of them so often that I forget them. 


A letter showing ruskin's habit of putting rough sketches into his correspondence. 


However, people 
did want the 
books — so 
much so that 
Mr. Allen was 
forced to open 
a London ware¬ 
house also : first 
at Bell Yard, 

Chancery Lane, 
and afterwards 
in the Charing 
Cross Road, 
where the busi¬ 
ness is now con¬ 
ducted. 

The demand 
for Ruskin’s 
books of all 
sorts has been 
very great 
during the last 
quarter of a 
century. When 
the business of 
publishing them 
was transferred 
to Mr. George 
Allen, early in 
the seventies, a 
list was drawn 
up of the stock 
on hand and of 
the time which, 
according to the 
then rate of sale, 
would be neces¬ 
sary to exhaust 
the stock. Of 
“The Stones of 
Venice,” for 
instance, there 
were one hun¬ 
dred copies; it would take a year, it was 
thought, to exhaust them. For a hundred 
and two copies of “ Unto this Last ” two 
years were allowed. As a matter of fact 
“ The Stones ” were soon exhausted, and 
when Mr. Allen published his first new 
edition of that work over nine hundred 
copies were sold in the first half-year of 
issue. Of “Unto this Last” he has sold 
some seventy thousand copies. It may be 
interesting to give a list of Ruskin’s cheaper 
books, in the order of their popularity:— 

I. “Sesame and Lilies.” 2. “UnUMhis Last.” 
3. “ Frondes Agrestes.” 4. “The Crown of Wild 
Olive.” 5. “The King of the Golden River.” 


6. “The Ethics of the Dust.” 7. “ The Queen of 
the Air.” 8. “ Time and Tide by Weare and Tyne.” 
9. “ The Two Paths.” 10. “ The Eagle’s Nest.” 

“Sesame” is, I understand, by far the 
most popular, though of late “Unto this 
Last ” has been “ going very strong,” as they 
say. Of Ruskin’s greater works—the three 
by which his name and fame will most 
securely live—“ The Seven Lamps of Archi¬ 
tecture ” is the most popular; it is also, we 
must remember, the cheapest. “ Modern 
Painters ” and “ The Stones of Venice ” can 
never, in any decent form, be very cheap, for 
the illustrations are an integral portion of 
thep||. J|acfi[ book, sijr^it was issued in a 


















7*8 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


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{“I made some error in this figure myself, and the engraver has exaggerated it 
tenfold ; and what does he mean by the thick lines on the left-hand side of the 
spiral column ? It must be done again, following this instead of the outline of the 
spiral in the other, and put to* lines and not half-a-dozen to each leaf of the 
capitals."] 



SKETCH ANT* NOTES FOR STONES OF VENICE.' 


cheaper form than heretofore, has sold very 
largely. “Frondes Agrestes,” it may be 
well to explain to those who do not happen 
to have read the book, is a selection of 
passages from “ Modern Painters,” which, in 
this form, has been one of the three most 
widely dispersed of all Ruskin’s books: 

Ruskin’s titles are, it must be confessed, 
more picturesque than informing. It is im¬ 
possible not to sympathize with the Scottish 
farmer who demanded the return of his money 
when he discovered that “ Notes on the Con¬ 
struction of Sheepfolds ” was a treatise upon 
pastoral theology. Mr. Frederic Harrison 
says he has never been able to unriddle why 
“Sesame ” and why “ Lilies.” Well, it is not 
very obvious, certainly, but the meaning is 
there, though it has to be fetched from afar ; 
when found, it is characteristically pretty and 
fanciful. “ Sesame ” alludes to “ that old 
enchanted Arabian grain, the Sesame, that 


opens doors—doors not of 
robbers* caves, but of Kings’ 
treasuries.” The Kings’ 
treasuries of which Ruskin 
writes are libraries of books. 
Our hearts and imagina¬ 
tions are “the Open 
Sesame ” of a huge, obscure, 
endless cave, with inex¬ 
haustible treasure of pure 
gold scattered in it. The 
lecture on “ Lilies,” or 
Queens* gardens, was an 
impassioned exhortation to 
the women of England. 
Not as the lilies of the field, 
that “toil not, neither do 
they spin,” these human 
lilies have their yrork to 
do, their battle to fight, 
that they may be counted 
worthy “ to grow among 
the sesame of knightly 
spears,” as Giotto’s lilies 
grew among the roses. 
Perhaps the safest thing to 
conclude about any title of 
Ruskin’s was that the con¬ 
tents would not correspond 
to the obvious meaning of 
it. I remember hearing a 
lecture in which Ruskin 
laughed at himself in this 
connection. The subject 
originally announced was 
“ Crystallography,” but it 
had subsequently been 
changed to “ Cistercian 
A certain newspaper, which 


Architecture.” 

I forbear to specify, remarked that “ no doubt 
either title would do equally well.” 

Ruskin put his audience into good 
humour at the outset by referring to the 
remark and admitting that there was a 
good deal of truth in it. “ For,” said he, 
“ in the proposed lecture on crystallography 
there would certainly have been allusions to 
Cistercian architecture, while it had required 
all his powers of self-denial to keep crystallo¬ 
graphy out of the lecture he was actually 
delivering. But he had not been equally 
successful in including Cistercian architec¬ 
ture.” Perhaps the most truthful, .if the 
least dignified, title for many of Ruskin’s 
books would be “ Inquire Within Upon 
Everything.” 

To enumerate even the titles of Ruskin’s 
books would take pages; to specify the 
editi<pjfl| * v^nu^cr (rvjtp,- At present his 























MU SKIN AND BJS BOOKS. 


719 


writings, as published by Mr, Allen, consist 
of some seventy volumes, costing about 
twenty-seven pounds, and even then a 
purchaser who desires the complete works 
of Ruskin mu>t study the “ Bibliography” and 
spend some years in “collecting.” He will 
find that he still lacks some thirty volumes 
or pamphlets ; some almost, if not quite, un¬ 
obtainable; many obtainable only at great 
cost. The object of the Library Edition 
which Mr* Allen now has in hand is to put 
within reach of every collector the complete 
works of Ruskin. “My hope and aim,” adds 
Mr* Allen, “is to make this edition a worthy 
monument of the master,” 

RuskirVs industry was prodigious, No 
literary man of the time reached anything 
like the same output, and all the while he 
was no less indefatigable as an artist than 
as an author. One secret of the amount of 
work he did was early rising. To be up 
with the sun was his rule of life, and much 
of his best literary work was done in the 
early morning hours, before the rest of the 
household was astir, I asked Mr. Allen 
if the master was 
not inclined to be 
a little chippy at 
breakfast. “ By no 
means,” was the 
answer. “He was 
always bright and 
cheerful then, and 
ready to receive 
his guests in good 
spirits.” A remark¬ 
able tribute, it 
must be allowed, 
to his sweetness 
of disposition, Mr. 

Allen could say 
much of the in¬ 
finite trouble 
which Rusk in 
took over the 
illustrations for his 
books. The col¬ 
lection of Ruskin 
manuscripts which 
Mr, Allen pos¬ 
sesses shows the 
same thing — in 
their successive 
revisions* erasures, 


recastings; but of these things we are to hear, 
I understand, in the Library Edition* The 
illustration given on the opposite page is a 
facsimile of a piece of one of the manuscripts 
of “ Stones of Venice ” (vol- L, fig. iS), It 
is a note by Ruskin for the engraver. In turn¬ 
ing over his old MSS,, Ruskin added a note 
to this : “ How I wish I could do it now! ” 
That was in 1878, Mr. Allen saw Ruskin 
occasionally during the days, twenty years 
later, of his weakness, weariness, and some¬ 
times listlessness. Mr, Allen had been 
talking to him once of old times—of those 
old times of life among the Alps, described 
in this article, Ruskin seemed to follow 
with interest, and every now and then would 
contribute some reminiscence of his own* 
Then his publisher and old friend went on 
to talk of his books, Ruskin held out his 
hand, “Poor hand!” he exclaimed, “it 
will nei r er hold pen again. Well, it has got 
me into much trouble ; perhaps it is better 
so,” Into much trouble, it may be ; but also 
into much honour and an abiding place in 
English letters. 



/-YTHE LATEST PORTRAIT OF Mk. RUSUJN. [Frtd Holffwr. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







The Great Sirius Diamond. 

By Gilbert H. Page. 


IR NOEL WRETTON’S 
dinner-parties were well known 
among clubmen, artists, and 
connoisseurs, and invitations 
to them were much sought 
after. He had the hospitable, 
if eccentric, habit of allowing guests to invite 
themselves. It was done in this way. A 
book was kept in the hall, under the charge 
of the butler, Lane, an excellent servant, who 
had lived with the baronet over two-and- 
twenty years. Any man whom Sir Noel had 
once invited to his table was at liberty to call 
at Buckingham Gate in the morning and 
enter his name as an intending guest, either 
for that same evening if there were a vacancy, 
or for any future date on which Wretton had 
arranged to dine at home. Eight persons in¬ 
cluding the host himself were the limit for each 
night, and the plan worked admirably, free 
and easy as it seems. But then you must 
remember Sir Noel made himself thoroughly 
sure of his man before launching that first 
invitation which alone gave the entree to 
his house. 

And this house of his in James Street, 
Buckingham Gate, is well worth seeing, 
being filled with fine pictures, fine china, 
and curios of all sorts. Whistlers, Condors, 
Alfred Stevenses, and Manets hang in the 
little white drawing-room, where the furniture 
is genuine Chippendale. Four celebrated 
cabinets by Boule stand in the big amber 
drawing-room, and between them master¬ 
pieces by Watteau and Fragonard adorn the 
walls. Sombre brush-work by Jauser and 
Matthieu Marqs decorates the dining-room, 
and here are old Dutch oaken sideboards 
and cabinets for the display of a magnifi¬ 
cent collection of sixteenth - century silver, 
representing the best craftsmen of the 
Renaissance. 

Many of us, however, found Wretton’s 
remarkable enamels, snuff-boxes, antique and 
modern rings, and other jewels even more 
interesting than his furniture and his pictures, 
and for me his collection of unset gems in 
particular was most fascinating of all. 

For it is assuredly a fascinating thing, and 
one not to be met with every day, to see 
perhaps fifteen thousand pounds’ worth of 
stones scattered loose over a table or thrown 
together into a pewter pint-pot, the receptacle 
in which Wretton kept them for choice. 
Apart from their immense monetary value, 
which always exercises a certain influence 
over the mind, there is the exceeding beauty 


of the sight, a beauty of colour, of changeful¬ 
ness, of brilliancy, which makes these strange 
products of unknown forces resemble drops 
of sunshine, moonshine, glittering particles 
of ice or fire, which makes them seem like 
morsels cut out from the rainbow and given 
tangible and concrete form. 

But among all Wretton’s jewels the great 
Sirius diamond was the largest and most 
beautiful, and it was more valuable also than 
the whole of the others put together. It 
looked like a miniature replica of the ex¬ 
quisite star after which it was named. And 
when, on an August night, you gazed first up 
at Sirius, darting blue fire into the surround¬ 
ing heavens, and then down upon the diamond 
from which flashed blue beams, it seemed 
as though that mighty star, which is twenty 
million times farther from us than our own 
sun, had actually dropped down into the 
palm of your hand. 

It was this amazing stone only which 
Wretton passed round to us towards the end 
of dinner on a certain evening when I, Capes, 
Laking, Henty, Baroh Biilow, and Colonel 
Grahame were his guests. 

Colonel Grahame was often to be met 
with at Wretton’s table, but, so far as I knew, 
nowhere else. The other men I was well 
acquainted with, visiting at Capes’s and 
Henty’s houses, meeting Biilow and Laking 
constantly at our club. And there was much 
in common between us, all being art-lovers 
or art-patrons, while I myself was a painter. 

But Colonel Grahame was among us, yet 
not of as. It is true he showed a certain 
cultivated interest in Wretton’s treasures, yet 
had no exhaustive knowledge of any branch 
of them. So far as I could make out, his 
chief merit lay in the fact that he was a good 
whist-player, and Wretton had an absolute 
passion for whist. I used to hear them now 
and again talking whist-talk, and referring to 
past rubbers that led me to guess our host 
had first met the Colonel and had since often 
played with him at the Reform, to which 
Wretton belonged and I did not. 

Nevertheless, the Colonel did not strike 
you as precisely the sort of man likely to 
belong to the Reform or to any other club. 
You wondered how he could possibly manage 
to pay his subscription. Though his linen 
was scrupulously clean it was always frayed, 
and he must surely have worn that identical 
dress-suit of his ever since his first dinner¬ 
party—perhaps half a century ago. Then 
the jlfc^fig^ look <pf lfsH<#apated face and 






THE GREAT SIRIUS DIAMOND * 


7 21 


his meagre, stooping figure made you suspect 
that when he was not dining at someone 
else*s table he was probably observing a 
Lenten fast 

Bulow used to whisper to me that he 
suspected him of many worse habits than 
this, but then the Baron was a jealous sort of 
a chap, who always resented the introduction 
of any new name in Wretton's dinner-book. 
So it prejudiced me no whit against Grahame 
to have Biilow insisting, in season and out, 
that the old man was probably not a Colonel 
at all, and that he was certainly no gentleman* 

Once he had the ill-luck to offend the 
punctilious German, either by passing the 
salt or not passing it, by going out of the 
room first when he should have gone last, 
or vice versa, and Biilow could not forgive 
him* But everyone else acknowledged 
Grahame to be a thorough gentleman, 
dignified and even imposing in manner, with 
a clear, charming, though melancholy voice, 
and with that other gift which is very rare 
among men, the gift of being a good and 
intelligent listener. 

He was listening now with a flattering 
attention as Wretton discoursed on precious 
stones and their imitations. 

** The manufacture of diamonds has 


reached that degree of perfection-,” said our 
host, ** that only an expert can tell the false 
from the genuine at sight 3 am going to 
show you an imitation of the Sirius diamond 
which I keep as a curiosity, and it is so extra¬ 
ordinarily well done that 1 don’t suppose one 
of you men if you saw the two separately 
could possibly decide which was worth a 
bare five-pound note and which worth ten 
thousand pounds*” 

And all this time ten thousand pounds 1 
worth of money, condensed behind the 
glittering surface of the Sirius diamond, had 
been going round the table passed from hand 
to hand, and now, when it reached Wretton 
again, he put it hack into the waistcoat- 
pocket whence he had extracted it. He left 
it there but an instant, however. Then, 
apparently changing his mind, he took it out, 
and again sent it circulating round the 
table from right to left. So exceedingly 
beautiful was it that everyone rejoiced at 
having the opportunity to examine it again. 
At the same time Wretton sent another stone, 
the imitation stone of which he had spoken, 
circulating from left to right. 

It came to me, who sat immediately on his 
left, first. 

“ By Jove 3 M I cried, in admiration* “It's 








III 





:J|| 



! 


liliil; 

I |! 


UI BY JOVE!' I JJf A PM 1 .RATION. * ITS SPT.ENDIL) 1 " W 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


Vnl, xxiv.—91. 













722 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE,. 


splendid ! How do they do such things ? 
It positively looks just as good as the real 
one.” 

But Henty, who at this moment held the 
real diamond between finger and thumb, 
looked over at the imitation one lying on 
my flattened palm and expressed his dissent. 

“ No, not quite so fine a blue,” said he. 

“ And nothing like so brilliant,” declared 
Laking, who now took the stone from Henty, 
and was glancing from it to the imitation 
diamond, which I had passed on to Capes. 
Capes passed it to Biilow, but the Baron 
gave it a mere glance—there was just a 
streak of envy in his character as well as of 
jealousy—and finally both stones reached the 
Colonel at the same moment. 

“ Put them down close together on the 
cloth,” suggested Wretton, “keeping the 
stone Laking gives you, the real stone, on the 
left, and the imitation, which Biilow gives 
you, on the right There! Now, then, 
what did I tell you all ? And which is really 
the Sirius diamond, which the sham ? ” 

The truth was stupefying but unmistakable. 
The real stone was the one which Wretton 
had passed to me, and which 1 and Capes 
and Biilow had accepted unhesitatingly as 
an imitation, while the imitation stone had 
completely deceived H^pty and Laking, who 
fancied that they saw in it greater brilliancy 
and finer colour than in the real gem. Only 
now, when the two stones lay side by side, did 
a greater depth, a greater purity, a greater fire, 
so to speak, distinguish the genuine one from 
’its counterfeit. The real diamond seemed to 
possess a vitality of its own. Compared to it 
the imitation became as a mask to a living face, 
as a sluggish river to the sparkling sea, as a 
calico rose made in Paris to a fragrant English 
rose grown upon an English lawn. 

We had all been thoroughly taken in. 

“ I don’t see how one is ever to distinguish 
the real right thing at all,” objected Henty. 
11 If a man were trying to pass off on you a 
sham, he naturally wouldn’t put a genuine 
diamond by its side for you to compare it 
with. And the perfection of that imitation 
one you have there is simply amazing.” 

“ There are tests, however,” said Wretton ; 
“ simple household tests as well as chemical 
ones.” 

“ Yes, there’s the old test of glass-cutting.” 

“And then, again, a genuine diamond 
examined through a magnifying glass shows 
thousands of minute flaws, doesn’t it, while 
the spurious diamond is quite clear?” 

This was Henty’s contribution to the 
subject. 

Digitized by COOQ lc 

* o 


“But one hasn’t, as a rule, a magnifying 
glass in one's waistcoat - pocket,” objected 
Biilow. 

“There are still simpler tests than those,” 
Wretton told us. “ For instance, put a 
drop of water, or wine, or whatever you 
like, on the left-hand stone, Colonel. You 
perceive ? It at once deliquesces, eh ? Now 
put a drop on the other, and, as you see, it 
retains its shape. And here's another way. 
Put both stones into a glass of water. Well, 
what do you see ? ” 

“ Oh, now there’s no doubt at ail as to 
which is which ! ” answered the Colonel 
“ One stone has lost all brilliancy, all lustre; 
the other burns under the water brighter 
than ever. Look at it, Baron,” and Grahame 
passed the glass to Biilow, who gave it to 
Wretton, and so it travelled round the table, 
and we each looked in turn, and uttered 
exclamations of surprise at the deadness of 
the one stone and the flashing blue fires of 
the other. 

“ The two stones are exactly the same 
shape and size,” I remarked; “ they’ve even 
both got the same little flaw at the thin end. 
Did you have the copy made on purpose, 
Wretton?” 

“ The copy was made on purpose, but not 
for me. It has to do with the history of the 
Sirius diamond. I’ll tell you the story.” 

The glass by this time had got back to 
the Colonel, still with the two stones lying 
at the bottom of it. He took them out, 
wiped them on his napkin, and laid them on 
the cloth in silence because Wretton was 
speaking. 

“ This wonderful diamond was the chance 
discovery of a Kaffir grubbing in the river¬ 
bed near Kimberley over eighty years ago. 
He sold it to an Englishman for half a bottle 
of rum. The Englishman, being hard up, 
offered it for five pounds to some Germans, 
who tried to beat him down to two pounds 
ten. As he proved obstinate, and there 
happened to be three of them, they 
promptly knocked him on the head and got 
the stone for nothing. Two were caught 
and hanged for the murder, but the third 
escaped to Cape Town with the gem, where 
he resold it to a Hamburg Jew for fifty 
pounds and no questions asked. The Jew 
sold it again for a hundred and j fifty to a 
syndicate, and the purchasers sent it over to 
Antwerp to be cut. The cutting was en¬ 
trusted to Van Heist, the greatest diamond- 
cutter in Antwerp, or, indeed, in the world, 
and it was only then that its immense value 
was ascertained. It was Van Heist who first 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE GREAT SIRIUS DIAMOND. 


called it the Sirius diamond, a name which 
stuck.” 

During this time Lane, the soft-footed and 
silent, had taken off the crumbs and drawn 
forward the dessert While we peeled 
bananas and cracked nuts he was making 
coffee at the sideboard, which he presently 
brought round with liqueurs and silver boxes 
of cigars and cigarettes. We were sitting 
anyhow now, and the table was littered up 
with a thousand odds and ends. 

** But even while it remained in Van Heist's 
hands its fame was so bruited abroad that all 
the swell mob 
of Europe 
had their 
fingers itching 
to get hold of 
it, and here 
comes in the 
origin of the 
counter f e i t 
stone. Three 
dummy stones 
were manu¬ 
factured so 
exactly like 
the real dia¬ 
mond that 
only the cle¬ 
verest experts 
could tell 
them apart, 
and when the 
time came for 
sending the 
gem to its 
owners, who 
were then in 
London, four 
different mes¬ 
sengers were 
dispatched by 
four different 
routes, each 
one carrying 
a stone, and 
the messengers themselves did not know 
which one among them had the real stone. If 
I were to relate to you the adventures which 
befell those four messengers I should take 
all night, for they were shadowed the whole 
time by thieves awaiting their opportunity. 
Two of the imitation stones got stolen, and 
have never been heard of since. But the 
third and the real gem were delivered in safety 
and, after innumerable vicissitudes, eventually 
found their way into my hands, as you see. 
I keep the spurious stone as a curiosity. 

Digitized by Google 


7 2 3 

“ But, come. We have talked diamonds 
enough. And when all’s said and done the 
intrinsic beauty of a diamond is not so great 
as that of many other things in the world. 
The Sirius diamond does not really say as 
much to me as the beautiful Plimer miniature 
which I picked up the other day in Bristol, 
a delightful specimen of Andrew Pltmer’s 
best period: one of those pale, dark-haired, 
almond-eyed daughters of Israel whom he 
depicted so marvellously. Let’s go up to 
the yellow drawing-room. I’ve got it there,” 
and Wretton rose. u But first, you might 

pass me back 
those d i a - 
monds, Bil¬ 
low, please." 

The Colonel 
moved his 
coffee - cup 
and his plate, 
and B ii 1 o w 
groped among 
the nutshells 
and fruit-skins 
which littered 
the cloth. 

"Here's 
one, any¬ 
how," said 
the Baron, 
“though Pm 
hanged if 1 
can say 
which*” 
Wretton 
glanced at it 
slightly and 
dropped it 
into his 
pocket. 

“This is 
theimitation,” 
said he, and 
still held out 
his hand for 
the other. 

But the other was not forthcoming. 

We were all standing now, and we made a 
thorough and systematic search. Every 
single thing on the table was moved twenty 
times. We shook our napkins, shook our¬ 
selves, examined the seats of the chairs, went 
under the table on hands and knees. But 
the great Sirius diamond could not be found. 

The first five minutes or so of its loss were 
merely irritating. The stone was curiously 
mislaid, yet would, of course, turn up. But 
as time went on and it did not do so our 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




724 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


impatience changed to misgiving. For we 
were all agreed that since we had last noticed 
the two stones lying side by side no one had 
been in the room save ourselves. Lane had 
left us after serving the liqueurs ; the other 
servants before this. Yet the diamond had 
disappeared, and the horrible fear knocked, I 
am sure, at every heart as it did at mine, that 
one of us six guests might be suspected of 
having meddled with it. It was really a 
hideous situation, and we 
stared at one another in 
dismay* 

“ It must be here," said 
poor Wretton, who seemed 
more uncomfortable than 
any of us. 41 Let’s look 
again. 1 ’ 

So we made again the 
most exhaustive and ex* 
hausting examination of 
the whole room—just as 
though the diamond might 
have got up on its hind 
legs and walked off into 
distant corners, just as 
though it might have 
opened drawers and cabi¬ 
nets for the purpose of 
concealing itself — but all 
in vain. It had completely 
and mysteriously vanished. 

As we stood tired, hot, 
hesitating, and dum- 
foundcd at our want of suc¬ 
cess, Bulow, who had been 
considering the old Colonel 
with sombre hostility, 
made a suggestion. 

“It may have got into 
one of our pockets by 
mistake,’ 1 said he, slowly* 

“Queerer things have hap¬ 
pened before now, I think 
it would be pleasanter for 
all of us to make sure we 
have not unwittingly taken it. Suppose we 
all turn out our pockets and see, eh ? " 

And he began turning out his own, laying 
gold, silver, latchkeys, letters, handkerchief, 
pencil, note book, and other trifles on the 
table. He took off his watch and chain, 
putting them beside the rest, and finally 
pulled his pockets inside out. He stood 
with the canvas pockets of his trousers pro¬ 
truding like ears on either side of him, and 
the silk pockets of his waistcoat spoiling the 
flat symmetry of his fine figure. 

In spite of Wretton^ protests there was 

Digitized by CiOOQ Ic 


nothing for us to do but follow the Baron’s 
example. It wasn’t pleasant, of course, but 
then the whole situation was so intensely 
unpleasant. We accordingly emptied our 
pockets oti the table, and then, a la Bulow, 
pulled them inside out, and stood, the 
strangest-looking party of diners you could 
wish to see. 

All of us, that is to say, with the exception 
of Colonel Grit ha me, who, with a pale and 


troubled face, remained absolutely motion¬ 
less, leaning his two hands heavily on the 
back of his chair. 

“Come, Colonel," said Inking, jocosely, 
** hurry up, or we shall be suspecting you 
next! " 

The old man flushed deeply* 

u Of what should you suspect me?” he 
asked. 

(i leaking is only joking,” interposed Wret¬ 
ton, hastily* 

“ And all we suspect is that the stone may 
have got into a pocket unawares,” said Billow* 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



kl COLONEL GR All A ME, WITH A PALE AND TROUBLED PACE S REMAINED ABSOLUTELY 

MOTION LESS. “ 




THE GEE AT SIRIUS DIAMOND . 


725 


41 Anyhow, we've looked everywhere else and 
this seems the last chance. And as we've 
all turned our pockets out, I think you might 
too. It would be more satisfactory to your¬ 
self, surely ? ” 

“No, sir!” cried the old man, angrily. 
“ It would not! And I refuse to do so.” 

Stupefaction fell on the room. There was 
a most painful silence. Biilow was first to 
recover, and in his tone I could detect a 
cold triumph. 

“ You absolutely refuse to turn out your 
pockets ? ” said he. 

“ Yes, I do! ” thundered the Colonel, 
“and I don't acknowledge any right on your 
part to make such a request.” 

Biilow looked round at each of us ia turn 
with an f-told-you-so expression, and then, 
“Oh, right! ’’said he, shrugging his shoulders 
contemptuously ; “ I have no right, of course, 
but I should think you might do it for our 
satisfaction, if not your own. And for 
Wretton’s.” 

“ Sir Noel Wretton is far too chivalrous to 
ask any such thing of me ! ” cried the old 
man, hotly. 

We looked compellingly at Wretton. 

“ I don’t ask you to do it,” he began, very 
slowly, “ but-” 

The Colonel violently took him up. 

“ And I would not do it if you did ask 
me ! Never ! Never ! I’d die sooner! ” 

His face, always pale, grew ghastly, and 
his hands, clutching the chair-back, trembled 
so much that the heavy oak chair trembled 
too. His features were drawn—he suddenly 
looked years and years older, and he lost the 
.conventional, well-bred air behind which 
men of the world conceal their souls. I 
realized for the first time something of his 
melancholy existence; a life of grinding 
poverty united with the terrible necessity of 
keeping up appearance. It made my heart 
ache to watch him. 

Wh6n, after a minute or two, he let go 
the chair to move to the door, he staggered 
on his feet flke a drunken man. 

“You won’t let him leave? You’ll detain 
him, surely?” Biilow muttered at our host’s 
elbow. 

“ You are going, Colonel ? ’ asked Wretton. 
“Why?” 

The old man turned. 

“ Because,” he pronounced with well- 
simulated indignation, “ I will not remain in 
the company of gentlemen who suspect me 
of being a thief.” 

And it was so magnificently done that we 
let him go. 

Digitized by Google 

* o 


You may be sure that after this the lost 
diamond was our favourite subject of con¬ 
versation at Wretton’s table. He himself 
rather avoided it, for I think he was a little 
ashamed of his weakness in taking no steps 
to convict the Colonel of its misappropria¬ 
tion. He was fond of insisting that there 
was absolutely no proof of Grahame’s guilt, 
and that if he had refused to turn out his 
pockets we must put the refusal down to the 
touchy nature of military honour. 

“ My dear Wretton,” Biilow would insist, 
“ you may take it from me that the man is a 
sharper living by his wits. Have you never 
missed anything before after he has dined 
here ? Spoons, for instance.” 

“Nonsense, my dear chap ! You’re most 
unfair.” 

“ Well, I can tell you this, that on more 
than one occasion I have noticed the 
Colonel’s hand coming away from his pocket 
with a most suspicious movement. Once, 
about three weeks before the disappearance 
of the diamond, I caught his eye at just such 
a moment, and I swear to you he blushed ! 
It was because of my suspicions that I pro¬ 
posed the pocket test, and his very refusal of 
it would be sufficient proof for anyone but a 
Don Quixote like you.” 

“ What’s become of him ? ” someone asked. 
“ Does he still go to the club, Wretton ?” 

“ No; I’ve never set eyes on him since 
that unhappy night.” 

“ Off to Argentina, you may be sure, where 
ten little blue diamonds cut out of the great 
Sirius and judiciously disposed of will keep 
him in luxury to the end of his days.” 

“ Had he told me he needed money 
particularly,” said Wretton, “I’d have made 
him a handsome allowance to stay in London, 
for I shall never find his equal at whist. 
He was a superb player.” 

“ Ever caught him cheating ? ” Biilow 
wanted to know. 

“ Never,” cried Wretton, warmly. “ I’m 
perfectly sure he did not. He played for 
the sake of the game, and never, certainly, 
with the best of cards, can have made more 
than a couple of sovereigns a week at it. 
Less, probably.” 

“ Yet I expect that was all he had to live 
on,” said I. “That and his dinners here, 
while his old dress-suit and his infinitely 
well-bred manner were his entire stock-in- 
trade.” 

“ And he’s turned them both to good 
account,” declared Biilow. “ For if the 
great Sirius diamond wasn’t in that old dress- 
suit of his when his stupendous injured- 

Origmal from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




726 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



Bulaw, however, sought relief in self- 
justification* 

"‘ Since he hadn't taken the diamond, why 
the dickens couldn't he turn out his pockets ? *■ 

And none of us could find any suffix 
cient reason why Grahame should not have 
done so. 

But what Wretton wanted to find even 
more was his address* 

tl He's been badly treated by us in our 
thoughts at least, and he's an old man and a 
lonely man, and evidently very sensi¬ 
tive and proud. Although conscious 
of his own innocence, he must have 
known, too, that his conduct led us 
to fear that he was not. Think of 
the horrible mortification he must 
suffer, feeling that we fellows believe 
him guilty of a mean theft. Why, 
it’s enough to break his heart and 
his spirit and make him chuck up the 
sponge at once. Do help me, some 
of you, to discover his diggings*” 

But, instead of giving Noel any 
help, I was devoured by a childish 
anxiety to discover the Colonel's 
reason for refusing to empty his 
pockets. 

** Do you suppose he had white 
mice in them?" I said to Wretton, 
whom I happened to run across in 
the Park the next day* I insisted 
on our sitting down on chairs under 
a tree to thrash the knotty question 
out anew* “ Or silkworms ? ” 

“That's a pretty child,” returned 
Wretton, calling my attention to a 
young girl who was passing us, 
carrying a big parcel. 11 Dress* 
maker's improver, 1 suppose, taking 
home the work. How refined she 
looks, but how delicate !" 

But I stuck tenaciously to our 
muttons. 

“ Perhaps he had his worsted ball, needles, 
and knitting in his pocket and was ashamed 
to produce them ? ” 

“Or his powder-puff and hand-mirror? 
Just as likely, I should think,” said Wretton, 
humouring me, 

“I tell you what,” cried I, joyfully, “I 
have it ! There was nothing whatever in his 
pockets, not even a pocket-handkerchief, and 
he was naturally reluctant to lay bare to us 
such nudity* But what’s happening to your 
nice child, Wretton ? Look there I ” 

From where we sat we could follow for a 
considerable distance the somewhat lonely 
path the young girl had taken, walking 


“Well, I’m dormned! ” said Lane, and 
this breach of servitorial etiquette was, under 
the circumstances^ surely to be forgiven him. 

There was no need to ask how the thing 
had happened. We had just been given a 
practical and convincing illustration with the 
nutshell. The diamond, caught in the 
bristles of the brush, had evidently been 
jerked into the waistcoat pocket, which gaped 
for it just at a level with the table. And 
there it had lain ever since. 

Our delight at this elucidation of a 
mystery which had promised to torment our 
declining years was damped only by remorse 
for our unfounded suspicions of the Colonel. 


innocence manner got him out of this house, 
you may write me down any sort of an ass 
you please.” 

On which Fortune, freakiest of goddesses, 
took the Baron at his word* 

For Lane, sweeping off the crumbs, swept 
an empty nutshell right into his waistcoat- 
pocket, which habitually hung bulging 
slightly forward* He put in a thumb and 
finger to extract it, and extracted instead— 
the Sirius diamond ! 


THft 5IFIUS DIAMOND I” 


Digitized by 


Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













THE GREAT SIRIUS DIAMOND. 


727 


lightly on courageous little feet, and changing 
her bulky brown-paper parcel first to one arm 
and then to the other Now we saw her 
accosted by a rough sort of fellow, who 
stopped in the centre of the path apparently 
to beg, while she moved on one side to 
avoid him and continue her way. 

But he, dodging in front of her again, 
raised a raucous voice—we could hear the 
tones, though nut the words—and suddenly 
snatched the parcel from her grasp. With 
a little cry she tried to take it back, but he 
letting fly at 
her with his 
cowardly fist, 
caught her on 
the shoulder 
and knocked her 
to the ground. 

In another 
second he was 
scampering 
away over the 
grass. 

By this time, 
however, Wret- 
ton and I were 
on our feet run¬ 
ning to her aid. 

“ Chase that 
brute ! *' Wret- 
ton cried to me; 

44 Til look after 
the child r 11 
Accordingly, 

I too went 
scampering over 
the grass, leap¬ 
ing railings and 
shouting 41 Stop 
thief ! " lustily. 

So soon as 
he realized that 
he was being 
pursued my 
brave hooligan 
dropped the bundle which impeded his 
swiftness and was off like a hare. With the 
start he had of me I could not run him 
down, and it vexed me to see he had every 
chance of escape, for it was the dusk of an 
October afternoon and there were very few 
people about. However, there lay the bundle, 
burst open from its fall, and that, at least, I 
could restore to its owner. 

The contents fell out as I tried to lift the 
torn covering, and proved to be the three 
parts of a dress-suit—-swallow-tail coat, waist¬ 
coat, and trousers. It was a very old suit, 

Digitized by Goodie 


as I could not help noticing by the rubbed 
seams and frayed linings. 

When I came up to the young girl I found 
her very white and trembling, standing at 
Wretton's side, while he supported her by a 
hand under her elbow, 

“ Now, you're not going to faint, I hope ? ” 
he pleaded to her, “for I don't happen to 
have any burnt feathers or sal volatile in my 
pockets,” 

She shook her head and smiled a little, 
but her beautiful dark eyes were brimming 

with tears — 
tears large and 
limpid as any 
diamond in 
W ret ton's col¬ 
lection, She 
was a very 
pretty child, 
about fifteen or 
sixteen, but her 
lips were too 
pale, her eyes 
were too big, 
and she was 
altogether too 
thin. 

“Have you 
got far to go 
with these 
things ? " said I, 
vainly trying to 
wrap the suit 
up again in the 
fragments of 
paper. 

For a mo¬ 
ment she turned 
a rosy red. 

“ I am going 
to Brompton 
with them,” she 
murmured. 

“ Is that your 
home ? M 

“ No. 1 live in Netting Hill.” 

“Come,” said Wretton, “you're too upset 
to get to Brompton and back this evening. 
Is your errand very important?” 

** I must go somewhere with them/ 5 she 
murmured, confusedly. “ Poor grandpapa 
is so ill, and I am ashamed to go anywhere 
near our lodgings. Besides, I know they will 
take them there-—where I am going—they 
have taken them before.” 

We understood. 

“ Your grandfather's things ? ” asked 
Wretton. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






728 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


She nodded her head. 

“ How much do you expect to get on 
them ? ” 

She answered so low we could hardly hear 
her, but it sounded like “ Five shillings. 0 

44 And do you need that money very 
urgently to night ? ” 

44 I want to get food for grandfather—wine 
and jelly. He is very ill; he has had nothing, 
nothing- 0 

She broke into a wail, and this time would 
have fainted outright had not Wretton caught 
her. It seemed to me likely that she herself 
had had nothing to eat that day. 

44 Look here, we’ve got to see this through,” 
Wretton said to me. 44 Where’s the nearest 
cab-rank ? ” 

We were not far from the Serpentine Road, 
and so, supporting her one on either side, we 
set out to strike it. But the nearest was far 
enough, so we determined to make for the 
road which traverses the Park, on the chance 
of picking up a stray vehicle. 

Here we were fortunate enough to find a 
growler cab crawling homewards, and, as most 
cabmen appear to live in the purlieus of 
Notting Hill, the driver accepted us as fares 
with alacrity. For by this time the young 
girl had given us her name—Violet Lang— 
and her address at a certain number in 
Lancaster Road. 

On the way thither Wretton stopped at 
various shops—at a confectioner’s, where he 
bought jellies and cakes and chocolates ; at a 
grocer’s, where he bought a bottle of port and 
a bottle of champagne; and at a provision 
shop, where he invested in enough cold 
meats to feed a school. 

Violet Lang protested feebly, but was too 
weak to say much. She leaned back in her 
corner of the cab, her eyes closed, with long, 
dark lashes curling upwards from a white 
cheek, and now and then brushed away a 
tear with poor, badly-gloved little hands. 

Lancaster Road proved to be a road of 
small houses, which became smaller and 
poorer the farther north we drove. At the 
very northernmost end we drew up at an 
indescribably forlorn and shabby door. 

The young girl opened this with a latch¬ 
key, and, the cabman being dismissed, 
Wretton and I, carrying the wine and other 
things, stumbled after her up a flight of 
pitch-dark and rickety stairs. 

She led us into a front room dimly 
illumined by the reflection of the gas-lamp 
in the street below, and left us alone while 
she passed through a door communicating 
with the room behind. We looked about us 

Diqilized by GoOQ lc 

* O 


and saw walls stripped of all decoration, a 
curtainless window, a carpetless floor, and a 
miserable little bed on which the poor child 
herself evidently slept. Meanwhile we could 
hear her low and rapid utterance as she 
related her adventure to someone within. 

44 Ask them to come here, that I may 
thank them for their goodness to you.” 

We stepped forward. 

“ But it is so dark, Violet, I cannot see 
them.” 

44 1 will light the lamp, grandfather.” 

There was the blue splutter of a match, 
and we watched the girl lighting one of those 
cheap little glass lamps over which she placed 
an opaline shade. In a moment the flame 
was sufficiently bright for us to see clearly 
the old man lying in the bed, and it was 
with the mixture of many sentiments that 

we recognised him to be-Colonel 

Grahame ! 

44 Oh, my poor friend ! ” cried Wretton, 
44 is it you ? Why in the name of Heaven 
did you not let me know you were ill, so 
that I might have come to see you before 
now ? ” 

44 And your diamond, Sir Noel ? ” asked 
the old man, sombrely. 44 Do you still believe 
I took it ? ” He glanced ironically round 
the poor room. 44 You see further evidences 
here, perhaps, of my guilt ? ” 

Wretton, sitting by the bedside and pressing 
the Colonel’s hand between his own, hastened 
to tell him the curious tale. 

44 And, believe me, I never suspected you ! 
I suspected no one. The loss was inexplic¬ 
able, and I did not attempt to explain it.” 

44 But everyone else suspected me,” said 
Grahame, and looked pointedly at me. 

“Well, confound it all, sir,” I retorted, 
bluntly, 44 why would you not turn out your 
pockets like the rest of us ? ” 

He paused a long moment, and my excite¬ 
ment was intense. Was it going to be 
silkworms, white mice, knitting, or the 
powder-puff ? Then he said, simply, “ I 
decline to say,” and turned his face from 
us to the wall. 

I could have shaken him in my exaspera¬ 
tion. 

But his little granddaughter, who had 
followed the conversation with keen intelli¬ 
gence, now sprang forward, a pink spot 
glowing on either cheek, which made her 
absolutely beautiful. 

44 Grandfather ! Yes, I must, I will tell 
them ! It was because we were so poor and 
I was often without food that grandfather, 
when he dined out, would slip part of his 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




THE GREAT SIRIUS DIAMOND, 


729 


own portion into his pockets so as to bring 
something home to me. The last night he 
dined with you he brought me home plenty 
of bread and an apple and some nuts, and 
so I lived well all the next day. But ever 
since then he himself has never been the 
same, and now I begin to understand the 


although I had not stolen diamonds, I had 
stolen—bread 1 ” 

But a glass of the champagne, opportunely 
uncorked by Wretton, made the poor old 
man take a more lenient view of his past 
conduct and ours, 

Five minutes later the provisions were un¬ 



reason. He has been fretting evidently 
about the loss of your diamond, and this 
has made him ill, and so he has not 
been able to go out among his friends or 
to his club any more. And when he can¬ 
not play whist he cannot earn any money, 
and I can earn none, and one by one 
I've pawned every thing we possess, until at 
last nothing was left but grandfather's dress- 
suit, and, as you know, 1 was about to pawn 
that. Dear grandfather ! Don't be angry 
with me! I had to tell them, for I could 
not bear these friends of yours to think 
there was any disgraceful reason for your 
not turning out your pockets when the others 
did. Now they know why." 

“Yes,” said the old man, bitterly, “they 
know, despite all my brave words, that, 


packed, and the four of us were having the 
friendliest little picnic party in the world. 

Years have gone by since that day and the 
Colonel has gone to his rest. But when I 
dine, as I often do, with Sir Noel and Lady 
Wretton, and watch that young woman, 
beautiful, smiling, friendly, as she dispenses 
hospitality at her husband's table, I always 
recall the first impromptu meal I had with 
her, served upon the bottom of an old pack¬ 
ing-case by her grandfather's bedside, while 
Wretton invariably clinches my reminiscences 
by declaring it to have been the most fortu¬ 
nate day of his life. 

At which Violets dark eyes sparkle with 
pleasure and seem to me even more lovely 
than the great Sirius diamond shining star- 
like above them in her dark hair. 


Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


Vol. Miv.-SS, 



A Hundred Years Ago—1802. 

By Alfred Whitman, 


With Illustrations from Old Prints, 


S in 1902 so jn 1802, the 
minds of the people turned 
from thoughts of war to the 
blessings of peace. The year 
to be reviewed forms the 
halting time between two 
periods of strife; and although there are no 
epoch-making battles or feats of arms to be 
recorded, this temporary lull between the 
storms affords an opportunity of noticing 
matters of interest that in the roar and bustle 
of war escape attention, 

The preliminaries of peace had been 
settled towards the end of the previous 


being prepared with lights,” The bill for 
candles was estimated at ^17,000* 

But this display was premature, and the 
people had to wait until the treaty was ratified 
by the Powers before giving vent officially to 
their feelings. The King's messenger arrived 
in London with the document on Sunday 
night, April 25th, having crossed over to 
Dover in an open boat. The following 
Thursday was the day authorized for the 
proclamation of peace and the illuminations. 
The joyful news was read at St. James's 
Palace at noon, and then the procession 
moved off towards the City, stopping on the 




]' HOC L A M AT 10 S DP PEACE AT Tilt! fiDtfAL EXCHANGE, LOpCDdN, A k'fr t L 79 , i 8 oJ. 


year; but the signing of the treaty at 
Amiens hung fire and was not effected until 
four o'clock on the afternoon or Saturday, 
March 27th ; and on the following Monday 
night London burst forth in a blaze of 
impromptu illuminations, "Towards eleven 
o'clock a mob collected at Ludgate Hill, and 
pursued their route along the Strand to 
Charing Cross, knocking at the people's 
doors as they passed, compelling them to 
put up lights. Several houses in the streets 
leading from the Strand to the waterside had 
their windows broke in consequence of not 


way at Charing Cross, Temple Bar, Chancery 
I-ane, and Wood Street, Cheapside, to re-read 
the document, and our first illustration shows 
the scene of the final reading at the Royal 
Exchange, after which the procession passed 
round A Id gate Pump, “ Volunteers added 
to the splendour of the ceremony, and the 
acclamations of joy were general from many 
thousands of spectators who filled the streets 
through which the procession passed ” Un¬ 
fortunately, a scaffold nt the Mansion House 
gave way, and a brother-in-law of the lajrd 

Mayor was among the victims, 

unginarfrorn 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









A HUNDRED YEARS AGO -1802. 


73 i 




THfc l ULU HI NATIONS AT THfi KHKNCH A Si b A SS A Ch>li S HOUsfe, 
APK1L 39 , 1&03. 


With the night came the grand illumina¬ 
tions all over the Metropolis, but we must 
confine our attention to the house of M* Otto, 
the French Ambassador, in Fortman Square, 
which is seen in the above illustration, A party 
of Horse Guards was on duty to keep order, 
and the Times records that “Soon after eight 
o'clock Fortman Square was so completely 
jammed with people and carriages that it 
was very difficult to get either in or out. 
Many carriages were stationary more than 
three hours, and all the avenues to it were 
blocked up. The effect of the illumina¬ 
tions was brilliant beyond conception, the 
whole front of the house being one bla*e of 
light. The whole was very creditable to 
M. Otto and to the magnificence of his 
Government, which directed the expense of 
it. The music of the band {of the Gold- 
stream Regiment) played martial airs during 
the whole evening,” 

In connection with this settlement of 
peace it is amusing to notice that on the 
return of the troops “the Uuke of York 


ordered a pound of meat and a 
pot of beer to each of the privates,” 

The income-tax having been 
imposed for the prosecution of 
this war, as soon as peace was 
secured (even before it was pro¬ 
claimed) the tax was abolished 
(April 5th), to the great satisfaction 
of the tax-paving public. Un¬ 
fortunately, no similar repeal can 
be found among the records of 
Parliament for the year 1902, 

It has been recalled that the 
year 1802 saw the introduction 
of trousers as an article or apparel 
among well-to-do people, though 
sailors had worn a garment of 
this description at the end of the 
preceding century. We therefore 
reproduce one of the earliest prints 
showing the innovation. It depicts 
Colonel Duff, a swaggering pioneer 
of fashion. One item might even 
have been taken from a ladies' 
paper of yesterday : u London 
Fashions. February 10th, Small 
watches are worn by a few dash¬ 
ing belles on their bosoms, not 
bigger than the round of a half- 
guinea.” 

During the summer there was 
quite a rush of English visitors to 




UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















732 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


the French capital, of people who had 
been deprived of the “grand tour” during 
the time of hostilities ; and, besides poll' 
ticians, people of rank and fashion and 
artists flocked to the Paris museums and 
theatres and other places of amusement; 
Among the artists who visited the Louvre to 
see the treasures Bonaparte had just annexed 
(including the famous Venus of Milo) were 
Turner, Hoppner, and Fuseli. Speaking of 
artists reminds us that Turner and John Soane 
were elected R.A.’s in February; North' 
cote was attacked and robbed on Primrose 
Hill in October ; Bartolozzi, the engraver, 
quitted England 
for Lisbon in 
November ; and 
George Romney 
died at the end of 
the same month. 

The fashion of 
visiting the Conti¬ 
nent naturally sug¬ 
gests the cost of 
travelling. The 
charge for posting 
was from is* to 
is. 3d. per mile; 
the passage from 
1 lover to Calais 
cost 5 guineas—a 
charge that, owing 
to competition, 
was reduced to 
t guineas in 
April, and later to 
1 guinea ; and the 
fee for a passport 
signed by the 
Foreign Secretary 
was 2s. 6d., 

plus 2S. for stamps* 

So before reach¬ 
ing foreign soil a 
fairly heavy demand was made upon the 
purse. 

The recent epidemic of small pox had its 
counterpart a hundred years ago, when it was 
calculated that no fewer than 45,000 persons 
annually fell victims to the disease in the 
United Kingdom. On June 2nd the House 
of Commons voted Dr. Jenner the sum of 
0,000 in acknowledgment of his recently 
discovered preventive, an amount which, but 
for a minority of three, would have been 
doubled. He reproduce the finest portrait 
of Dr. Jenner which exists. On the same 
day the House voted 1,2 00 to Mr. Great- 
head, of Shields, tor his invention of the life 


boat, a boat which did beneficent service in 
rescuing people during a storm off Whitby 
on December 6th. 

Among other inventions of the year the 
following may be noted. The Falmouth 
Packet informs 11s that “A method has lately 
been tried at Camborne, in the county of 
Cornwall, that seems to promise success. A 
carriage has been constructed containing a 
small steam-engine, the force of which was 
found sufficient, upon trial, to impel the 
carriage, containing several persons, against a 
hill of considerable steepness, at the rate of 
four miles in an hour. Upon a level road 

it ran at the rate 
of eight or nine 
miles an hour.” 
On September 
23rd, at Ranelagh 
Gardens, a me¬ 
chanic named 
Todd e x p e r i - 
men ted in a large 
tank of water with 
a diving dress, 
which was sur¬ 
mounted with a 
wooden helmet, 
into which were 
fitted fir-wood 
tubes for the ad¬ 
mission of air. 
Was this f the first 
attempt at such 
an apparatus ? 
And one other in¬ 
vention deserves 
special promi¬ 
nence, as it seems 
to have been the 
forerunner of the 
modern flash-light 
a d v e rtisement* 
The Time j, May 1 : 
“ Among the curiosities exhibited on Thurs¬ 
day evening in honour of the peace was a 
transparent telegraph, at the back of SL 
Clement's (Strand), which changed its letters 
in very quick succession, making the words 
* This may be read by night and by day. 1 ” 

On June 29th the King went in state to 
the House* of Lords and dissolved Parlia¬ 
ment; and then ensued the turmoil of a 
General Election. A week before this Mr, 
Dundas, a supporter of the Government, 
“set off for the North to regulate thirty eight 
of the elections out of forty-five.” Though 
the usual excitement, with its attendant 
demonstrations and riots, took place, nothing 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



DH- JRNNKHj TO WHOM THE HOUSE VOTED ^lO OW, JL’KF 2, ifloi. 







A HUNDRED YEARS AGO—1802. 


733 


appears to have occurred to call for very 
special note. The borough polls were open 
seven days, and votes were received for the 
county members during fourteen days. The 
hustings were erected as usual at Covent 
Garden for the Westminster election, which 
a newspaper on the losing side denounced as 
a “ridiculous farce, got up by the neighbour¬ 
ing publicans to put money in their pockets/' 
Fox headed the poll, and, as soon as the 
result was declared, the people, considering 
the hustings public property for souvenirs, 
“tore away the timber which supported the 


mician. A popular ballad of the day on 
the subject of these Greenwich gambols 
commences 

The glorious sun now rises gay, 

Promise of a brilliant day. 

Leave your toils and cares for one day, 
Greenwich hoy I *tis Whitsun Monday. 

With Greenwich, London comes into mind, 
and we recall the rhyme of an enthusiast of 
the Metropolis, who said :— 

I hate the brook that murmurs at my feet ; 

Give me a kennel in Si, James's Street ; 

And if in sultry days we jkuiI for air T 

Give me the breezes of Sr, Jameses Square. 



A VIEW OK OHEENH ICU PARK ON WHtTSUN MONDAY, JUNE 7, lSo2. 


roof, and the whole fabric fell upon the 
unthinking labourers-" 

As an indication of the cost of elections at 
the time we note that the Times says : “ We 
have reason to believe that ,£50,000 will not 
defray the expenses of the Kent election.” 
The new Parliament met in November, and 
when the King went in state to the House 
of Lords on the 23rd, “notwithstanding the 
violence of the rain, a vast concourse of 
people were assembled in St + James's 
Park.” 

Whit Monday fell on June 7th, and we 
reproduce an engraving which shows very 
clearly that recreation was the chief thought 
of that day even a hundred years ago, and 
indicates how the pastimes indulged in by 
the people differed little from those of to-day. 
The view may be taken as accurate, for it 
was drawn on the spot by a Royal Acade- 


The streets and squares of the town were 
by no means perfect, and the constant depre¬ 
dations of highwaymen and footpads in even 
the best quarters were anything but reassur¬ 
ing to nervous people. “If there is not an 
additional strength added to the police we 
must be under the necessity of shutting our¬ 
selves up at home in the evening and con¬ 
verting our houses into garrisons,” writes 
one; while another complains that “the 
lamps in Piccadilly, by the side of the Park, 
as well as those along the King's Road, 
Chelsea, are most shamefully neglected, as 
by far the greater part are extinguished before 
eight o’clock.” 

Apropos of the present uneasiness as to 
protection from fire, it is interesting to note 
that at a conflagration in Rotherhithe in 
August, 1802, “several fire-engines were on 
the spot in /ess than an hom\ and the Thames 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









734 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



Police floating engine was brought down to 
supply water*" 

From two miscellaneous items nt^ learn 
that the British troops in Egypt were sub¬ 
scribing to form a fund “to bring Cleopatra’s 
Needle to their own country/’ 1 and the charge 
for viewing Westminster Abbey was is, Gd, 
“exclusive of the money demanded by the 
person who shows it,’’ 

The above illustration gives the preparations 
for the start for the Hunters 1 Stakes at 
Oxford on August 4th ; and among sporting 
items of the year we note that the Prince of 
Wales was present at the Derby on June 3rd, 
which was won by Tyrant, although Young 
Eclipse, the second horse, was favourite* 


His defeat caused 
large sums of 
money to be lost* 
At Ascot, three 
weeks later. 
Young Eclipse 
retrieved Ids posi¬ 
tion and beat 
Tyrant by half a 
neck* It has been 
stated that the 
present year, 
1902, is the cen¬ 
tenary of Good- 
ivood, but the 
following, from 
the Times of May 
3rd, settles the 
point : “ Good- 
wood races were 
uncommonly well 
attended. All 
the matches were rode by gentlemen. This 
is the second year of their meeting, and from 
the great number of persons that attended 
from all parts it bids fair to rival the famous 
dub at Bibury." 

The accommodation of the Port of London 
is engaging the serious attention of com¬ 
mercial men at the present time, and in 1802 
the docks were being constructed* We give 
a view of the West India Docks, which were 
opened with great hint on August 27th, 
“ now to become the receptacle of a great 
portion of our national wealth*" 

The next illustration records a disaster that 
happened at Broadstairs on September 1st* 
Captain Laing was driving a gig into the town 


**31 



I UK WkM I MU A IHIL-KS, inhNKN *11.1 si FjM, I 

rw"*nlf> Original from 

- * 1H V> K UNIVERSITYOF MICHIGAN 















A HUNDRED YEARS AGO—jSoj. 


735 




DTSAhTBM AT UHOAIJSTAIKS, SE^T£M|iEK J, l8o2. 

from St* Peters, when the horse took fright 
and dashed down the hill towards the parade. 
Upon reaching the 
cliff the horse 
made a leap over, 
but by a miracle 
the gig caught in 
some rails. The 
shafts snapped off, 
the horse was 
dashed to pieces 
at the bottom of 
the cliff, but the 
vehicle stopped 
short and the 
driver escaped 
unhurt. A similar 
accident befell 
the Duchess of 
Devonshire at 
Ramsgate a few 
weeks later* u Her 
Grace’s curricle 


and were making full speed to 
the cliff, when her cries happily 
alarmed some labourers, who suc¬ 
ceeded in stopping the high- 
mettled racers*” Hyde Park was 
the scene of even a third occur¬ 
rence of this character, on Sunday, 
November 28th. In this case the 
two horses plunged furiously into 
the Serpentine and were drowned, 
the gentlemen driving being res¬ 
cued with considerable difficulty* 
Directly after his election for 
Westminster, Fox, with some 
friends, set out on a Continental 
tour; and at Paris he was received 
and entertained by Bonaparte* 
This action aroused much com¬ 
ment in Conservative circles, and 
caused a number of sad res to be 
published* One of these is re* 
produced here, and is entitled, 
u English Patriots Bowing at the 
Shrine ot Despotism. 11 The recep¬ 
tion took place on September 3rd. 

The year 1802 witnessed a 
mania for ballooning, and also 
saw the first parachute descent. 
The hero was M. Garnerin, a 
Frenchman, and the interesting 
event took place on September 
21 st, from St* George’s Parade, 
North Audley Street* A record 
of the event informs us that 
14 M. Garnerin, when at the height 
of 8,000ft,, made his descent with a para¬ 
chute, and safely descended in a field 


horses took fright 


LA MCA I'UMli AiiAl \M 1 : \ 'i I — I I | u >-I 1 t 1 ri- k i ' > 

• UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















73 6 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 



Prince Consort, but the following 
tells another story. The Times , 
January 2nd, 18021 “Yesterday 
Her Majesty gave a children's 
ball at Windsor. In the centre 
of the ball-room was placed a 
tree resembling an evergreen, on 
which was a variety of toys to be 
distributed among the children 
previous to their departure. IJ And 
all true lovers of their country 
will he in accord with the follow¬ 
ing leading-article sentiment of 
the Times of November 27th, 
which avers that 41 Every British 
statesman must now' be aware of 
the great importance of maintain¬ 
ing a good understanding with 
the United States of America. 
The two countries may be so 
mutually serviceable or so mutually 
mischievous to each other that the 
utmost pains should be employed 
to cultivate not only peace, but to 
improve every sentiment of kind* 
ness and affection.” 


thk first parachute descent, keptekhek ai* 1B02. 

between St. Pancras Church and the Small - pox 

Hospital. 11 

On Lord Mayor’s Day the weather was exceptionally 
fine, and the gilded state coach with which Londoners 
are familiar was then used for the first time. 

The mutinies that had occurred with uncomfortable 
frequency at the Norc, Spithead, and elsewhere caused 
the authorities much concern ; and on November 18th 
a conspiracy to sow disaffection in the Army was dis¬ 
covered, and Colonel Despard and others were arrested 
at the Oakley Arms, Lambeth, and while in prison 
were “ heavily ironed on both legs.’ 1 A trial subse¬ 
quently took place, and Despard was found guilty and 
suffered the extreme penalty. We give his portrait, 

One or two miscellaneous items must conclude our 
review. ladies who devote themselves to the cause of 
charity may note as a novelty that on Sunday, August 
29th, “at a charity sermon at Ramsgate, the Duchess 
of Devonshire, the Duchess of Newcastle, and others 
received the contributions at the doors.” At the same 
lime the Duchess of St. Albans and Lady Heath cote 
were rendering like service at Margate. We usually asso¬ 
ciate the introduction of the Christmas-tree with the 


iM 1. J'FM'AKh, AHNKSTim FOR TREA r ON, 
NintfMlUfR, 1003 . 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


The Balloon 

With nvhkh Mr.Gamerin if- 
ctnded from the Velunittf's 
P*r*de. Nf?rih Audky-llrert, i 

GrpJVcnor 5-quiie, la the I 
h eighth af 600 & & iht I 

Parachute 1 

by *hnh hfl dtlcendrd into 
m Field, rear Si. pjntras' 
Church, iiftScpt iSoj. 














AS anybody in these days seen 
such a thing as a wassail* 
bowl ? Nobody that 1 have 
questioned owns one ; and if 
anybody did I don't believe 
he'd know what to put into it. 
I inquire for wassail at the Stores, regularly 
every Christmas, without the smallest success. 
I don’t know where I first got the idea that 
wassail was a liquid, but it seems I was quite 
wrong; the young man on the wine and 
spirit floor didn’t seem to have heard of it, 
and suggested the ironmongery department. 
The assistant in the ironmongery department 
was quite polite to me, but very indignant at 
the ignorance of the wine and spirit man, 
who, he protested, might have known that it 
was the greengrocery side that I wanted. 
'The greengrocery young man told me that 
many people laboured under the vulgar error 
that wassail was a kind of tomato, but, as a 
matter of fact, it was a newly-introduced sort 
of cheese. This information seemed to sur¬ 
prise the shopman at the cheese counter, 
who wouldn’t be quite sure, but had an 
idea that the article I required was a water¬ 
proof blacking strongly recommended by the 
boot and shoe department. The young man 
in the boot and shoe department smiled 
Vol r K*iv.— 93, 

Digitized by Google 


scornfully and assured me that as a matter 
of simple fact wassail was the registered title 
of an improved double perambulator on a 
new principle ; but, realizing that the peram¬ 
bulator would bring me to the ironmongery 
department once more, I flung my arms 
round the lift-man's neck and implored to 
he carried out into the fresh air of the open 
street, where I might cool my brow against a 
friendly lamppost. 

It is a bitter reflection that the plague of 
Christmas-box hunters, though it may punish 
the guilty, will, nevertheless, fall equally on 
the righteous as on the unrighteous. Why 
should I 41 fork out” to the butcher's boy 
because his master has been charging me for 
English beef and giving me American at 
fourteen ounces to the pound for a w T hoIe 
twelvemonth? Purely in gratitude for that 
pestiferous tune he whistles under my study 
window every morning, or merely because 
his dog fights all the neighbouring cats in 
my area ? And who is the water company's 
turncock that he should blackmail me—the 
water company's turncock, that uniformed 
compromise between a railway porter and a 
parish beadle, who leans against one kitchen 
poker while he strolls leisurely round another ? 
I don’t want him to turn off my alleged 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















73 * 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



41 constant supply ” in the hot weather—I 
would rather he left it alone ■ and now in the 
cold weather—gr-r-r-rh I—must I pay for 
being reminded of cold water? 

I find it difficult to believe that once on a 
time nobody asked me for Christmas-boxes, 
but some people —not many, though — 
actually presented them to me. That was 
when I was a small boy and lived in a place 
where Christmas was kept in a very old- 
fashioned way* There was no actual wassail- 
bowl—that is a thing I never expect to see. 
But we did have a Christmas log, which we 
might have called a Yule log if we had 
thought of it* It was a tough bit of timber, 
lighted each year by aid of the charred 
remains of the last. This custom of keeping 
the half-burned fag of the Christmas log 
till next year was very general in our part 
of the country, for it was well known to 
preserve the house from fire in the interval 
But nowadays, such is the growth of luxury 
and extravagance that people substitute ex¬ 
pensive insurance premiums for the economi¬ 
cal expedient I remember* But to he 
effectual the log must be preserved for the 


whole year* In the only house in our 
neighbourhood that was burned down 
in my time the log was utterly destroyed 
in the fire, and so only lasted four 
months; which proves the rule to the 
mind of any reasonable person* 

The snap-dragon was another of our 
mysterious rites which seems to be 
neglected now. Perhaps it is con 
sidered a sinful waste of a liquid which 
might so much more worthily be used 
for other purposes; cleaning brass 
candlesticks, I think, was the use 
once recommended by a friend* But, 
reason or not, in these degenerate and 
effeminate days our hardy forefathers* 
fine old love of burnt fingers seems 
to have languished sadly* Even flap- 
dragon is extinct, I believe, though 
that offered the sterner joy of burnt 
noses. Do you understand the rules 
of the fine old national sport of flap* 
dragon ? It was not a pursuit in 
favour with the wealthy and the great, 
and I doubt if ever a duke experienced 
the fierce delights of the sport. It was 
practised, in fact, among those lesser 
noblemen who were in the habit of 
drinking beer out of gallon cans, and 
ivere not always particular what else 
the can contained so long as the beer 
was there. In the game of flap-dragon 
the can contained, beside (or, rather, in 
the middle of) the beer, an upright candlestick 
with apiece of candle in it—alight; and any¬ 
body was at liberty to drink as much of the 
beer as he could. When the can was tilted a 
little way the candle threw out a sort of hint, 
as it were, in the shape of a blob of hot grease ; 
but the ardent sportsman never hesitated for 
a trifle like that, and, in fact, some sorts of 
candle were thought rather to improve the 
flavour of the beer ; at least, when the grease 
fell into it direct, and not first by way of the 
sportsman's eye* In any case the candle, 
tilted a little farther, followed up the hint 
bodily, and there was a sudden crisis in the 
proceedings, and a great complication of spilt 
beer, flaming candle and whiskers, scorched 
countenance, and hasty remarks* And so the 
dragon was successfully flapped to everybody's 
satisfaction. 

The waits still promote a healthy wakeful¬ 
ness, just as they did in my young days, but 
they charge for their supply of insomnia in a 
lump at the end of the contract now, instead 
of getting nightly instalments on the old plan* 
They have developed a distrustful habit of 
keeping well out in the middle of the road, 


hqnizea 


jy Goo 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















CHRISTMAS, 


739 



so that the lavish old mediaeval largesse, dis¬ 
tributed from a water-jug, is going altogether 
out of fashion. But still, even in these 
basely utilitarian days, I have known a trom- 
bone to be suddenly overcome by choking 
emotion on the unexpected contribution of a 
boot-jack to the kind. The carol-singers, 
however, still take their pay in instalments, 
and as many instalments as they can get. 
1 am speaking, of course, of the boys who 
sing on my front steps just when I take 
my after-dinner nap. There is nothing old- 
fashioned about these boys—nothing at all 
except the carol In the old times the 
pretence was kept up that the payment was 
made for the singing instead of for the 
leaving off ; but with the march of civiliza¬ 
tion and the advance of democracy all these 
pedantic old forms are being swept away. It 
is a business-like age, and the carol-singers, 
correspondingly business-like, leave off in the 
middle of a verse 
when the coppers 
(pennies I mean, 
not policemen) 
arrive, and scuttle 
off to catch an¬ 
other customer 
without delay. 

Silence being paid 
for, the article is 
delivered in¬ 
stantly, and no 
time is wasted in 
pretending that 
the money is paid 
for something 
else. 

Snow, too — 
snow was another 
Christmas institu¬ 
tion we seemed to 
see more of in my 
younger days. We 
see it now,of course, 
but somehow it 

seems to dodge 
Christmas, and we 
have to imitate it 

with Epsom salts 
stuck on a Christmas card with gum. We get 
it sometimes, though, as I can remember a 
little while back. But stay—I think it was 
in 1886, and that is sixteen years ago. If I 
don't look out I shall be letting out my age 
itself. I remember this particular Christmas 
Day because I got most gloriously and 

seasonably snowed up on my way to a 

friend’s in the country. My train was out¬ 


rageously late, so that I missed connection 
at a junction, and was finally turned out 
into a pitiless white world at a roadside 
station five miles short of where my friend 
must have been waiting for hours in his 
dog cart. There were no more trains, there 
was no inn, no vehicle, no dinner—nothing ! 
Nothing but a staring stationmaster and a 
porter, who had most obviously (and offen¬ 
sively) had dinner at midday, my portman¬ 
teau, my rug, an umbrella, a stick, and—a 
barrel of oysters. This last was intended as 
a little present for my host. The snow was 
actually feet deep ; it dragged down miles of 
telegraph line and posts that night, and I— 
well, I had a barrel of oysters, I think the 
very bitterest and most hideous piece of 
irony I ever saw or heard of in my life was 
that barrel of oysters. On a freezing blizzard 
of a night like that, what possible item of 
human aliment could offer such agonizing 


mockery to a hungry derelict like me as a 
barrel of oysters? If only there had been 
nothing at all I shouldn't have felt it quite so 
keenly. Life might have been sustained for 
a certain period on leather rug-straps and the 
soap in my shaving-box—such things have 
been heard of in other Arctic explorations. 
But there, I won't talk of it any more. 
Think of it, dream of it, desolate man 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















740 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


— as the poet didn’t say. A barrel of 
oysters ! 

You see, that all comes of talking about 
snow. I never hear snow mentioned without 
recalling that Christmas night and that 
diabolical barrel of oysters on the desolate, 
snow-laden platform of that desert railway- 
station. But surely the anecdote is comfort¬ 
ing to such of you as are sitting by a nice 
large fire, with The Strand Magazine and 
a pipe, and perhaps a glass of wassail-mixture 
to clean the brass candlesticks with. I think, 
if anything in this woild could make a man 
grateful for his Christmas dinner, it would 
be to remember me on that swirling night 
with my icy, dripping barrel of oysters. 

Have you ever tried Christmas furmety ? 
Probably not; nor have I. What is more, 
I feel as though I could rub along without 
it still. But in case anybody may be more 
venturesome than I, here is an old recipe 
which I have just been reading :— 

“ Take fresh wheat and bray it in a 
mortar, that the hulls be all gone off, and 
seethe it till it burst, and take it up and let 
it cool ; and take clean, fresh broth and 
sweet milk of almonds, or sweet milk of 
kine, and temper it all; and take the yolks 
of eggs. Boil it a little, and set it down 
and mess it forth ” — “ mess it forth ” is 
admirable — “ with fat venison or fresh 
mutton.” 

There you are—you may temper it and 
mess it forth, and keep your own temper if 
you mess it more than you intend. But the 
venison or mutton may be left out—person¬ 
ally I should prefer leaving out the other 
things too—for the furmety may be regarded 
as complete without it. In that case you 
must add plenty of sugar. Yes, sugar is 
what it says in the book. Having done all 
this, you may do what you like with the 
result. I should think it would be rather a 
good idea to pitch it out of the window. 

Plum-porridge seems to have been a more 
important thing even than furmety. It was, 
in fact, the original of the plum-pudding that 
will insure so many bilious attacks on the 
25th of this month. If you would like to go 
back to the earlier fashion, plum-porridge 
would seem to be easy enough to make. 
You take the raw materials of the present 
style of plum-pudding, pitch them into the 
soup, and there you are. You can add any¬ 
thing else you fancy, from any part of the 
larder you please, I should judge, going by 
the different old recipes I have seen : a little 
salad, perhaps, a few sardines, half a pound 
of cheese, a pint of mustard, and a gallon of 

Digitized by GoOQ lc 
* o 


treacle might improve it, and, anyway, 
couldn’t make it much worse. If you think 
it wasteful to make pigs’-wash with it, or fire 
it at Christmas-box hunters from an upper 
window, you may distribute it among the 
deserving poor; but in that case it will be 
well to avoid the neighbourhood of the 
deserving poor for some time afterwards. 

Perhaps on the whole, however, you will 
prefer to keep your soup and your pudding 
on separate plates, in the feeble fashion 
of this later age; you will possibly be 
very nearly as ill after all, which is pro¬ 
bably the main object. Our robuster great¬ 
grandfathers seem to have experienced 
some difficulty in summoning up a bilious 
attack worthy of so great an occasion, and, 
like the determined old heroes they were, 
they took heroic measures, and no doubt 
their desperate valour was crowned with 
success and sick-headache. “ Pheasants 
drenched in ambergrease,” we read, was 
another of the desperate expedients they 
tried, and I hope I shall never hear another 
phrase so provocative of deadly discomfort 
in the stomach. “ Ambergrease ” itself is 
terrible, with its horrid suggestions of the 
cleaning of an old briar pipe, and when I 
go for comfort to the dictionary I find that 
ambergrease is “a morbid secretion of the 
spermaceti whale ” ! A morbid secretion of 
the spermaceti whale ! Good heavens ! After 
that give me my houseless snowstorm, my 
rug - straps, arid my freezing barrel of 
oysters. 

There is one fine old British sport, by the 
way, first practised by Cromwell’s soldiers 
two hundred and fifty years ago, that is 
still regularly revived in many parishes at 
Christmas, though in a far feebler way than 
that practised by the Ironsides, who were not 
particular, either, as to what time of the year 
they indulged in the game. In those hesjty 
days the implements were matchlocks, 
hammers, axes, picks, spades, brickbats, and 
clinkers, and ancient churches were the 
scenes of the diversion. Many a headless 
effigy, smashed carving, or vanished window 
gives witness to the weight of the men}’ 
pick or the deadly accuracy of the festive 
brickbat wielded by those pleasantly pious 
old saints. Nowadays the scene is still the 
church, but the feebler implements (except 
the hammers) are tin-tacks, screws, staples, 
holly, and evergreen, and the noble sport is 
followed by curates and enthusiastic ladies. 
The up-to-date name for it is “decorating 
the church,” and notwithstanding the lack of 
picks and brickbats it is surprising what a 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



CHRISTMAS. 


74 i 


deal of Ironsiding a healthy curate can get 
through in an hour with a box of nails 
and a hammer, flitting merrily from pulpit 
to rood-screen and from altar-rail to high- 
backed pew, sometimes by exception hitting 
an iron nail, more usually a thumb-nail, 
but in the majority of whacks taking it 
out of oak panelling and carving and ancient 
plaster. One rule of the game is that the 
curate, being a curate, and, moreover, being 


in church, must not make any remark when 
his thumb gets it, but may relieve his feelings 
by an extra wild swipe at the consecrated 
fane. And a kind lady with a flaming wall- 
text and a gallon of tin-tacks can Cromwellize 
admirably, too, getting more twisted tacks 
into a square foot of old panelling than the 
inexperienced would believe it to be capable 
of holding. After Christmas there is a sort 


of return match, in which the curate and 
the ladies wield pincers, pliers, and tongs, 
much innocent rivalry being exhibited as to 
who can snatch out the nail with, the most 
timber attached to it. 

The experienced find that the best results 
are obtained at this stage by the combined 
use of hammer and pincers—the hammer to 
knock the nail sideways first, and so ensure a 
handsome output of splinters at the final 
extraction. Thus healthy 
sport and respect for the 
antique are combined 
with a proper display of 
greengrocery on the 
occasion of the Church's 
chief service of the year, 
while the curate and the 
young ladies are given 
an opportunity of leaving 
their marks for the 
admiration of posterity by 
the side of those of 
Jedediah Snuffletext and 
his comrades. 

And the sexton will 
say to visitors, “ That 
there's where Cromwell’s 
soldiers knocked the top 
off the font, and this 
here’s where the curate 
drove a staple into a 
wooden angel’s chest, and 
them chips an’ splinters is 
where the squire’s niece 
put in a four-inch screw 
with a good hard whang 
of the vestry poker, and 
there’s a dispute about 
that there wooden figure 
on the tomb with half 
its head split off; some 
says Puritans, and some 
says the last rector’s 
sister with a big lump 
of holly and a bill-hook.” 

I have heard of some poor-spirited rectors 
who are out of sympathy with this time- 
honoured sport, and who tyrannically insist 
that Christmas decorations must be tied up 
carefully with string. But there are not 
very many of them, let us hope ; and even 
they have no legal right to search a lady’s 
pocket for tin-tacks. 


Peco rat": 





Digitized by 


Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







































Miss Wren's Device. 


By Mrs. Newman. 


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Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


ND you said nothing about 
it last night lest it should 
seem too sad a home-coming 
for me—yes, I understand.” 

“ 1 wanted you to have a 
night's rest before you heard. 
It is so hard for you coming home to such 

trouble as this, and I hoped- 1 " Helen 

Wyndham hesitated, eyeing her sister with a 
wistful, ques¬ 
tioning look, 
then went 
on in a low 
voice: “ Dear 
Audrey, I 
thought you 
might perhaps 
have brought 
some good 
news to set 
□gainst the 
bad,” 

The colour 
mounted to 
the young 
girl's face, and 
her grey eyes 
were shadow¬ 
ed with the 
consciousness 
that she, too, 
had hoped, 
and that her 
hope had been 
unfulfi lied, 

She had the 
night before 
returned 
home after a 
three weeks* 
stay with 
some friends 
in the north, 
where was 
gathered a 
large house- 
party to celebrate the heir’s coming of age. 
From hints and half admissions in her 
letters with reference to one of the guests 
there, the elder sister had quite expected to 
hear of an engagement having come about 
Her anxious questionings had been met by 
the reply that there was nothing to tell; but 
quick eyed love had seen there was some¬ 
thing to be borne. 


,H UK BADE HF.H GlHJI>UVK W 


To bear that, from comparative affluence, 
her sister and she had suddenly become penni¬ 
less had, indeed, seemed but of secondary 
importance in contrast with another blow 
that had fallen upon Audrey Wyndham. 

She had had what appeared to be the 
strongest reasons for believing that she had 
won the heart of the one man in the world 
to whom she could give her own. Although 

the words had 
not been 
spoken, she 
had been led 
to believe 
that Philip 
Denman was 
about to ask 
her to be his 
wife. 

Parting at 
night with a 
lingering 
hand - clasp, 
and with 
appare n tly 
the deepest 
devotion in 
eyes and tone, 
he had ex¬ 
pressed the 
hope that she 
would on the 
morrow give 
him the 
opportunity 
to say what 
she must 
know he was 
longing to put 
into words, 
and had met 
her the next 
morning as 
might a mere 
ith csavk, cool HiLiTtNESs/' chance ac¬ 

quaintance. 

At the breakfast-table he had announced his 
intention of leaving the Hall that morning, 
and afterwards took his departure without 
seeking an interview with her or making the 
slightest allusion to what had passed. He 
bade her good-bye with grave, cool polite¬ 
ness, merely remarking that they were going 
different ways and might not meet again for 
some time. She had contrived to reply in 























MISS WHEN'S DEVICE. 


743 


the same strain. None present had seen her 
humiliation, but the blow had struck deep 
into her woman's heart. 

“Had she, blinded by her own feelings, 
failed to read his aright ? ” she asked herself. 
“ Had he assumed that coldness of speech 
and bearing for the purpose of showing her 
she had been mistaken?” The hot colour 
flamed into her cheeks at the bare thought 
of being supposed to make a mistake of that 
kind. But she saw she must keep a tight 
rein over her feelings in the presence of her 
sister, who was already overwhelmed with 
trouble. 

“ You are sure you have told me the worst, 
Helen ? ” 

“What could be worse? Everything is 
gone; we shall be penniless ! It is so hard 
for you, Audrey!” ejaculated Helen—a 
woman of about thirty-five and still beautiful, 
although her face lacked some of the power 
and character so marked in her sister, who 
was barely nineteen. 

Audrey looked at her with yearning eyes ; 
but, afraid of yielding to sentiment, kept 
back the words that sprang to her lips. With 
what was meant for a careless tone, but with 
paling cheeks as she glanced round at the 
familiar surroundings, she said :— 

“ We must give up all this and leave here, 
of course.” 

“We may, perhaps, be able to let this 
house for the remainder of the term it is on 
our hands. I thought I ought to pay Jane 
and Emma and let them go at once.” 

Audrey nodded. “ Yes, it was best.” 

“ Cook begged to stay on until—we go.” 

The young girl’s lips trembled, but she 
once more overcame, and the lines about her 
mouth were firm, as she quietly asked 

“ How does Mr. Grant explain it, Helen ? 
He is responsible, of course. Has he been 
down here?” 

“He is gone, none knows whither. It 
appears that after the death of the co-trustee, 
and before another could be appointed, he 
speculated, or made away with the money 
in some way, and the whole has disappeared. 
The lawyer says that I ought—that is, I 
might have-” 

Less interested in what might have been 
than in what was, Audrey put in :— 

“ We must go to some poor neighbourhood 
in London and see what can be done. Oh, 
yes, I will try giving lessons in music or 
something or another,” with grand indefinite¬ 
ness. “ And you can see to the housekeeping. 
We shall get on some way ”; conscious mean¬ 
while that the habit of living gracefully and 

Diqilized by GoOQ le 

* o 


the indulgence of refined tastes and sense of 
the beautiful were not the qualifications most 
necessary for earning a livelihood. If she 
had a special talent in any one direction, she 
was not as yet aware that she had. 

“ If I could only spare you ! ” 

“No tears, Helen. We must face the 
difficulty, and we cannot do that if we 
indulge in sentiment,” keeping back the sob 
rising in her own throat. “ How are two 
women without experience to set about earn¬ 
ing a living?—that’s the problem we have to 
solve.” 

“Yes,” dolefully assented Helen, feeling 
that it was a problem not likely to be solved 
by her. 

“How about typewriting or a clerkship?” 
mused Audrey, beginning to feel that the 
recognition of her deficiencies meant some¬ 
thing, and that the stir in her mental atmo¬ 
sphere did not arise from despair. “ I am not 
stupid ; no. I certainly ought to be capable 
of doing what so many girls show they can 
do. A clerk has only to write letters, cast up 
accounts, and that kind of thing, I suppose. 
One might learn to do that, and do it well, 
without being a genius.” 

The door was opened, and the servant 
entered with a letter. 

“ I suppose it is for you, Helen,” said 
Audrey, after glancing at the address : “ To 
the Occupier of Sea View,” adding, in the 
hope of bringing a smile to her sister’s face, 
“ Are you the occupier of the View, or-” 

“Open it, Audrey; only a circular, per¬ 
haps.” 

She took the letter from the envelope and 
glanced through it, an amused smile coming 
into her eyes. “ Listen, Helen,” proceeding 
to read it aloud :— 

“‘Miss Montague Wren wishes to know 
whether a part—not less than four or five 
rooms—of Sea View is to be let. Miss 
Wren would require the rooms for three or 
four months, and, as she w T ould object to 
other people being taken, she would be 
willing to pay liberal terms—namely, seven 
guineas a week; although this must be 
understood to be strictly inclusive. The 
house has been recommended to Miss Wren 
as genteel, quiet, and otherwise suited to the 
requirements of a convalescent invalid, which 
her brother, Mr. Montague Wren, now is, 
requiring sea air and the comforts of a 
country home.’ ” 

“ It must have been intended for the 
former tenant here. The house was formerly 
let in that way. The writer did not know 
the name of the people, I suppose.” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





744 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE, 


“ Genteel! The sea. air we could promise, 
and the quiet; but how about—are we 
genteel, Helen ? Lay your hand upon your 
heart and answer me that, my dear.” 

“ Do you mean-? ” 

Audrey nodded* 41 Only two of them/* 
she murmured, “ and the brother tucked into 
the last sentence as of small importance in 


comparison with Miss Montague Wren, his 
i requirements 3 notwithstanding. Yes, it 
might do/' 

41 Audrey I You are not thinking——” 

11 Oh, yes, I am* Why should we not take 
them? Just concentrate your mind upon 
that seven guineas a week and the rest will 
seem easy,” 

u Let part of the house in that way? 
Have Jane and Emma back, do you mean ? 33 
" No, indeed, we should not make much 
that way. We might have Sally from the 
village to help Hannah in the morning, and 
we ourselves might do something, without its 
being necessary for you, at any rate, to be 
much in evidence. You see, it would be an 
opportunity for us to gain a little experience, 
and—now, don't look superior, my dear, like 
that Miss Fitz-Something, who used to worry 
everyone about her better days when they 
went into her shop* We must try to imitate 

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good Mrs* Widger, who was so desirous of 
ordering herself reverently towards her 
betters,” adding, with an anxious glance at 
her sister's pale face, ‘‘Only a form of hero- 
worship, you know, if one reverences the 
right kind of people, and if the Wrens do not 
prove to be heroic we should still recognise 
the claims of seven guineas a week upon us* 

Of course you 
consent, Helen?” 
taking quick note 
of the half smile 
in her sister's 
face* 

44 If you really 
think we ought 
—if you do not 
mind,” hesita¬ 
tingly* 

“You see, 
there are so 
many things we 
shall have to 
learn not to 
mind”; adding, 
in reply to the 
other's lugu¬ 
brious shake of 
the head, “ Now, 
Helen, if we do 
not lose caste by 
serving the poor, 
why should we 
lose it by serving 
the rich ? If we 
did, it would 
make no differ¬ 
ence now. Caste 
will have to go with the rest. Say you agree ? ” 

41 For the present, then* I suppose it is 
the best we can do just now.” 

“ Then you have only to write to Miss 
Montague Wren, offer our best rooms, take 
the credit for being genteel, and promise that 
she shall be as quiet as she pleases, as she 
may, you know, when the sea does not roar, 
which it really ought not to do at a Wren. 
Shall I write for you ? JJ 

“ If you will I should hardly know what 
to say/ 3 

Seating herself at the writing-table Audrey 
hurriedly dashed off a few lines, then read 
them aloud 

“ 4 Dear Madam,—In reply to your letter I 
beg to say that I am the present tenant 
here, and should he glad to let the rooms 
you require at the terms you mention. 
The house is spacious, airy, and quiet, and 
I could, I think, promise the usual thing 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



'* JUST CONCENTRATE YOUR MIND UPON THAT SEVEN GUINEAS A WEEK." 










MISS WREN'S DE VICE. 


745 


in the way of attendance and so forth.— 
Yours truly, Helen Wykfdham.’ 

44 Does that sound right, Helen ? I bor¬ 
rowed the 1 spacious and airy' from the 
agent's circular, but it is true of this place.” 

“Yes, oh, yes”; not liking to say that to 
her it sounded rather offhand. 

** We must take Hannah into our confi¬ 
dence \ fortunately she cooks well, and is 
very willing. We will give them the best 
rooms, and turn the library at the back into 
a sanctum for ourselves, so that you may 
keep as much out of the way as you please.” 

14 But don’t you think we might have 
Emma back, just for the time the Wrens are 
here, Audrey?” 

44 Emma is expensive, and she does not 
like to demean herself 
by waiting on those 
who are not quite the 
crime de — I'm afraid 
she said the cheese. 

Very flattering to us, I 
suppose, but we could 
not be sure that the 
Wrens are not only 
milk, or even milk and 
water," 

44 The relief it is to 
see you more like your¬ 
self again, Audrey.” 

“It is something 
gained to have made 
you think I am,” 
thought Audrey, 
stifling a sigh. 

They were not left 
long in doubt as to 
Miss Wren's decision. 

A telegram arrived the 
next morning, stating 
that her brother and 
she might be expected 
by the afternoon ex¬ 
press, due at five 
o'clock. 

“It seems very sud* 
den/’ nervously ejacu¬ 
lated Helen Wynd- 
ham, looking helplessly 
from her sister to 
Hannah, summoned to 
the council. 

44 We shall be ready 
for ’em, never fear, ma’am, so as Fve got Sally 
to do as I like with,” said Hannah, not a 
little proud of being taken into her mis¬ 
tresses' confidence. Not that she believed 
they were in such straits as they imagined. 

VoL — 04 . 

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It might seem poverty to them, in contrast 
with past affluence, but, of course, they had 
sufficient to live upon. 

The bouse, large and well built, with slop¬ 
ing lawns, old-fashioned fruit and flower 
gardens, and some extent of ground about it, 
had been taken for their widowed mother, 
who was an invalid, and after her death the 
sisters had lived on there. It was a home 
after their own hearts, with its beautiful 
surroundings and comparative isolation from 
the bustling, much-frequented town, a mile 
or so distant. Their income of nearly a 
thousand each had allowed ample margin 
for their expenses, and the indulgence of the 
younger sister’s somewhat large ideas in the 
w'ay of giving and spending. 

Facing the house was 
a gap in the cliff, wind¬ 
ing down to a fishing 
village and small bay. 

Hannah and her 
subordinate worked 
with a will. A dainty 
repast was spread in 
the dining-room, and 
all was in readiness 
when the sound of 
approaching wheels 
was heard in the road 
running between the 
cliff and the gates 
before the house. 

The sisters went into 
the hall to receive the 
new'-coiners, unable as 
yet to divest their 
minds of the idea that 
they were guests. 

“Now, Helen!” 
ejaculated Audrey, 
taking note of the in¬ 
creased anxiety in her 
sister's pale face. 
“ How can you expect 
me to be equal to the 
occasion if you give 
way ? Take courage, 
my dear ; you look 
genteel enough to 
meet even a Wren— 

quite a model-Ah! 

here they are ! ” 

A tall, thin, angular- 
shaped woman of about fifty years of age, 
with beady black eyes and sharply-defined 
features, stepped out of the station omnibus 
and preceded her companion, who w r as argu¬ 
ing some point with the driver, into the house. 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



l A TAIX, T11IM, ANfiUI.AH-SMAFER WOMAN STEPPED 
OUT OF THE STATIUS OMNIBUS." 


















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


. 74<5 

“ Miss VVyndham, I suppose?” she began, 
in a somewhat haut en bas tone. Without 
waiting for a reply, she went on, giving a 
half glance in Audrey’s direction. “ Be 
good enough to see that the trunks and 
packages are put in the right rooms; they are 
plainly labelled.” 

Hannah and Sally pressed forward to 
bring in the innumerable packages and 
parcels heaped up inside the vehicle. 

“ I hope the rooms face south,” re¬ 
commenced Miss Wren. “That is very 
essential.” 

“ Yes, they have a south aspect,” replied 
Helen. 

“ Very good. I omitted to mention it in 
my letter, but ”—more graciously—“ it is satis¬ 
factory to find we shall have what we desire. 
I thought, too, it would probably occur to 

you that, after a journey, we might require- 

Oh, yes, I see,” as Audrey threw open the 
dining-room door and Miss Wren saw 
the well-spread table. “You are Miss 
Wyndham’s sister, are you not ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Miss Wren looked at her not very approv¬ 
ingly, as she mentally added, “ Not a very 
desirable person to have about one. Much 

too-” She had not time to decide what 

was superabundant. Hannah was ushering in 
Mr. Wren, a tall, thin man, apparently some 
five or six years older than his sister, and 
not unlike her in some respects. Reticence 
and strong will were the chief characteristics 
of his face ; but his mouth did not appear 
so incapable of a smile as did hers. 

Mr. Montague Wren was the head of a 
successful firm of London solicitors, and 
had made a substantial fortune, which, as he 
cared nothing for the luxuries of life, had 
largely accumulated in course of years. He 
had, indeed, come to take so keen an interest 
in legal work as to care for little else, allow¬ 
ing himself no time for necessary relaxation 
until symptoms of a complete breakdown 
developed themselves, and he was forced to 
give himself four or five months’ rest out of 
range of the office. 

He had left the arrangements of all minor 
details of their flitting to his sister, as his 
habit was with regard to matters he cared 
nothing about, and she had come to think 
that she managed a great deal more than she 
did. 

“ Fourteen packages,” Miss Wren was 
saying, as she followed her brother into the 
room. “ Those numbered one to six to be 
brought in here and the rest taken to the 
bedrooms.” Turning towards Audrey, to 

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* o 


whom she had been speaking over her 
shoulder, she put a packet of some special tea 
into her hand. 

“ Three spoonfuls if they are large, and 
four if they are small. You prefer tea at 
this time, do you not, Horace? ” 

“ Yes, with something substantial, if- 

Oh, I see that has been thought of,” glancing 
at the table. “ Be as quick as you can, 
Priscilla,” he added, as they went to their 
rooms. 

Returning presently to the dining-room, he 
said to Audrey, who had opened the parcel 
and was proceeding to measure out the 
tea:— 

“ You are the parlour maid, I suppose ?” 

The colour rushed hotly to her cheeks. 
“No.” Then she remembered, and, with a 
smile at herself, less curtly went on, “My 
name is Wyndham.” 

“ Oh, indeed ; a relative of our good land¬ 
lady here, perhaps.” 

“ I am Miss Wyndham’s sister.” 

He was looking at her more attentively, 
and not a little admiringly. 

Slightly flushed, a smile curving her 
beautiful lips, and her grey eyes radiant 
with amusement, she paused a moment, the 
spoon posed in her hand, returning the gaze 
of this “odd-looking specimen of humanity,” 
as she mentally dubbed him. 

His lips fell slightly apart and he was at a 
loss for words. He was accustomed to deal 
with human nature from a strictly legal point 
of view, as material for the kind of manipu¬ 
lation he was an adept in, and he had not as 
yet happened to have a young and beautiful 
girl, of a type such as hers, for a client. 

“ Have you had a long illness, Mr. Wren ? ” 
she asked, with kindly intention, still unable 
to divest her mind of the idea that he was a 
guest whom it behoved her to put at his 
ease. “ Will you not sit down ? ” 

Without a word, his eyes still fixed upon 
her, he sat down. 

Little suspecting what was in his mind, she 
was wondering why he looked at her “in 
that idiotic way.” But she presently remem¬ 
bered that he had been ill, and came to 
the conclusion, “Oh, well, the poor man 
wants his ‘ substantial,’ perhaps, and I ought 
to be quicker.” 

Catching up the tea, she went out of the 
room. 

“ What do you think of them, Audrey ? 
Shall we be able to get on with them, do you 
think ? ” anxiously asked Helen, as Hannah 
carried the tea into the dining-room. 

“Oh, yes; they are only prim, fussy old 

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MISS WREN'S DEVICE * 


747 


bodies, who will rather amuse us with their 
funny ways, I fancy/ 1 

44 Ought not one of us to go in and ask 
if they have everything they want ? " 

“Oh, well, I suppose we ought* Leave 
it to me/ 1 said Audrey, following Hannah 
out of the room* 

Miss Wren was making minute inquiries 
of the somewhat impatient Hannah as to 
whether she was quite sure the water had 
reached boiling-point, and only just reached 
it, before making the tea. 

“ My sister hopes you have all you require, 
Miss Wren,” courteously said Audrey, meet¬ 
ing her eyes with a pleasant smile. 

“Yes, I think so, What have you there, 
Horace? Chicken, tongue, pigeon-pie. Oh, 
yes, Miss Wyndham appears to have done 
her best You can say everything is satis¬ 
factory—so far*” 

Audrey demurely walked out of the room, 
and Miss Wren went on to her brother: 
“ Rather above her position, I think* She 


“ She appears to be somewhat younger 
than her sister, and has probably been 
encouraged to think too much of herself, as 
girls are so apt to do in these days. Miss 
Wyndham gives me the impression of being 
a spiritless, yielding kind of person, who 
would allow a younger sister to have her own 
way too much* Does she strike you as 
being rather good-looking — in a way, 
Horace ? ” 

“ Good - looking ? ” he slowly repeated. 
“ Well, not precisely that” ; too wise to say 
that Audrey Wyndham was the most beautiful 
girl he had ever seen. Good-looking, indeed! 
he was thinking. Why, where were Priscilla's 
eyes ? 

“ She might be considered so — by some, 
perhaps* Not everyone would have the per¬ 
ception to recognise what is wanting*” 

As days went by Miss Wren was ready to 
admit that, little drawbacks notwithstanding, 
it would be possible to spend a few months 
pleasantly enough at Sea View* The advan- 



ft WHV shouldn't FHE FAN HERSELF IF SHE IS TOO W ARM* FRISClT LA ? " 


seems quite lacking in——" She paused, 
finding it as difficult to explain what was 
lacking as she had previously found it to 
say what was superabundant* Glancing 
towards her brother, who seemed absorbed 
in thought, she added 

Digitized by GoOfilc 


tages had certainly not been overstated. 
The house was well, not to say luxuriously, 
furnished, and there was all that could be 
expected in the way of attendance and what¬ 
not. She was, indeed, not a little surprised 
at the refinement of the surroundings, sagely 
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748 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


opining that Miss Wyndham had seen better 
days. 

Her opinion of the younger sister did not, 
meanwhile, become more favourable. She 
appeared desirous enough to please, and was 
certainly not ill-tempered. Miss Wren 
flattered herself she would be quite equal to 
deal with a defect of that kind ; but there 
Was a certain indescribable something about 
the young girl to which she decidedly 
objected. It happened, too, that she saw a 
great deal more of the younger than of the 
elder sister. 

When she desired to see Miss Wyndham, 
it was Audrey who always came to receive 
her minute directions. Moreover, she was 
beginning to suspect that, if dignity and lofty 
condescension had any effect, it was not that 
intended. She could not, indeed, be always 
sure that Audrey was not endeavouring to 
suppress a smile when listening to her 
elaborate explanations as to how things 
should be done. 

“It is the airs she assumes, Horace. 
Only yesterday I wished to give some further 
directions about dinner, and found her in the 
side garden they call their own, lying in 
a hammock, her hat tipped over her eyes, 
fanning herself with the air of a princess and 
reading-” 

“ Why shouldn't she fan herself if she is too 
warm, Priscilla, and why shouldn't she read ? ” 

“But I haven’t told you what she was 
reading. c Sesame and Lilies,’ if you please ; 
nothing less ! ” 

“ Why should it be anything less ? Why 
need you concern yourself about what she 
reads ? ” 

Miss Wren pondered over his words for a 
few moments, and came to the conclusion 
that there was indeed nothing to fear. 
No danger of his getting into an entangle¬ 
ment such as he had once previously got 
into. Some twenty years before Miss Wren 
had, she believed, rescued her brother from 
imminent peril. She bad put a great deal 
of machinery into motion to defend him 
from the wiles of a scheming widow, and 
thought that she had succeeded in her pur¬ 
pose without his having suspected what she 
had done. 

He had, in fact, been not a little amused 
by her efforts to rescue him, and did not 
interfere because it spared him the trouble 
of acting for himself. He had been careful 
to show no sign that he knew what was going 
on, quite willing she should take the credit 
for having contrived matters so cleverly and 
secretly. 

Digitized by Google 

* o 


Time was passing pleasantly enough with 
both brother and sister. They spent the 
greater part of the day in the open air stroll¬ 
ing about the grounds or over the downs, 
and occasionally going to the little bay below 
to watch the fishing-boats come in. 

After awhile Mr. Wren began to find the 
sea air improve his appetite so much as to 
necessitate his returning to the house during 
the morning for a biscuit and glass of wine. 
At such times it occasionally chanced—it 
seemed chance to her—that he came upon 
Audrey in the house or about the grounds, 
and they exchanged a few words. She found 
it much easier to get on with him than with 
his sister, and therefore did not avoid him. 

“ He is a nice old man enough, Helen, 
when you get used to his funny little ways, 
and he seems really quite interested in us. 
We might, I think, take him into our confi¬ 
dence by-and-by and ask his advice as to 
what we had better do.” 

Helen assented in a hopeless, depressed 
way. Fear and anxiety about the future 
were telling heavily upon her mind. She 
could not face difficulties bravely as could 
her sister, and she shrank nervously from 
Miss Wren. 

A lovely morning early in July Miss Wren 
was seated in a shady nook of the garden, 
bending over her netting, in pleasant con¬ 
templation of the future as she anticipated it 
for herself and brother. Dear Horace was 
getting so much more companionable and 
easy to get on with as he improved in health, 
the alternate fits of depression and irritability 
to which he had been so liable having quite 
disappeared. He seemed to regard life 
from quite a different point of view, begin¬ 
ning to talk quite cheerfully about his plans 
for the future, and informing his sister that 
he had made up his mind to retire from 
business and enjoy life. 

“Take a house with ground about it, 
something like this, and play the country 
squire. Sit under my own vine, and all that 
kind of thing, Priscilla.” 

This was a future she found it very agree¬ 
able to contemplate. Miss Wren liked 
country life, and was quite ready to sit with 
him under the vine. 

“ The sea air seems to have done wonders 
for him already,” she was thinking. “ It was 
so kind of him to talk in that way about its 
being quite natural for women to like pretty 
things, and to ask me what present /should 
choose, knowing as he does that my birthday 
will soon be here. I am glad I said a 
diamond ring.” 

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MISS WREN'S DEVICE . 


749 


Her reflections were suddenly brought to 
a close* Across the summer stillness came 
the sound of two voices, her brother's and— 
could it be ? Ah, yes, that of Audrey 
Wyndham joining in \ 

Miss Wren gently parted the branches of 
the laurels, screening part of the lawn where 
she was sitting from the fruit garden, and 
peered through* 

Yes, there was Audrey engaged in gather¬ 
ing strawberries 
for dessert, Mr. 

Wren helping 
her, and looking 
— — Never 
before had his 
sister seen that 
look in his face 1 

“ No, only the 
quite ripe ones, 
please. These 
will not do at 
all." 

He bent down 
as though to 
look at them, 
but the keen 
eyes watching 
him saw that his 
gaze was fixed 
upon the crim- 
son * tipped 
fingers* 

A dreadful 
suspicion, which 
in another 
moment became 
certainty, arose 
in Miss Wren's 
mind. She saw 
now why her 
brother had got 
into the habit 
of returning to 
the house during 
the morning. 

How blind she 
had been—how terribly off her guard ! There 
was not a moment to lose now* He should 
be saved if it was in her power to save him ! 

Letting the work she had been engaged 
upon fall where it might, she rose to her feet 
and went hurriedly round the shrubbery into 
the fruit garden. At sight of her Audrey 
nodded and smiled. 

“Will you have some strawberries, Miss 
Wren—they are just gathered?” holding the 
basket towards the irate lady. Noticing that 
Miss Wren was looking rather flushed and 

Digitized by CiOO^Ie 


heated, she added, “ Have you been sitting 
too long in the sun ?” 

“I ought to have been here,” shortly 
replied Miss Wren* 

“It is more shaded on this side, is it not ? ” 
again offering the strawberries. 

“No, thank you,” stiffly* Then to her 
brother, “ Were you not going to send those 
papers this morning, Horace?” 

Audrey turned away, taking her basket into 

the house* 

“ What am 1 
to understand by 
this, Horace ? ” 
began his sister 
as soon as they 
were alone. 
“That Miss 
W y n d h a m 
should have her 
ends in view is 
not surprising, 
nor that she 
should be ready 
to avail herself 
of any oppor¬ 
tunity to- 

11 A moment, 
Priscilla. Allow 
trie to inform 
you of my inten¬ 
tions before you 
speculate upon 
Miss W y n d - 
ham's/* 

“ I only meant 
to point out that 
it might be diffi¬ 
cult to extricate 
you a second 
time from an en¬ 
tanglement.” 

“ Your ser¬ 
vices will not be 
required* 1 
have made up 
my mind to ask 
Miss Wyndham to be my wife** 

This was what he had meant, then ! It 
was Audrey Wyndham who was to sit under 
the vine with Him t It was for her the 
diamond ring had been purchased ! 

“ Have you forgotten you were fifty-seven 
last birthday ? ” 

“That is another reason why I should 
delay no longer*” 

“ I>o you really believe that a girl of 

nineteen-” Miss AYren faltered* In her 

heart she had not the slightest doubt as 

Original from 

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75° 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


to what Audrey's course would be. Nor 
did she omit to blame herself. Of course, 
she ought to have foreseen what was likely 
to happen and taken precautions — done 
anything—to avert a catastrophe such as 
this before it was too late. There was the 
set look in her brother’s face which expe¬ 
rience had taught her meant that open 
opposition would be worse than useless. 
She must try to appeal to his feelings in a 
different way. 

Raising her handkerchief to her eyes, she 
said : “ When I gave up my home to devote 
the rest of my life to you I quite believed 
you meant what you said about its being 
your intention to remain unmarried." 

“ I did mean it—at the time. It was my 
intention then, Priscilla. I have altered my 
mind, that’s all. And you must excuse my 
reminding you that the home you gave up 
was only such as a boarding-house affords, 
and very frequently changed." 

“ If you descend to insult—if some design- 
ing person has already set you against your 

sister—I can only say-" Miss Wren 

discreetly stopped at the right moment to 
avoid committing herself to any special line 
of action. 

“ There has been no insult intended, and 
Miss Wyndham is, as yet, quite unaware of 
my intentions.” Taking note of the sudden 
change that came into her face, he meaningly 
and decidedly went on : “But I shall permit 
no interference with my plans, and it would 
be bad policy for anyone to attempt it. 
Another word, Priscilla. My investments 
have for the last few years been very success¬ 
ful, and I am much better off than you 
perhaps imagine. Should all go well for me 
in this matter, I intend to add substantially 
to your income. If not—should there be 

any attempt to thwart me-” He closed 

his lips, looked straight into her eyes for 
a moment, then took out his note-book 
and commenced jotting down some memo¬ 
randa. 

“ I may, perhaps, be allowed to remind you 
that she must be aware you are a rich man." 

“ I advise you to be careful, Priscilla," he 
significantly replied, turning away. 

After some reflection Miss Wren decided 
to take his advice. It was not in her nature 
to refrain from attempting some of the 
schemes she had so much faith in, but she 
told herself that she must be careful how she 
set to work. 

No word must now be said to Audrey— 
there could be no mistaking Horace when he 
spoke in that tone—and, of course, he must 

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not be allowed to suppose that anything was 
going on. But it presently occurred to her 
that something might be done with Miss 
Wyndham, and, after some consideration, she 
began to see her way to this. 

That the elder sister was very conscientious 
she knew, but she also believed that there 
was not a little pride underlying her reserve 
of manner. If it were possible to arouse this 
pride, and at the same time get her to 
pledge her word not to divulge what had 
taken place between them, all might yet be 
well. 

“ Yes, that is what I will do : cautiously 
lead her to think it is my firm conviction that 
a trap has been laid for Horace, and, if she 
is the woman I take her to be, she will be up 
in arms, bid us begone at once, and keep her 
sister out of the way until we are safely off 
the premises. It is simply my duty to do as 
much as that for his sake, and he will thank 
me in time to come, when he has got over 
the infatuation and has leisure to reflect” 

Miss Wren lost no time in carrying out her 
plan. She found an opportunity to speak 
to Helen Wyndham alone that afternoon. 
Having seen Audrey cross the road towards 
the cliffs when she knew that her brother was 
engaged in replying to his morning's letters, 
she went straight to the sister’s room and, 
with a grave face, requested Miss Wyndham 
to give her an interview. There could be 
but one reply under the circumstances, and 
Miss Wren proceeded to carry out her plan, 
and this, she flattered herself, with complete 
success. 

Helen Wyndham had very quickly decided 
that the Wrens must go, and go at once. 
The timid, nervous woman, naturally much 
averse from scenes and painfully conscious 
of what the giving up of seven guineas a 
week would mean, had suddenly acquired 
the courage to do battle with Miss Wren 
and bid her begone. 

“Your brother’s entanglement—entangled 
by my sister! How dare you say it?" 
exclaimed Helen Wyndham. The most 
forcible expression she had perhaps ever used 
in her life. So indignant did she become 
that the other congratulated herself upon 
having tied her down to secrecy before intro¬ 
ducing the subject. 

When, to make quite sure, Miss Wren 
went on to add a few words to the effect 
that she felt bound to mention . that the 
doctors had expressed grave doubts as to 
whether her “poor brother” would ever 
entirely regain his mental faculties as they 
had been at best, Helen Wyndham had 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



MISS WRENS DEVICE, 


75* 


sternly interrupted her* She informed Miss 
Wren that her brother would be quite as 
unacceptable to Audrey Wyndham with as 
.without his mental faculties, and bade her 
take herself and brother away from Sea View. 

* This was precisely what Miss Wren had 
planned and hoped for, and she complacently 
proceeded :— 

“ Unfortunately, we have just entered upon 
another month, and we may be obliged—that 

is, we should not like to lose-■*' Miss Wren, 

who had faith in the diplomacy of leaving an 
adversary to fill 
in gaps, ap|>eared 
to hesitate, and, 
as she expected, 

Helen Wyndham 
haughtily put 
in :— 

“ If it is to the 
month's rent you 
are alluding, I 
am willing to 
forego that if you 
will pack your 
trunks and go at 
once." 

Again solemnly 
reminding her of 
her promise to 
mention nothing 
of what had 
passed between 
them, Miss Wren 
accepted the dis- 
missal with a 
good grace. She 
had now only to 
invent an expla¬ 
nation of the 
cause of their 
abrupt departure 
which would 
throw the blame 
upon Miss Wynd¬ 
ham and excul¬ 
pate herself in 
her brother's 
mind. Not an 
easy task, but 
not, she thought, more than she would be 
able to compass. 

Audrey Wyndham made her way down to 
a favourite nook in a sheltered part of the 
cliff A still evening early in July, the 
setting sun investing all it touched—the 
white cliffs, the soft, velvety, green turf of the 
downs, the steep red roofs of the houses and 
the church tower of the old town across the 

Digitized by Google 


bay, and the gently swaying water between— 
with a new and strange beauty. 

Leaning back against the cliff, she sat 
with her arms round her knees gazing at the 
scene. 

“What would all this say to Miss Wren? 
Poor old body, one ought to remember how 
much she misses and have patience with 
her," she was thinking, the peaceful sur¬ 
roundings already having the effect of soften¬ 
ing her own feelings towards that lady. 

Her thoughts were presently diverted to 
other channels. 
Her eyes were 
dreamily follow¬ 
ing a sail hover¬ 
ing like a white 
bird on the 
horizon, and her 
fancy was poising 
its wings for a 
flight. 

“ Take a mes¬ 
sage from me,” 
she murmured. 

“Miss Wynd¬ 
ham.” 

She had got 
so far from the 
actual present 
that, for the 
moment, the 
voice sounded to 
her ears as 
though coming 
from another 
world in answer 
to her thought. 
She turned her 
eyes in dreamy 
speculation upon 
the speaker. Was 
he a reality, or 
only the sem¬ 
blance of himself 
built out of her 
imagination ? 

“ This is good 
fortune indeed 1 M 
Philip Den¬ 
man ! The man who had humiliated her 
and, so to speak, cast aside her love I 

Gathering her courage about her, she rose, 
bowed, and in a quiet, conventional tone 
said, appearing not to notice his outstretched 
hand 

“ How do you do, Mr. Denman ? " adding, 
with an effort to speak carelessly, " Lovely 
sunset, is it not ? " 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



" LEAKlSt: ttAClC AGAINST THK CLIFF, SHE SAT WITH HER ARMS 
ROUND HER KHEES." 











75 2 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 


He glanced westwards for a moment, 
murmuring something, he hardly knew what, 
in assent. He had only seen the picture she 
made with the light upon her yearning face. 
As she recognised him the colour had faded 
out of her cheeks and her whole expression 
changed. Pale and self-contained, she met 
him with cold conventionality of tone and 
bearing. 

44 Have you lost your way, Mr. Denman ? 
If you want to go to the town, the path to 
the left leads back to the high road, and you 
have only to keep straight on.” Looking at 
her watch she turned away, adding, 41 Good¬ 
bye.” 

44 Do not go. Pray let me say a few words 
first, Miss Wyndham. I know what I must 
appear to you, but the worst are allowed to 
plead in their own defence,” he ejaculated, 
unmistakable earnestness in every line of his 
firm, strong face, as he stood bare-headed 
before her, his soft hat crushed in his hands. 

“I do not see what there is to defend, 
Mr. Denman,” she replied, forcing herself to 
meet his eyes with some semblance of calm¬ 
ness, although her pulses—not so obedient 
to her will—were throbbing wildly, 
i “ In reality there is nothing, I know that, 
as you cannot. But circumstances have been 
terribly against me.” 

44 I do not understand.” 

44 Forgive me if I do not put it in the best 
way. I can give little thought to that when 
so much is at stake. There has been a mis¬ 
take, so disastrous for me as to threaten to 
shadow my whole life.” 

The hot colour rushed to her cheeks. 44 I 
am sorry, but-” 

I 44 Let me speak. The night before I left 
the Nugents I was hoping you would on 
the morrow allow me to put my love into 
words. After you left the ball-room I was 
talking to Mrs. Elliott, and, d propos of I 
hardly know what, she told me that you 
were about to become the wife of Lord 
Greymont, who had just left, and who had, 
I knew, been hoping to win you.” 

Her eyes fell. It was not for her to say 
that Lord Greymont had left in consequence 
of his disappointment. 

41 Mrs. Elliott spoke in the presence of 
her daughter, and in a way to convey the 
impression that she spoke from knowledge. 
I saw no reason to doubt her—then.” 

“What must you have thought of me?” 
To have appeared to encourage him while 
engaged to another ! 

44 I thought of you as I always must 
think, come what may. In fact, I believed 

Digitized by GoOQ Ic 


that, under the impression I must know of 
your engagement, you felt you might be with 
me as with a brother, and that I alone wa£ 
to blame for misinterpreting you.” 

She lowered her head with a little sob, and 
he anxiously went on :— 

44 The only course that seemed left me was 
to get away from the Hall as quickly as 
possible. Could you know what the going 
away cost me ! All interest in life was gone, 
and I had decided to leave England for an 
indefinite time, when yesterday a letter from 
my sister, who had been in my confidence 
all through and was much troubled about my 
disappointment, reached me. She has found 
out Mrs. Elliott’s mistake—Enid calls it by 
another name—and wrote at once to tell me 
that you and your sister live in this neigh¬ 
bourhood. I was on my way to the town, in 
the hope of getting your address from the 
rector or someone there, when by good 
fortune I caught sight of you sitting here. 
Will you give me a word of forgiveness, 
Miss Wyndham—Audrey ? ” venturing for 
the first time to use her Christian name. 
44 Only a word ? ” 

The colour was coming and going in her 
cheeks, but her eyes were still downcast. 
Happiness had come to her so unexpectedly, 
and she was almost afraid to believe in it. 

He was beginning to take heart, telling 
himself this surely could not mean rejection. 
44 Only let me hope that I may in time be 
forgiven, dear Audrey—give me a chance.” 

44 Let me first tell you that things have 
changed since I saw you last. Ah, no, not 
I; circumstances. My sister is everything to 
me. As long as I can remember we have 
belonged to each other, and—we are penni¬ 
less. If you, too, are poor, it will mean long 
waiting and working for us. It would not 
be right; I would not allow you to fetter 
yourself, nor must she know-” 

He laughed out like a schoolboy. She 
did not know, as did the more practical Mrs. 
Elliott, how large his possessions were. 

44 You will have no excuse for keeping me 
waiting on that score. But, since you are so 
scrupulous, I am glad you will be able to feel, 
by-and-by, that you did not know what you 
will have to accept with me. As to Miss 
Wyndham, she will very soon find she has a 
brother, as well as a sister, to care for her 
now.” 

44 Do you feel so sure of being accepted?” 
endeavouring to speak lightly. 

44 Of course I do; accepted, and forgiven, 
and everything else that is delightful. 
Fortunately, there may be a lifetime before 

Original from 

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MISS WHEN'S DEVICE\ 


753 



me m which to prove- Ah, Audrey 

mine ! " 

Yielding for a moment to his caress, then 
withdrawing with a reticence all her own, she 
said : “ 13ut there is someone else to think 
of. Every moment’s delay is unfair to Helen. 
Come with me to the house," 

' ** Is this your home? "he asked, as she 
crossed the road and entered the grounds, 

u Part of it is. As I told you, trouble 
came upon us, and, just as we were at our 
wits’ end what to do, some people offered to 
take part of the house, and—oh, well, we 
were glad to 
have them at 
the time.” 

Mr. Wren 
pieced to¬ 
gether the 
little puzzle 
his sister pre¬ 
sented to him 
as tothe reason 
for their leav¬ 
ing Sea View, 
and it did not 
make a pretty 
picture. It was 
a very different 
picture that 
brought about 
his decision to 


leave. From an upper window he had seen 
the lovers—there could be no doubt as to 
their being lovers—approaching the house, 
and knew there was no hope for him. His 
sister understands that they must henceforth 
live apart. 

Helen was anxiously debating ways and 
means, not a little dreading to make the com¬ 
munication that had to be made to Audrey, 
gloss it over as she might, when she heard 
Audrey's voice outside the French window 
giving upon the lawn where she was sitting. 

“ Where are you, Helen?" adding, as she 

pushed open 
the window, 
“ Oh, here she 
is* I h a v e 
brought you 
some news, my 
dear —a big 
surprise.” 

No need for 
further expla¬ 
nations, the 
news was lell- 
i n g itself 
p 1 a i n 1 y 
enough. 

Philip Den- 
man! Yes, 
Helen under¬ 
stood. 




*' WHt«t Aim YOU, HELEN?" 


VoL j£xiv.-»6. 

Digitized by 


Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










Sensational Magical Illusions. 

THE MOST COMPLETE EXPOSE EVER PUBLISHED. 




HESE articles will be Found a 
dear expose of many mar¬ 
vellous and popular illusions, 
the secrets of which have 
been obtained by years of 
practical study. 

I shall begin by describing many of the 
leading illusions contained in what is known 
as “ Black Art/' To the Mahatmas of the 
East and the sorcerers of India are 
attributed the origin of these “midnight 
revels/' The marvels of illusionary effects 
obtailiable in a black art seance have 
been greatly developed of late years by 
European magicians of the highest rank. I 
shall describe four 
or five of the 
smartest magical 
effects, each of 
which is a perfect 
illusion, defying 
all attempts at 
solution except to 
those who have 
made a study of 
Eastern magic. 

It is necessary 
for the benefit of 
those who have 
never seen an act 
of this kind to 
explain that 
everything is per¬ 
formed in a dark 
chamber — either 
the whole stage 
or a chamber fitted up in the centre of 
it—draped entirely in black —sides, back, 
floor, and ceiling. The hall is placed almost 
in darkness, the only lights being a set of 
sidelights and footlights, which are turned 
towards the audience with reflectors behind, 
making it impossible for eyes to penetraie 
into the darkness beyond them. Everything 
used in the chamber is white, even the per¬ 
former's dress, forming a contrast necessary 
to the illusion. 

The seance is usually commenced by the 
production of tables and goblets from space. 
In fact, everything required is mysteriously 
obtained from apparent nothingness. The 
performer, usually dressed in an Eastern 
costume, all of white, enters the empty 
chamber, and, requiring a wand, raises his 
hand, when one comes floating into it. He 
next taps the floor at the left side of the 
chamber and a small table suddenly appears. 


mid-air, and the performer places a large ring 
over it and around it, showing wires or any 
other connection to be absent. He brings it 
forward and again hands it for examination, 
but on regaining it does not take it to the 
table, for by a wave of his hand the table 
comes dancing out fo him and on receiving 
the goblet dances back to its original position. 
He next proceeds to borrow several watches 
and other articles of jewellery, which he takes 
into the chamber and places in the goblet on 
the right. They are clearly seen to drop 
from his hand from several inches above ; 
he shows his hands empty and immediately 
rushes across to the other goblet, brings it 
forward, and allows the audience themselves to 
take out all the jewellery which was placed in 
the right goblet only a moment previous. 
Having finished with these articles they dis¬ 
appear as mysteriously and quickly as they 
appeared. 


This he repeats at the right side, with the 
same result. He now taps one of the tables 
and a large goblet appears upon it in the 
same mysterious manner. This also he 
repeats at the other table, having now tw T o 
tables several yards apart, with a goblet upon 
each. The whole are brought forward for 
inspection and replaced within the chamber. 
The performer takes one of the goblets, 
raises it, turns it over and around in several 
ways, and it is seen that the other is 
going through exactly the same move¬ 
ments without anyone being near it The 
performer replaces his goblet upon the table ; 
but the other remains suspended alone in 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






SENSATIONAL MAGICAL ILLUSIONS 


755 


The next illusion performed is the produc¬ 
tion from space of a live lady’s bust suspended 
in a frame. The performer raises his wand 
and a large picture-frame suddenly hangs 
itself upon it. This js brought for examina¬ 
tion, then placed in the centre of the chamber, 
where it remains suspended m mid-air and 
sets up a swinging motion by itself- It is 
then covered momentarily with an Eastern 
rug 1 and when removed, a lady, devoid of 
legs, whose body completely fills the frame, 
is seen swinging with it The “ live picture" 
is covered momentarily, and when the cover¬ 
ing is withdrawn a large Union Jack is seen 
to have taken the place of the lady, who 
has vanished. 

The performer proceeds next with a de- 
capitation act, in which a lady is beheaded 
in full view of the audi¬ 
ence, At a wave of his 
hand a lady appears, and 
hands to him her own 
gruesome means of exe¬ 
cution, a large, glittering 
sabre, which he takes, and 
with one swing cuts her 
head clean off where she 
stands. Catching the 
head as it falls, he places 
a pair of wings at the 
back of it, when it be¬ 
comes a flying cherub, 
and immediately soars 
all about the chamber, 
finally returning to his 
outstretched hand. He 
then removes the wings 
and replaces the head 
upon the lady’s shoulders, 
restoring her to I»ife, 
for which kindness she quickly embraces 
him and vanishes. Wishing to get 
another such share of her favours the per¬ 
former endeavours to bring her back by 
magic aid, but is surprised by the appearance 
of a grinning ghost, whose whole body con¬ 
sists of a skull, with a moving jaw-, draped 
with a white sheet. He catches it, and 
detaching its skull brings it forward for a 
closer scrutiny, the jaw moving all the time 
and the sheet dancing about alone. He then 
throws the skull into the air and it is seen 
no more. 

The seance is generally concluded by an 
invisible flight, the vanishing performer imme¬ 
diately reappearing amongst the audience. 
He takes the dancing sheet and entirely 
cpvers himself with it, standing in the centre 
of the chamber, taking great care to drape 

Digitized by CiOOQ Ic 
o 


himself in such a manner as to show the 
shape of his body. In a few seconds the 
sheet collapses, and before it has time to 
reach the ground a shout is heard at thej 
back of the hall; the audience turning around 1 
naturally are surprised to see the performer 
standing amongst them, smilingly bowing in' 
acknowledgment of the applause which s 
greets him. 

As before mentioned, the whole of this 
takes place in darkness, obtained by the 
chamber being draped in black velvet and 
the floor covered with black felt. The bright¬ 
ness of the lights turned towards the* 
audience, contrasting with the denseness of 
the black behind, dazzles the eye to such an; 
extent that it cannot discern anything in the* 
chamber that is not white or of a very light 1 
colour. The stage is all? 
arranged before the act,* 
and the tables are in their 1 
respective places, but 
cannot be seen on 1 
account of their being 
draped with black velvet. 
The goblets, frame, lady, 
ghost, etc., are all placed 
in readiness behind a 
black screen, also draped. 
None of this can be seen 
while they are behind the 
lights, if kept covered in 
black, no matter how 
near to the front they are 
placed. But how do they 
float about and appear 
so mysteriously? Very 
simply ! An assistant is 
within the chamber, 
dressed in black velvet 
throughout* with black gloves and mask, 
covering all signs of white about him 
and making him perfectly invisible. He 
wears no boots, and the felt upon the 
floor deadens the sound of all his move¬ 
ments. He it is who really produces all 
the articles. When the performer stretches 
his hand out for the wand the assistant 
brings it from behind the screen and hands 
it to him with a floating movement As the 
performer taps the floor he immediately pulls 
away the black covering (Fig. 2 ) and the table 
instantly appears to view. The goblets are 
painted black inside, allowing him to hold 
them at the back with his fingers inside, un¬ 
noticed. After the tables are both produced 
he places the goblets upon them at the right 
moment with one hand while he pulls off" the 
velvet with the other. The exposition is so 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



PIG. 2.—INVISIBLE ATTENDANT KRODUCJMG 

THE TABLE. 


756 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


quick and sudden that nothing 
Suspicious can be noticed. The 
fuming of the goblet is also the 
fork of the invisible assistant, 
and is quickly changed from one 
hand to another when the ring 
is being passed over it The 
watches, etc., are not placed in 
the goblet as they appear to be, 
but dropped behind it into the 
assistant’s hands, who takes 
them over to* the other while the 
performer is exhibiting his empty 
hands* The picture frame is also 
handed by the assistant, and 
when it is apparently placed in 
mid-air is really passed to the 
assistant, who quickly hangs it 
ttp. When it is covered the lady 
$teps from behind the screen 
to the frame, and stands upon 
a swing which nearly reaches 
to the floor behind it and catches hold of 
the frame sides ; the assistant draws away 
the velvet which draped her, and keeps the 
swing in motion. The frame is attached 
to the wires of this swing. The lady is 
dressed in white to the waist, which exactly 
reaches the bottom of the frame {see Fig. 3 ). 
Below the frame she rs dressed in black 
velvet. When the frame is again covered she 
steps back behind the screen while the 
assistant fits the Union Jack in the frame. 
In the decapitation act there are two ladies, 
one dressed all in white, the other standing 
behind her dressed in black, with her head 
covered by a black 
hood. When the per¬ 
former swings the 
sabre the assistant 
covers the white 
lady's head with a 
black velvet hood, at 
the same time pulling 
the hood quickly from 
the other lady's head, 
who immediately falls 
to her knees {see 
Fig, 4 ). The illusion 
looks perfect — a body 
apparently standing 
without a head and 
the head apparently 
falling* When the 
wings are put on she 
flaps them by means 
of a wire and runs 
round the chamber, 
stooping at intervals 


so as to take an irregular course. 
The beheaded lady is restored 
by exactly the reverse method, 
and she disappears behind the 
screen* The ghost is (lanced 
about on a stick by the assistant, 
and when its skull is thrown 
into the air it is caught in a 
black bag. The performer takes 
the sheet and goes behind it 
and hands it to the assistant, 
and it is the latter who is seen 
draping himself, the performer 
running around to the back ol 
the hall meanwhile, where he 
waits to see the sheet drop. 
The assistant, allowing time foi 
this, simply lets go the top of the 
sheet, and, of course, cannot be 
seen behind it* The performer 
runs in before it has time tc 
reach the ground, his invisible 
flight and immediate reappearance greatly 
astonishing the spectators. 

I shall next describe a form of magic w hich 
has been recently invented. It is of Chinese 
origin and consists of many astounding feats 
of legerdemain, which have caused a profound 
sensation in London and on the Continent. 
It was first introduced to Ixmdon by a most 
celebrated Chinese magician, who is now 
flattered by several imitators* I shall ex¬ 
pound some of the principal illusions, and 
commence with that most puzzling trick of 
catching live fish in mid-atr with a rod and 
line* This trick is now being performed by 
several methods. I 
will explain one of the 
simplest and best of 
them, which I myself 
have used with phe¬ 
nomenal success. As 
seen by the audience, 
the trick, briefly, is as 
follows: 1 ’lie per¬ 
former brings on a 
fishing rod and line* 
which he sways about 
as if fishing, when 
suddenly, to the 
great amazement of 
ail, a live gold-fish is 
seen wriggling on the 
hook, although that 
end of the line has 
been several yards 
out of reach the whole 
of the time* It is 
promptly unhooked 




Fir*. 4. — " DECAPITATION H:ow|Nfr tub girl/s HF.AT) 
COVERED WITH A NLACK HOOD —THE GlHL ACTING FO St 
THE HEAD FALLING TO HER KNEES. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









SENSATIONAL MAGICAL ILLUSIONS . 


757 


and dropped into a globe 
of water, which is in 
readiness near, after 
which the trick is per¬ 
formed for a second 
time, with the same mar¬ 
vellous result, leaving the 
audience entirely at their 
wits* end to guess at even 
the slightest clue as to 
41 how it is done’’ (Fig. 5). 

The secret lies wholly 
in the construction of the 
float and the manipula¬ 
tion of a double line. 
The float is hollow and 
made to contain the two 
live fish. Fig. 6 shows it 
prepared with the fish 



down the line as far as 
the hook, and is easily 
detached by the per¬ 
former when apparently 
unhooking the fish. The 
float is kept closed by a 
ring at the bottom, 
fastened into a loop 
around one part of the 
line only (see Fig. 8, A) 
and slid up over the 
float, at the *same time 
tightly holding the other 
part of the line between 
the ring and the float 
(see Fig. 8, B). The hook 
is joined to a heavy lead 
sinker (see Fig. 9, X) 
which acts as a pulley, 



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s : 

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l 

l i 
/ 

/ 

( B 

: 

< 

J K 

U Mn ri.vj ^ 

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FIG. 8. 








































758 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


action turns the line completely, lengthening 
the part with the fish attached and shortening 
the other part (see Fig. 9), bringing, of course, 
the ring and knot, from which the second fish 
is suspended, down to the hook, thus pro¬ 
ducing fish No. 2. Both the fish are worked 
from one side of the line only. By jerking 
the line up smartly, the weight of the sinker 
pulls the ring from around the bottom of 
the float (altering it from B to A, Fig. 8), 
which opens simultaneously by the aid of a 
small spring at top (Fig. 7) inside, allowing 
the fish to slide down the line to the hook so 
quickly that it is impossible for any onlooker 
to see where it came from. This is all done 
while the line is swaying to and fro, adding to 
the deception and heightening the illusionary 
effect. The moment the fish is “caught” 
the line is swayed back into the performer's 
left hand and caught by the float, which is 
immediately closed by replacing the ring 



FIG* la. — HEODUCTIDN Of A LARCE khlnch toggle. 


tightly around the bottom of it, whilst the 
other hand places the rod under the left arm. 
These actions are so natural that the closing 
of the float is quite unperceived by the 
audience. Both hands are now free to 
“unhook” the fish, which is shown for a 
second or two wriggling for freedom; it is then 
dropped into the bowl of water out of the 
net, which is placed in the performer’s pocket 
while all eyes are fixed on the fish. Gold 
fish can be kept out of water four or five 
minutes without harm, but must have mois¬ 
ture, which is provided by two small sponges 
in the top of the float—one at the mouth of 
each fish. In fact, in a wet handkerchief 
they are often taken from London many miles 
into the country by purchasers. This is 

Digitized by Google 


presented as being the most humane method 
of performing this most marvellous illusion. 

The performer now retires for a few 
moments while his assistant prepares the 
stage for the next part of his performance. 
He clears away all paraphernalia connected 
with the last trick and places a large Oriental 
rug upon the centre of the stage to dispel 
the idea of any traps being used in the 
series of mysterious productions to which the 
magician next proceeds. When all is ready 
the performer walks in very slowly from an 
entrance arranged in the back scene, uttering 
peculiar Chinese incantations until reaching 
the centre of the rug, where he stands. He 
takes a handsome Chinese silk rug, waves it 
about, showing all sides, and finally lowers 
one edge to the ground, steps back a 
pace, and lifts the mg again, disclosing 
a number of live ducks, fowls, rabbits, 
pigeons, etc., their appearance causing 



TIU. II,—PRODUCTION OF A LIVE PICCANINNY. 


quite an ovation. The performer again re¬ 
tires, while the assistant again prepares the 
stage and places another rug upon the one 
already in the centre of the stage. All being 
once more ready, the performer again walks 
on in the same manner and goes through 
exactly the same performance; but upon 
raising his silk rug this time discloses a 
large French poodle. After a third retire¬ 
ment the performer again comes on, and 
this time produces from his silk rug a live 
piccaninny, who struts about to the strains of 
a “Coon Walk,” amidst a furore of applause. 
(Figs. 10 and 11). 

It will be observed that the performer 
retires after each production, ostensibly to 
allow the assistant to clear up, but in reality 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









SENSATIONAL MAGICAL ILLUSIONS\ 


759 


to prepare him¬ 
self for the next 
trick. His cos¬ 
tume is of silk, 
and the kilted 
skirt contains 
many yards of 
fulness, which 
admits of much 
being concealed 
beneath it with¬ 
out in any way 
appearing 
bulky. At the 
production of 
the birds, etc., 
and also of the 
dog, a bowl is 
also produced, 
which contained 
them and held 
them snugly during their concealment This 
bowl is suspended by means of straps attached 
to a waistbelt, worn by the performer under 
his costume—each strap has a hook upon the 
tower end of it which is hitched under a 
ring-edge on the bowl, and at the moment for 
production, when the silk rug is covering the 
performer from his feet to his waist, he stoops 
until the bowl reaches the ground and the 
hooks drop out of the ring-edge by their own 
weight* He then stands upright, leaving, of 



FIG* 13 AND FIG. 13.— METHODS OF CONCEALING THE POG AND THE 
PICCANINNY. 


course, the bowl and its contents 


upon 


the 


stage, steps back over it, and draws away the 
rug, displaying the animals, which, by this 
time, are running in every direction, covering, 
apparently, much of the stage. The dog is 
produced in exactly the same manner, placed 
in concealment during the performer’s second 
retirement (Fig. 12). The 
animals are trained to 
keep still and quiet until 
the bowl is released. The 
piccaninny (sometimes 
there are two, produced 
one at a time without the 
performer leaving the 
stage)—is placed in posi¬ 
tion behind the performer 
under his costume during 
his third retirement, and 
hangs on to rings specially 
placed in the performer's 
waistbelt, his feet resting 
upon the straps, which are 
now hooked together 
(Fig. 13). When the per¬ 
former stoops, the 41 little 
darkle " steps out between 


the performer's 
legs and stands 
behind the silk 
rug. These re¬ 
markable illu¬ 
sions, although 
surprising in 
effect, are all 
performed by 
beautifully 
simple methods, 
which are 
clearly describ¬ 
ed in the ac- 
com p a n y i n g 
illustrations. 

The following 
illusions are all 
of the highest 
order and the 
outcome of 
much ingenuity. They are being presented 
with great success by leading professors of 
magic. The illusion of “ levitation "—raising 
a person and leaving him suspended in 
mid-air without any apparent means of 
support—is one of the most marvellous 
ever invented, seemingly defying all laws 
of gravitation. An assistant is introduced, 
laid upon an ottoman, and then sent off into 
a hypnotic trance. The performer takes an 
ordinary fan and fans the body while it rises 
slowly about four feet in the air, where it 
mysteriously remains for any length of 
time desired (Fig. 14). A large solid steel 
hoop is then given for examination, and after 
the audience is satisfied as to its genuineness 
it is passed over the body from head to feet, 
behind the body and over it again, at once 



FIG. 14.—THE CELEBRATED LEVITATION HYSIEAY. 


■ I X II 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















760 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



dispelling the idea of wires or any other 
tangible support being used, the body, as 
it were, journeying through the hoop each 
time. The suspended assistant is now 
fanned from above and gently descends to 
the ottoman as slowly and gracefully as he 
rose from it. He is then brought back to 
his normal state out of the trance, and walks 
off none the worse for his aerial pose. 

This seeming impossibility is performed 
by the aid of a cranked bar (Fig. 15 and A 
Fig. 16) and a pulley to raise it, the bar being 
pushed through from the back at the moment 
when the performer is “ hypnotizing ” the 
subject, and in the act of placing a light 
covering over him he guides a clamp 
(B, Fig. 16) and fixes it to the top of the 
ottoman upon which the subject rests, and 
which rises, unseen, with him, the edges 
being obscured by the covering. The bar 
being the same colour as the back scene 
cannot be noticed, and resting upon a stand 
(C, Figs. 15 and 16) behind the scenes the 
same height as the ottoman it is kept firm 
by the aid of strong supports. Being also 
double the width (D, Fig 16) at this part 
greater leverage is "obtained to hold the 
board upon which the subject rests secure 
from tilting either way. By means of a pulley 
arrangement (E, Fig. 15) the assistant behind 
raises and lowers the body, looking through 
a small hole in the scenes and timing 
the performer’s movements with exactness. 
Fig. 14 shows the illusion as it appears. 
Fig. 15—a side view—show's the means of 
suspension and the pulley for raising the bar 
and telescopic stand. Fig. 16 almost explains 

Digitized by Google 

* o 


itself. It shows the method of pass¬ 
ing the ring over the body. By 
putting it on at (1) and passing it 
as far as the centre of the bar (A) 
it can be brought around and off the 
body at (2), apparently having 
passed right over it, although not 
free of the crank; it is then passed 
behind the body as far as (3), when 
it can be again placed over the end 
(i)and drawn across once more, this 
time being, of course, quite free, 
having made an apparent circle right 
around and across the body. It 
seems evident to the audience that 
the subject is so raised and sus¬ 
pended by the performer’s magic 
power alone. The sleeping subject 
is now lowered, and in the act of 
being 11 dehypnotized ” the per¬ 
former slips the crank off, which is 
immediately drawn in from behind, 
the subject and performer sharing the 
applause. It is almost needless to explain 
that the “ hypnotism ” is mere sham to 
heighten the effect and admit of an excuse 
to stoop in order to fix the cranked bar. 

“Vanity Fair” is an illusion so called from 
the natural admiration of a lady’s reflection 
of her beautiful self in a mirror. This illu¬ 
sion is the outcome of great ingenuity, and 
is very bewildering from the fact that it is 
impossible to have any trap-door in a mirror 
without its being dangerously noticeable, 
even to the most unobservant eye. A large 
mirror in a fancy frame, draped each side, 
and raised about three feet from the ground, 
is shown back and front, then placed in 
the centre of the stage; a glass shelf is 
placed across rests which are about a foot 
from the bottom of the mirror, upon which 
a lady is placed facing the audience; 
but she naturally turns round and faces the 



OVER THE BODY. 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















































SENSATIONAL MAGICAL ILLUSIONS. 


761 



FIG. 1 j?, — " VANITY FAlfc." 


glass to admire her pretty reflection (Fig* 17)* 
She is turned again towards the audience by 
the performer, when vanity causes her to 
turn once more and take admiring glances in 
the glass. The performer now being annoyed 
at her persistent rudeness commands her to 
go. But, no—a pretty lady and a good look¬ 
ing-glass are not so quickly separated. lie 
then proceeds to cover her with a threefold 
screen, by placing it, box-shape, in front of 
her upon the shelf, leaving a foot of the 
mirror still in view on either side of it. He 
then fires a pistol and immediately removes 
the screen, when it is seen that the lady has 
completely vanished. The mirror is then 
turned around on casters to show she is not 
hidden at the back. The question is almost 
audible : “ Where can she be ?” The answer 
is quickly forthcoming by the lady's reappear¬ 
ance from amongst the audience. 

The secret of this is as follows : The part 
of the mirror seen below the shelf is really 
only a piece a foot deep (the top concealed 
by the cross-pieces against it), and is in front 
of the mirror proper, which runs down behind 
it and contains a square opening in the centre 
of that part; the fancy panel at the top allows 
the mirror to be drawn up into it, similar 
to opening a window, until the opening at 
the bottom reaches the top of the shelf, 
and through this the lady escapes when 
covered by the screen. The mirror seen 
each side of the screen cannot be noticed 
moving upwards, and such a proceeding not 
being conceived by the audience, the im¬ 
possibility of the lady vanishing through a 
solid mirror seems more certain in their 

VoL xx\y,— 90. 

Digitized by L^OOQle 

* o 


minds. The drawings serve further to clear 
up the mystery. Fig, 17 shows the mirror 
with the lady lost in admiration. Fig. 18 
^ shows the method of escape with the open¬ 
ing raised to the shelf. Fig. 19 shows the 
astonishing effect produced in a few seconds. 
Directly the screen is placed in front of the 
lady-an assistant behind raises the mirror 
by means of a wire to the level of the 
shelf, pushing a plank through a trap open¬ 
ing in the scene ; the lady quickly gets 
through the opening on to the plank, which 
with her is drawn back through the scene— 
the mirror is dropped to its original place, the 
trap in the scene is closed while the lady runs 
round to the body of the hall, and on removal 
of the screen nothing of a suspicious nature 
can be seen. The surprise becomes even 
greater when the mirror is turned round and 
the lady reappears from amongst the audience. 

I shall now describe the mystery known as 
“The Invisible Flight.” 

A pedestal about seven feet high is seen 
in the centre of the stage. The performer 
introduces a liveried assistant and entirely 
envelops him in a black cloak and hood, 
and puts a pistol in his right hand. He 
then fetches a ladder, places it against the 
pedestal, walks up, and steps from it on to 
the top of the pedestal, behind a curtain, 
which is hung in front, just reaching to his 
feet. The assistant puts the ladder back 
and fires the pistol, when immediately the 
curtain rises and a great surprise meets the 
gaze of the audience, for there on the 
pedestal, where the performer stepped only a 
moment previously, stands the liveried 
servant; but the climax is reached when the 
supposed assistant pulls off the cloak and 



FIG. 18.-““ VANITY FAIR “--THE METHOD OF ESCAPE, 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






























762 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



FIG, " VANJTV FAIR”— THE EFFECT. 


hood, showing him to be none other than 
the performer himself. 

To perform this illusion it is necessary to 
have two assistants as near alike as possible 
and of a similar stature to the performer him¬ 
self, the rest being quite simple but requiring 
much exactness in execution. The performer 
cloaks assistant No. i (Fig. 20) and hands him 
the pistol, then goes to fetch the ladder, part 
of which is showing between the wings, the 
other part being held by assistant 
No, 2, who is made up to look, at a 
quick glance, exactly like the performer. 
The performer catches hold of the ladder 
and steps between the wings, leaving one leg 


showing; the assistant (No. 2) steps 
out backwards with the ladder, cover 
ing the performer momentarily, who 
then steps right in between the wings 
(Fig. 20). The natural movement 
of the assistant in stepping back at 
the right moment looks as if it is 
still the performer; indeed, he is 
never suspected to be otherwise. 
Assistant No. 2 places the ladder 
against the pedestal, walks up, and, 
stepping behind the curtain, unhooks 
a duplicate livery from it, quickly 
puts it on, pockets wig and mous¬ 
tache, or any other make-up which 
went to match the magician's appear¬ 
ance, and stands ready for the curtain 
to be raised, at the sound of the 
pistol, by a string leading inside to 
one of the stage hands. During 
this time assistant No. 1 has taken the 
ladder back to its original place, and 
the performer, who has meanwhile quickly 
donned a cloak and hood exactly as 
worn by assistant No. 1, reverses his previous 
action, stepping back with a pistol in his 
right hand {Fig. 21), this again being so 
natural as not to excite suspicion. He then 
fires, when assistant No. 2 is seen upon 
the pedestal, believed by the audience to be 
assistant No. 1, the idea of a duplicate never 
occurring to them, as they have not seen the 
change take place. The. performer then 
takes off his cloak and hood, bowing smilingly 
to the bewildered audience. 



VrX £ 

"V. •' 

j \ s 

■ '■ 1 •• 

” 1 , * 


A . Nod 

■B. A&vdaM No, Z 
C, fL-forrtru.r behindWin^i 


fig. fol — 11 the invisible flight." 



FIG. 91.—“ THE LNVISIULE FLIGHT." 


Digili 


(To he continued ,) 

red by CiOOolc 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















































What Came to the Man Who Waited. 

BEING THE STORY OF A STRANGE PATIENT. 

By Geo. Manville Fenn. 


ERE, try one of these; they’re 
real good—splendid.” 

Thomas Lawrence, doctor, 
took the cigar offered to him, 
turned it over in his fingers, 
smelt it, and trifled with it in 

a peculiar way. 

“ Well, why don’t you light up ? ” said the 
giver. 

“ Because I was thinking, old chap.” 

11 Bother thinking ! Here I came in for 
a quiet hour’s smoke and change outside the 
bird-cage, and instead of playing the cheery 
host you have been all in the doldrums. 
What’s the matter with you ? What are you 
thinking about ? ” 

“ I was thinking it is a nice thing for 
you: house rent free, splendid screw, no 
anxieties, and always plenty of patients, while 
here have I been two years in this wretched 
road since I planked down nearly every 
sovereign I possessed to buy this ‘eligible 
practice,’ as the agent called it; and all the 
practice I’ve got has been the practice of 
patience.” 

“ Bah ! The old game ! What a fellow 
you are to grumble ! It will all come in 
good time.” 

“ It’s very well for you to talk, with no 
money worries. Here, take the weed back. 
I can’t afford to smoke cigars like that.” 

“ Get out! I can’t either. I dare say 
those cigars cost ninepence apiece—perhaps 
a shilling. One of my patients gave me a 
dozen of them.” 

11 One of your patients ! A gaol - bird ? 
Then, John Edwardes, Esq., M. D., and 
resident surgeon of His Majesty’s gaol, I am 
poor, but honest. I refuse to smoke stolen 
goods.” 

“ Ha, ha ! ” laughed the friend addressed. 
“ What a rum chap you are, Tommy ! And 
so you always were, from a schoolboy.” 

“ And what a lucky one you always were. 
Jack! ” 

“ Luck ? Pretty luck ! Change with you 
to-morrow with pleasure.” 

“ You wouldn’t.” 

“I would, honour bright. I get sick of 

. 

* O 


it. It gives me the blues, old man, horribly. 
Shut up in that doleful place with all those 
poor beggars, pitying some of them and 
feeling as if I should like to poison the 
others—the miching, malingering ruffians 
who would think nothing of stopping one’s 
breath if they dared. My dear old boy, 
there’s a deal more skim milk than cream in a 
gaol surgeon’s work. There, light up, old chap. 
Those cigars were given me by a literary 
swell, a first - class misdemeanant, who is 
‘ in ’ for telling the truth in his newspaper 
about a blackguard. The jury said it was a 
libel, and he is having a nice old time—meals 
sent in from outside, and somebody seems 
to wink at his wine. He isn’t a bad fellow 
at all. Go on : light up.” 

The two friends sat smoking for a few 
minutes, and then the gaol surgeon con¬ 
tinued : — 

“ Well, this is rum ! When you told me 
you had bought the practice and were going 
to be only a few hundred yards away from 
me, I rejoiced like a good man and true, for 
I said, * I shall have dear old Tom at work 
close by, and we shall be as good friends as 
ever, for our practices will never clash, and 
medical jealousy, which is an abominable 
thing, will be an unknown quantity.’ How 
do you like that cigar ? ” 

“ Splendid, old man,” was the reply. 
“ There, don’t take any notice of my grumpi¬ 
ness. I can’t help being hipped sometimes, 
for it is desolate work waiting for a start.” 

11 Yes, it is, old chap, I know; but still, 
wait. This district is growing tremendously. 
Old Jerry, the doctor’s friend, is running up 
streets and squares wholesale, and one of 
these days the population will be dense and 
you will have more than you can do without 
an assistant.” 

“Yes, I know all that, Jack,” said the 
doctor, sadly ; “ but while the grass is grow¬ 
ing, the steed—you know.” 

“ My dear old fellow,” cried the other, 

“you don’t mean-Here, I say, Tom! 

Don’t ride the high horse! Speak out 
honestly. If fifty or a hundred would be of 
service to you, speak out like my old chum.” 
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764 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


“No, no, Jack] No, no! Really, it 
isn't so bad as that." 

“ Honour bright ? ” 

“ Honour bright/' said the other, “ If it 
were I would pitch the whole thing up and 
start afresh.” 

" And throw away all you have sunk here! 


11 No, no.” 

“ You shall. I won't come again if you 
don't” 

Thomas Lawrence, M.D,, went to the 
door with his old schoolfellow and then 
down to the gate, over which the typical 
doctor's lamp was burning brightly, showing 

a couple of red 
danger signals — 



surgery, 

14 I've left that 
gas burning all 
the time he's 
been here,” he 
said to himself. 


"no; no, jack ! no, no! reae.lv, it ism': 

Don't be a fool! 1 am saving money, for I 

have no temptation to spend it, and if you, 
my near neighbour, don't come to me to ask 
for a lift over the stile, we are no longer 
friends. Here, by Jingo, my time's up! I 
have two or three of my dicky-birds to see 
to-night, and — yes, 1 think I will have one 
more tot before I go. That's uncommonly 
good whisky.” 

11 Excellent. It is part of that bottle you 
sent me.” 

“ Ah, you shouldn’t interrupt, I thought 
there was a twang in it that I didn't like. 
Here, good-night, old chap. Til come again 
soon and cheer you up. I dare say when I 
do you will wish me at Jericho, for you will 
be in tow with that customary, wealthy old 
lady—firstclass patient, with nothing the 
matter with her. Cheer up! It will all 
come right. Here, take a couple more of 
these cigars.” 


“and for no- 
thing. My word, 
how the ex* 
penses do run 

up! '* 

He entered the well-furnished surgery, and 
then passed into the consulting-room, where 
the gas was also burning brightly ; but 
instead of turning it out he took down his 
day-book, seated himself at the table, and 
began to turn over the leaves and calculate 
what his takings had been for the last six 
months. 

“ Good old chap,” he said, with a groan : 
“ he would always share his last penny with 
one, but I won't lake it. I'll hold out 
another month, and then—give it up os a 
bad job, for there's nothing to be done here, 
and-what the deuce is that?” 

“That” was the night bell ringing 
violently, and hurrying out half-way across 
the surgery, and walking slowly and profes¬ 
sionally the other half, he quietly of>ened the 
door, to find himself face to face with a 
group of three : a fashionably-dressed lady, 
whose light dust-cloak was torn from neck to 


up and down 
the main road. 

Then, as his 
friend's steps 
died away, he 
turned, looked 
up at the well - 
kept, rather ex¬ 
pensive house, 
with its annexe 
used as a sur¬ 
gery, sighed, 
went up the 
steps to the front 
door, closed it 
after him, and 
turned off to go 
down into the 


□itized by CiOOQ l 


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WHAT CAME TO THE MAN WHO WAITED. 


765 


hem, feathered hat slightly awry, and a look 
of agony and fear upon a very charming 
face, as she held up a heavy-countenanced, 
athletic-looking young man in a great pale 
drab overcoat with large pearl buttons, and 
Belcher handkerchief His legs were clothed 
in a rug, and a golf cap was drawn right down 
over his brows, almost touching a bleeding 
cut passing from below the eye nearly to the 
angle of his jaw, while his closely-shaven face 
was smeared, 
like the collar of 
his coat, with 
blood and dust. 

He seemed 
to be in a state 
of collapse, 
hanging forward 
with half-closed 
eyes, and kept 
from falling on 
his other side 
by a smartly- 
dressed groom, 
who supported 
his master with 
his left hand 
while he carried 
a large brown 
Gladstone bag 
in his right. 

“ Are you the 
doctor ? ** came 
in a sweet, 
silvery voice, 
half choked by 
the agitation of 
its owner. 

“ Yes. What 
is it — an acci¬ 
dent ? ” was the 
questioning 
reply. 

“Ob, yes! 

Quick — quick ! 

Pray help! 

Pm afraid he’s 
killed. That 
dreadful mare— 
went down! He 
would drive so 
fast. Pray help ! 

A chair—a couch ! Oh, Philip, Philip, 
darling ! ” was sobbed. “ Pray speak 3 Are 
you very, very bad ? ” 

“ Don’t talk to him, madam,” said the 
doctor—the cool, professional business man 
at once. “ Here, you ”—to the groom—“ this 
way. Can he walk ? " 

Digitized by Google 


“ No, no; if I let go he’ll fall A chair— 
a couch ! Pray, pray I n 

“ Yes, yes, madam ; but be cool ! Now 
then.” 

With a little assistance from the doctor the 
patient was half carried, half led through the 
surgery into the consulting-room and lowered 
down upon the operating couch, beside 
which the groom dropped the Gladstone bag, 
and then stood holding the rug closely about 

his master, be¬ 
fore wiping his 
dusty, perspiring 
face, 

“Allow- me to 
come, madam,” 
said the doctor, 
for the sobbing 
lady had crouch¬ 
ed upon her 
knees beside 
the injured man, 
embracing him 
tightly, and 
most thoroughly 
getting in the 
would-be opera¬ 
tor's way. 

“Don’t be 
alarmed, 
madam; the 
cut seems to be 
superficial, and 
I hope he is 
only stunned.” 

“ Oh, no, he’s 
dreadfully bad!” 
sobbed the lady, 
and the doctor, 
in spite of his 
annoyance, 
could not help 
feeling some¬ 
thing like envy 
of the big, 
hulking athlete 
upon whom so 
much tender 
affection was 
lavished by 
one who seemed 
to grow more 

charming at every word. 

“But you must let me come. Unless I 
examine where he is injured I am quite in 
the dark.” 

“Oh, pray don’t touch him I” cried the 
lady, imploringly. “ We were driving back 
from Henley. He had been rowing, and 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



l "*AI4-QW KB TO COHS, SIADAM/ SAID THE DQCTOJt," 




















766 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


the mare was frightened by one of those 
dreadful trams. We were all thrown out, 
and Philip came down a frightful crash upon 
the pavement ! Oh, doctor, doctor, the 
sticking-plaster ! See how he bleeds ! Pray 
give him something to take at once ! " 

“ Yes, yes, yes, my dear madam ! Believe 
me, I appreciate your anxiety; but, you 
see, you are hindering. This hysterical dis¬ 
play is out of place. If you would only be 
calm and trust to me! You see, I must 
remove his coat and this wrapper, and-” 

“ No, no, no ! Don't! Pray don't! ” 
half shrieked the lady. “ He's broken some¬ 
where—I am sure he is ! Don't—pray don't 
touch him yet! " 

“ But really, my dear madam-" began 

the doctor, but his words were checked by a 
heavy groan from the patient. 

‘ Beg pardon, sir," said the groom ; “ but 
I think master's only stunned. The missus 
is a bit skeered, you see. If I might say so, 
if you’d give him a glass of water with a 
touch of something in it, and let him lie still 
a bit, I believe he’d soon come round." 

“ Yes, yes, yes, James," cried the lady. 
“Yes, doctor; pray, doctor! I implore you. 
Give him something and let him rest awhile." 

“Yes, sir, that would be right," chimed in 
the groom; “and I suppose you don’t want 
me here ? " 

“ Well, I don't know, my man, yet. 
Why?" 

“ Because there’s the mare, sir. Couple of 
chaps holding of her that don’t understand 
her. I am afraid there's a sharp broke, and 
if they don’t mind she’ll be kicking the trap 
into splinters, and then master’ll blame me.” 

“ Be off, then," said the doctor, sharply, as 
he stood examining his patient’s face criti¬ 
cally, and trying to feel his pulse, the 
approach he made being resented by the 
lady with a cry of alarm. 

“ My dear madam," cried the doctor, im¬ 
patiently, “ how can I help my patient if you 
prevent me at every turn ? ’’ 

“ Oh, I won’t, doctor—I won't!" sobbed 
the lady, as the outer door was closed and 
they were alone. “ Pray have some pity on 
me. I am hurt, too—not much; but I am 
so dreadfully alarmed. Pray, pray give him 
something to revive him !" 

“ Very well, I will, then, if you can be 
more patient afterwards. Yes, his pulse 
seems all right," continued the doctor, as in 
obedience to the request he poured a portion 
of a powerful stimulant into a glass, added 
water, and went down on one knee upon the 
opposite side of the couch, bending over 

Digitized by CiOOqIc 

* o 


with the intention of slightly raising his 
patient's head and holding the glass to his 
lips. 

“ No, no, doctor; don't touch him ! ” 
cried the lady. “ I daren't let you move 
him. Let me—let me ! ” and she took the 
glass from the hand that held it and passed 
her arm beneath the injured man's neck. 

“ But you had better let me take off this 
thick wrap," said the doctor, earnestly.. 

“ No, no ! Pray don't ! Not yet. 
Philip, dearest,” she continued, in a gentle, 
cooing voice, “try if you can raise your 
head a little while I hold the glass to 
your lips. There, you see," she whispered, 
excitedly, “ he heard me, and he is com¬ 
ing round. Now, dearest, do, pray, pray 
try. If you only knew, my darling, how 
I am praying to hear you speak ! Yes, that's 
right; a drop at a time, dear. Yes, doctor, 
he has swallowed a little." 

His affectionate nurse was quite right, for 
the patient had gulped down a portion of the 
draught, and uttered a hoarse ejaculation 
which made his attendant start. 

“ What’s that ? ’’ said the doctor, sharply. 

“ I—I—I—I-" stammered the lady. 

“Iam afraid it was a wicked word. Was the 
brandy too strong ? " 

The doctor laughed. 

“ My dear madam, no," he said ; “ it was 
not brandy, but ammonia, and not very 
palatable, of course. There, I don't think 
anything is broken, and, so far, you don’t 
seem to have much cause for alarm." 

“ Do you think not, doctor ? Oh, Philip, 
dear, pray, pray try and swallow some more ! 
It is to do you good." 

The patient uttered a sound that seemed 
to be a cross between a groan and a growl, 
and let his head sink back upon the pillow 
of the couch. 

“ Where am I ?” he said, hoarsely. 

“ Here, dearest, at the doctor’s, and I am 
with you. Do you think you could go to 
sleep for a little while ? " 

There was another faint groan and a move¬ 
ment as if the sufferer sought for rest. 

“ There, doctor," cried the lady, excitedly; 

“ you see he was coming to! If you will 
only let him be for about an hour before 

you attempt any examination, and then- 

Oh ! ’’ she cried, with a shriek, as she flung 
both her arms tightly round the patient's 
neck and turned her face fiercely towards the 
door, for at that moment there was another 
sharp ring at the surgery bell, and the deep 
muttering of voices was heard at the door. 

“ My dear madam," said the doctor, 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





WHAT CAME TO THE MAN WHO WAITED, 


767 



** don't be alarmed. I am wanted for some 
patient. That is all.” 

u Oh, no, no, no ! ” she wailed, “ They've 
come—they've come to fetch him, to tear 
him away from me—and they shall not 1” she 
cried fiercely, her eyes flashing with the 
angry look of a woman at bay, 

“To fetch him?” said the doctor, wonder- 
ingly. “ To fetch whom ? ” 

“ Yes—I—that is——oh, Philip, what am I 
saying? I thought—I believed, doctor, they 
were coming to take him to the hospital, and 
I couldn't let him go there. He is not so 
bad as that.” 

“ My dear madam, no,” said the doctor, 
“ Theie, drink a little of that sal volatile in 
the glass. Yes, coming, coming ! ” he added, 
petulantly, as the bell rang again—furiously. 
“ Excuse me, madam ; I will be back 
directly,” and he hurried into the surgery, 
drawing the door to after him before answer¬ 
ing the summons. 

He started in wonder, for it seemed to be 
raining accidents that night, and he found 
himself faced by half-a-dozen uniformed 
warders of the great neighbouring prison, 
who were bearing one of their comrades 
between them. 

“ Sorry to trouble you, sir,” said the one 
who seemed to be the leader; “one of our 
mates. Poor chap, he's pumped out We 
stumbled upon him in the road at the back. 
Dead beat, I am afraid. We have had a 
sharp chase.” 

“Bring him in,” said the doctor. “Sharp 
chase! What do you mean?” he 
continued, as the insensible warder 
was brought in and laid back in a 
chair, 

“ Ob, one of our birds got out 
of the cage, sir, and we were hunt¬ 
ing him down. Our mate here 
seems to have put too much steam 
on. What is it—heart ? ” 

“ Heart, man ! No,” said the 
doctor, as he made a hurried 
examination. “The man's forehead 
is contused.” 

“ Y^es, sir; he seems to have 
fainted and pitched head forward 
against the kerb. We found him 
in the gutter.” 

“ But he is bleeding behind the 
ear,” said the doctor. “ He's had 
a blow. Look: his coat's torn 
open.” 

“ Yes, sir. We did that to 
give him air; at least, one of us 
did.” 


“ Yes,” said the doctor; “ but the shirt- 
collar's ripped off, and here are the marks of 
fingers in his throat.” 

“ By George ! ” cried the warder. 11 Then 
Joe ran him down, lads. Poor old man 3 
He can't be far away, Here, you, Smithers, 
as soon as the doctor's done what he wants 
to do, get a cab and take the poor chap back 
to the office—or had I better send for the 
ambulance, sir ? ” 

“ Better lose no time,” said the doctor. 
“ I'll bandage his injury, and you can take 
him to your infirmary at once.” 

“ Right you are, sir. Now, Smithers, you 
have your orders. Come on, my lads. He 
can't have got far, We must take up the 
trail from where we found poor Joe.” 

The speaker led his men out into the road, 
where they started off at the double, while 
the doctor, forgetting his other patient for 
the moment, busied himself with scissors, 
water, sponge, and strapping before fitting 
on a bandage, during which time the new 
patient never stirred. 

“ Got it rather hot, hasn't he, sir ? ” said 




1 HE FOUND HIMSELF FACE TO FACE WITH HIS ATTRACTIVE VISITOE.* 

Original from 
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768 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


his fellow, who had been helping intelligently, 
as one accustomed to “first aid.” 

“ Yes,” said the doctor, quietly. u He's 
had a very ugly blow.” 

“ Not a fracture, sir ? ” 

“ I can't say yet. Dr. Edwardes will see 
to that.” 

“ What's it to be, sir, ambulance or cab ? ” 

“The distance is very short,” replied the 
doctor, “and while you are fetching the 
ambulance you could get him to the infir¬ 
mary. Call a cab at once.” 

The man hurried out, and after giving 
a few finishing touches to his task the doctor 
left his insensible patient and made for the 
consulting-room door, where, to his surprise 
as he threw it open, he found himself face 
to face with his attractive visitor, who with 
flashing eyes extended her left hand to keep 
him back, holding her right hidden in the 
folds of her long dust-cloak. 

“ Are they gone ? ” she said, excitedly. 

“ Yes; there has been another accident,” 
replied the doctor; and his visitor started, 
and shrank back as she caught a glimpse of 
the injured warder. 

“Is he much hurt?” she said, in a low 
voice. 

“ Rather badly, I'm afraid. He will be 
taken away directly.” 

“I—I couldn't help hearing,” continued 
his visitor. “ It is very horrible.” 

“ Doctors have plenty of horrors,” said 
Lawrence, quietly. “There ; I am at liberty 
now to see to your—husband,” he continued, 
tentatively. “ How does he seem ? ” 

“ Oh, better! Much better,” was the 
reply, and the speaker interposed between 
them. “ He’s asleep. Don’t wake him. 
He spoke to me a little while ago. I am 
sure that he will be better when he has had 
more rest. Please don't disturb him now.” 

“ Very well; if you wish it,” said the 
doctor; “ but I feel as though I ought to 
make a thorough examination.” 

“ But we shall pay you all the same, 
doctor,” cried the lady, hastily. “ I felt that 
I couldn't bear for you to touch him. I was 
afraid of its proving something dreadful. 
But,” she added, hysterically, “ I—I don't 
think there is any danger now.” 

“Judging from the calm way in which he 
is lying I don’t think there was anything 
serious from the first; but what have you 
been doing in my absence ? ” 

“ I—I only sponged the cut on his poor 
cheek. It isn’t deep.” 

“ Had I not better apply some strapping 
to it ? ” said the doctor. 

Digitized by GoOQ lc 
* o 


“ Well, perhaps it would be better, if you 
could do it without waking him.” 

“ I’ll try,” said the doctor, and he busied 
himself for a few minutes, till a ring an¬ 
nounced the return of the warder, when his 
attention was taken up for a short time in 
superintending the removal of his second 
patient to the waiting cab. 

This done, he stood watching for a few 
moments before turning to close the door; 
but just then the groom came up hurriedly. 

“ How’s theguv'nor, sir?” he asked. 

“ Oh, there’s not much the matter, my 
man,” was the reply. “ How are the horse 
and trap ? ” 

“ Bit off the near fore leg, sir, and one 
sharp broke ; but I’ve got that tied up, and 
it will be all right now, sir, when the guv’nor 
can go. Have you done with him, sir ? ” 

“ Well, I don't know yet, my man. Come 
in and let's see how he is.” 

The doctor led the way through the 
surgery, to find his patient lying back, appar¬ 
ently sleeping; and the lady's manner seemed 
entirely changed, as she held up one hand. 

“ Don't disturb him,” she whispered. 
“ Your master's in a nice sleep, James.” 

“ Won't be fit to come away to-night, I 
suppose, ma'am ? ” said the man, respectfully. 

“Oh, I hope so, James,” was the reply; 
and the lady looked inquiringly at the 
doctor, who slightly shrugged his shoulders 
as he replied :— 

“ Well, I am hardly in a position to give 
an opinion; but, to speak plainly, I think my 
patient was more frightened than hurt.” 

“ Oh, doctor ! ” cried the lady, reproach¬ 
fully ; and she pointed to the plastered face. 
“ How can you say that! ” 

“ You must take it as congratulation, 
madam,” was the reply; “ but I should 
advise that your-” He paused. 

“ My husband,'" said the lady, with dignity. 

“Should pass the night where he is.” 

“ Oh, impossible, doctor! They will be 
in such alarm at home. As soon as he wakes 
up and the dog-cart is fit for use, I think we 
will go, even if James has to lead the mare.” 

As the lady spoke the doctor's eyes were 
busily occupied in scanning the patient, and 
he noted now* that the wife had turned back 
the great overcoat, that the rug was on the 
floor, and the golf cap lying on the table. 
And now for the first time the doctor was 
able to see that his patient was evidently a 
thick-set, well-built man of about thirty, one 
whose dress carried out a suggestion first 
given by the sporting-cut driving-coat, for 
everything about him told of the Turf and a 

Original from 

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WHAT CAME TO THE MAN WHO WAITED . 


769 



general addiction to outdoor life. His natty 
tie was secured by a goldmiounted fox-tush 
pin, the cross of ins heavy gold Breguet 
chain was formed of a hound’s head and two 
hunting-crops crossed, while on the hands, 
one of which still hied a little at the knuckles, 
he wore a big diamond ring and a heavy 
signet engraved with a crest. He was 
evidently well-to-do in the world, and looked 
as if he had lately been in training for some 
sporting event. 

All at once, as the doctor was scanning 
him intently, he 
became aware 
of a faint glint 
coining from 
one slightly 
opened eye. 

The next mo¬ 
ment both eyes 
were opened 
widely in a 
heavy stare, and 
t n a hoarse, 
gruff voice there 
came the fiercely 
uttered ques¬ 
tion 

“Who are 
you ? " 

“Oh, Philip, 
dear!” cried 
the lady, re- 
proachfully. 

“Pray don't 
speak like that 3 
It is the doctor 
— Doctor—— 

Doctor——? " 

“ Lawrence, 1 ' 
said the owner 
of the name, 
quietly. “How 
do you feel now, 
sir ? ” 

“ How do I 
feel?” said the 

patient, in a puzzled way. “ Here, what's 
the matter? Why am I here?” 

“ Don’t trouble about it now, dear,” said 
his wife, tenderly, nestling her hands in his 
breast, as he suddenly started up. u You 
don’t understand. The mare stumbled. 
She w'as startled by a tram car. We were all 
thrown out and you were stunned. 1 ’ 

“ It was an accident, then, and I was 
brought on here ? ” 

“ Yes, dear; but don't excite yourself, 
pray ! " 


“Not going to, Jenny. Anything broken, 
doctor ? ” 

“I think not, sir. Try if you can stand.” 
“ Oh, don’t move, pray ! Not yet I” cried 
the lady, excitedly. 

“Don’t you be in a fuss, Jenny,” said the 
patient, throwing his legs off the couch. 
“I'm not going to die yet. Legs all right 
—arms the same, I say, my face smarts 
horribly,” he cried, as he clapped his hand 
to his cheek. Why, doctor, you've made a 
nice mess of me here. Is that all that’s the 

matter with 
me ? " 

“ Fortunately, 
yes, sir.” 

“All right, 
then,” cried the 
patient, bluffly. 
“ What’s to 
pay?” 

The doctor 
shrugged his 
shoulders, 
glanced at his 
visitors and 
their groom„ and 
then named a 
very moderate 
fee- 

“ Thank you, 
doctor," said his 
patient “ Pay 
him, Jenny: I'Ll 
pay you again 
ere, you, Jem, 
hat about the 
ap?” 

“ It's all right, 
sir; chap hold 
mg her round 
the corner. 
Would you like 
me to drive ? '* 
“Yes, James, 
wha are you r do, please. I 

shall not be 
happy, Philip, dear, if you attempt to drive 
to-night.” 

“ All right, pet. Here, help me on with 
my handkerchief; one of my arms is a bit 
stiff. Thanks. That's right. Had a bit of 
an escape, doctor, eh?” 

“Avery narrow one, I think, sir.” And 
the doctor looked at his visitor closely. 

“Much nearer than you think, Philip, 
dear,” said the lady, quickly. “ Oh, thank 
you, doctor, so much for your great kindness 
and attention,” and the doctor thrilled at the 


M 

t 


Val. xjc iv97. 


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77o 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


pressure of a soft, white hand, as a neatly 
folded piece of paper was slipped into his 
palm. “ Don't forget the portmanteau, 
James.” 

“ Got it, ma’am/* replied the groom. 
“ Shall I bring the trap round to the door ?" 

“ Yes, of course, and you'll want some¬ 
thing to give the man who held the mare/* 

“Yes, ma’am—thank you, ma’am.” 

And the next minute the groom, laden 
with hag and rug, had gone. 

“What are you looking at, doctor?'’ said 
the patient, sharply* 

“ You, sir,” 

“What for?” and there was something 
almost fierce in the 
question. 

“ I was thinking 
you seemed per¬ 
fectly right, but 
that I might pre¬ 
scribe something 
to pull you to¬ 
gether.” 

“ Doctors’ stuff! 

Bah ! ” 

“ No ; a little B, 
and S.” 

“ To be sure ! 

Here, I'll come to 
you again ” 

Five minutes 
later the doctor 
was alone, thinking 
about his patient. 

“ What a pity it 
seems that such a 
sweet, refined-look¬ 
ing woman should 
take to such a 
brute as that! ” he 
mused. u Yes, it 
is all nature. The 
weak female hills 
to the strong man. 

Humph!—a fiver! 

What a stroke of 
luck ! I should like such a patient every—— 
What the deuce is that?” 

He stooped down quickly and picked up 
a small, beautifully - made revolver, whose 
ivory butt just peeped out from beneath the 
couch. 

** A lady's weapon,” he muttered. And, 
holding it to the light, he read upon a little 
gold plate 

“ Phil to Jen." 


“ H*m ! Sporting man. No accounting 
for taste—nor Americans neither.” 

Dr. Lawrence slept well that night, and 
the next morning in good time he had a 
fresh call from his old friend 

“Thought I’d just drop in on you,” he 
said. “ High jinks my way last night One 
of our pets got away and half killed a warder 
sent in pursuit, as you know, for they tell me 
he was brought in here.” 

“ How is he ?” said the other, sharply, 

“ Rather bad. Slight fracture ; but I shall 
pull hi in round. Come, you had a patient 
last night, and a safe one, for we shall pay. 
Good-bye ; I am in a hurry." 

Five minutes 
later Dr. Lawrence 
sat in his surgery, 
tapping the table 
with his finger¬ 
nails as he care¬ 
fully fitted together 
a puzzle that 
troubled his brain. 

“ That's it! ” he 
cried, at last. “The 
accident was all a 
sham — got up to 
cover the escape 
by those who were 
waiting for him at 
an appointed place. 
But why didn't they 
drive off at once? 
Wanted a place 
for him to change 
his clothes — he 
couldn’t do that in 
the street with pur¬ 
suit hot afoot. 
Now, then, ought 1 
to go and give in¬ 
formation at once? 
No; £ may be 
wrong, I wish I 
had thought of 
this when Jack 
was here. I must tell him.” 

He did tell his friend the next time he 
came. 

41 Now, then,” he said, in conclusion, “what 
do you say to it ? ” 

“That 1 didn't think you could be so 
easily taken in. I should stick to that 
revolver, though, as a little memento, Tom.” 

“ But what about the authorities?” 

“ Oh, that's their business, not ours.” 



'W—-- 

~ " jg ■ ■ _ 

A LADV S WEAhJN, HE MUTTfiRKp." 


Digitized by 


Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








The Humour of Christmas. 


By James Walter Smith. 




The arrival of Santa Claus is so eagerly 
watched for that we have often wondered 
why he has never been seen. Possibly 
because the dustman is in league with 
Santa, and gets in the way of curious 
boys and girls. Little Montague, who on 
Christmas morning told his father that 
he was awake when Santa Claus arrived, 
came very near to actual discovery. It 
was so dark that little Montague could 
not see Santa, “but when he bumped 
himself on the wash-stand he said -—-** 
“ There,” replied the father; 4< that'll 
do, Monty; run away and play”—and 
we are left in ignorance of what Santa 
Claus really said and what he looked like. 
The knowledge would be valuable—not 
so much as an addition to the history of 
explosive expletive as an addition to 
the juvenile system for the detection of 
patron saints. 


HEN Efhe r s mother told 
her that to morrow' would 
be Christmas Day, and 
that Efiie was going to 
church for the first time, 
where she would hear 
beautiful music, the little girl cried out, 
“Oh, mummy, dear, may I dance?” 
The point of view of Hffie is the point 
of view of untold thousands. We older 
ones, burdened with the knowledge 
acquired by years of Christmases, know 
that Christmas is a religious festival 
significant with beauty, and stfme of us 
are prone to lament, as the Puritans so 
strenuously lamented, that the funda* 
mental note of the Christmas season 
seems to be lost Yet it is not for us 
to say that the child's point of view is 
not correct It makes for happiness, 
and to be happy in the happiness of 
others should oe the aim of all at 
Christmas-tide. 


dr » j #r* 

Little Montaguk : 41 1 was awake when Santa CUus tarn*, dad/* 
Father : 41 Were you? And what was he like,eh? “ 

Little Montague : + ’ Oh, 1 couldn't see him ; it was dark, you knew. 

Rut when he bumped himself on the wash-stand be said-■" 

Father {hastily) : “ There, that'll do, Monty* Run away and play, ' 
DRAWN ES Y C* E. HkUCti. KKl'HUUUt'KU BV PERMISSION Of TIlK 
PROPRIETORS OF 41 PUNCH, * 


Mamma: 41 Tomorrow* Christmas Day, Effie, dear, 
an I you wi]3 go to church for the first time," (En¬ 
couragingly); “There will be beautiful mu^ic——" 

Effie : "‘Oh, mummy, deaf, may I dance?" 

DRAWN BY PHIL MAY. It Bf KODU CU Q BY PERMISSION OF 
THE PROPRIETORS OF “ PUNCH." 


Original from 
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772 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



Stuck Fast.-—-drawn by Arthur f. wkfrktCK fok "ltfe* 


attempt at per¬ 
sonification. On 
one such occasion 
Santa appeared in 
the room where 
daddy was making 
up with a shaving- 
brush and a hand- 
mirror, 11 Great 
Scot i 11 cried 
Santa* “ is that 
me?” and we 
may imagine that 
he rapidly de¬ 
parted from the 
scene with some 
horror at the re¬ 
collection of a real 
monstrosity. 

Some justifica¬ 
tion, however, 
should be ex¬ 
pressed on the 
paternal behalf, 
for if no one 


That Santa Claus should be so 
intolerably long in arriving at his 
destination is not to be wondered 
at when we remember the difficulties 
in the way of his progress put there 
by progress itself. Our merry saint 
has to keep up with the times, and 
the most accurate knowledge that 
we possess of his doings tells us that 
the reindeer which he used to drive 
so recklessly over the housetops are 
now possessions of the past, and 
that Santa to-day rides en automobile 
through the drifting snows. He 
runs the risks taken by others who 
fare forth in winter. He may get 
locked up in the drifts or he may 
have a total breakdown, so common 
to beginners in the new and ever- 
increasing method of locomotion, 
but the perils in his path are as 
nothing. 

A traveller such as he is always 
prepared for shocks. Often when 
for some reason or other his arrival 
has been given up as hopeless, and 
daddy hns undertaken, in response 
to a pressing and unanimous re¬ 
quest, to figure as Santa Claus, the 
unexpected appearance of the saint 
upon the scene throws things into 
confusion. Santa himself might 
well be astonished at such a moment 
to look upon the results of daddy's 



Paj j a Makes Ur*—Shade of Father Christmas; ‘ 4 Great Scot l Is that 

^uppfjsed to be me? “* 

DRAWN BY TOM BROWSE FOR " THE 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

























THE HUMOUR OF CHRISTMAS. 


773 




Santa Claus Visits THt Freak Museum.—drawn bv c. j. tavlqr for lf fuck, 


has ever seen Santa Claus how can any¬ 
one tell the way he should be dressed ? 
Although the saint brings with him gifts 
enough to fill every reasonable want,and would 
hardly feel at a loss were a hundred thousand 
stockings hanging before him when he entered 
the chimney of a well - regulated house, 
he is compelled to 
exercise some dis¬ 
cretion in the act 
of distribution. 

His insight into 
the consciences of 
the young tells 
him unerringly 
where to place his 
gifts. Never will 
a box of 
paints be 
found in the 
stocking of 
the little fel- v 
low who has 
longed for 
a box of 
bricks, and 
tin soldiers 


haired doll that moves 
its eyes. If by any 
chance the old fellow 
were to find himself in 
a museum devoted to 
freaks, as one of our 
artists pictures him, he 
would be equal to the 
emergency. Santa Claus 
possesses the discrimi¬ 
native power to please 
the diverse tastes of 
such abnormal people. 
Once upon a 
time Santa had ex¬ 
perience with a 
selfish boy who, 
thinking to get the 
better of his bro¬ 
thers and sisters, 
climbed to the roof 
and there hung, at 
the top of the 
chimney, his empty 
stocking attached 
to a broom. Ex¬ 
pectantly he went 
to sleep, and in the night the Frost King came, 
covering the cities and the villages with white 
and leaving behind a world of trackless snow. 
When Santa, in his sledge and furs, drew 
towards the home of the selfish one, he 
found the stocking filled with ice and snow 
and the house barred by wintry rigour against 


never oc¬ 
cupy the 
place i n- 

tended for 
a flaxen¬ 


Cold Stuffing.—L ittle Gus&ie Greedy hang* his stocking outside the chimney » that he can be sure lo 
get it filled, but is not entirely satisfied with the result. 

PRAWN PV F. FFAVD FOR 11 JUDC-Ft/' 




Original from 
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774 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 




his approach. Departing as quickly as he 
came, he rode for miles and miles towards 
the city of the Rising Sun, and when the 
morning came a wet and empty stocking was 
found at the top of the chimney by the little 
boy who had 
placed it there. 

No message 
had been left, 
but there re¬ 
mained alesson 
in the heart of 
the little one, 
for good or ill 

Would we 
could always 
be as success¬ 
ful in interpret¬ 
ing the morals 
taught by 
artists ! From 
them we get so 
many pictures 
of the humor¬ 
ous side of 
Christmas and 
its festivities 
that we tend to 
forget the sorrow. 

Christmas tree and 
candles and pendent 
will pleasure reign, but 
some lives into which 
rarely comes, try as we may m philanthropic 
mood to give it them* The little waif in 
the slums who got nothing for the holidays 
but two punishments, 
and “didn't hang up no 
stockin' for them neither / 1 
is a typical figure in a 
class that is always with 
us. To relieve distress 
thus humorously empha¬ 
sized is, happily, a com¬ 
mon work at such a season. 

The best-laid plans of 
philanthropy, however, 
stop short in many cases 
where they would do most 
good. Says little Milly, 
in one of our pictures, 

“ Don't yer think if she 
hung up her stockings 
Santa Claus might give 
her a pair of legs to put 
in 'em ? n the remark being 
directed against a waif, 
with spindle legs, carrying 
a heavy basket along a 


1 Did you get anything ^\^t holiday** Billy V' 

L Yes ; dad give me iwo lickin's. and t didn't hang up no slockin’ for them 
iher*" drawn uv m. woolf fok “ lifr*" 


Where there exists a 
a purse to buy its 
ornaments, there 
there yet remain 
a real Christmas 


snow-covered pavement How wise it would 
he if we, in our Christmas philanthropy, were 
to fill the stockings of the poor with fatter 
limbs instead of presents! The Christmas 
feeling that we have no right to our own 

turkey if we 
have not filled 
the larder of 
the poor is a 
feeling beauti¬ 
ful in itself. 
More effective 
would it be 
were we to do 
it daily, and 
not soothe our¬ 
selves with the 
balm that 
Christmas 
comes but 
once a year. 
That the 
festival does 
come but once 
a year is 
looked upon 
by some as 
a blessing* 
Consider, for instance, the poor father who, 
in a benevolent mood, undertakes to act the 
part of Santa Claus at the Christmas-tree 
festivities. Father thinks, in his innocent 
way, that it would he no end of a lark to dress 
up and please the little children, but we have 
known many cases where father has pleased 
the children to the point of terror by his 


Jiqilizi 


xJ by GoOS?! 1 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























THE HUMOUR OF CHRISTMAS. 


Thect: ha* been an interesting event in fiagly * house! 
Johnny; " Put this on the tree 1 too., Pop. I found it 
DRAWN BY J, A, 


extraordinary rig. Again, it is no small job 
to do Santa's work thoroughly, and to come 
out of a chimney just like the real thing is a 
feat of grace quite impossible to the well-fed 
British parent of mature years. At such 
times as these accidents are bound to 
happen, for the curiosity of the family to 
know just what father is doing is a known 
quantity, certain to be expressed in the little 
equation of holiday life. One of our 
humorists tells us 
how the Christmas 
tree was in prepara¬ 
tion in the home of 
one Bagly just after 
a certain interesting 
event had taken 
place. Johnny, who 
had been kept in 
ig n oran ee, sudden 1 y 
appeared in the 
room with a parcel 
in his arms, “ Put 
this on the tree, 
too, Pop,” cried 
Johnny ; * £ I found 
it in mummy's 
room. She's asleep, 57 
We have nothing 
more to add, except 
that this harassing 
scene is immortal¬ 
ized on the present 
page. 


As for the 
good, fat turkey 
which forms the 
staple of our 
Christmas feast, 
there is little to 
be said that has 
not already 
been told. 
There yet re¬ 
mains a chance 
for someone to 
sing his praises 
as Lamb sang 
the praises of 
the pig* and as 
the writers of 
the olden time 
lauded the vir¬ 
tues of the 
boar's head. 
One old writer, 
dealing with 
pre - Christmas 
preparations, 
has barbarously written : Now capons and 
hens, beside turkeys, geese, and ducks, with 
beef and mutton, must all die, for in twelve 
days a multitude of people will not be fed 
with a little. Now plums and spice, sugar 
and honey, square it among pies and broth. 
Now or never must music be in tune, for the 
youth must dance and sing to get them 
a-heat, while the aged sit by the fire.” 

What the turkey thought of these prepara- 


* bon mj}i jE d, uf which Johnny ha* been kept in ignorance, 
in mummy 1 * room* She's a*]eep." 

SMITH KQR, " l UCK*" 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




776 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 




lions, or thinks of them 
to-day, would, be fit sub¬ 
ject for an ornithologist 
to consider. Does the 
sumptuous bird have a 
foreboding of his fate? 
Can it be that he knows 
the real reason of his 
being — that the kindly 
care bestowed upon him 
by the farmer in the month 
of November tricks him 
not ? As the old poets 
say, we trow not. Foolish 
he may be, but the turkey 
is too old a bird —as he 


Ma Gamp (to tramp) : 


if we look back upon our 
childhood days, there is 
not one of us who will fail 
to understand the condi¬ 
tion of Mr, Jacob Me- 
Finnigan, the small and 
swelling youth shown 
here. Sermons might he 
written on this subject 
The end of all is the 
pudding. It comes upon 
the table smoking hot and 
leaves behind it memories 
of a happy day. It goes 
by parcel post to English 
families throughout the 
world, and does 
more good than 
Christmas cards. It 
is a staple commo¬ 
dity upon which the 
household can fall 
back at any time, 
and can be used 
to induce manual 
labour in tramps, 
with indifferent 
result. 

We are indebted 
to Messrs. James 
Henderson for per¬ 
mission to repro¬ 
duce the drawings 
from Puck y fudge* 
und Life which we 
have selected from 
Pictorial Comedy . 


Mr. Charlc* O Connor : Gully, wot s der matter 
id yer* Jukey ? '* 

Mr. Jatob McFinmgan : u Turkey/' 

draws iiv "cirri*” fob “mfe," 


tf you saw Lip that wood for me 1 will gjire you this Christmas pudding. 


sometimes proves 
himself to be — 
not to understand 
the object of his 
existence, and he 
bears it almost 
bravely when 
doomsday comes. 
The day has yet to 
arrive —- although 
the humorist has 
anticipated it— 
when turkeys will 
gather in a farm¬ 
yard to discuss the 
virtues of anti-fat. 

On one of the 
turkey's virtues all 
can to-day unite to 
praise. It is a 
filling bird. And, 



Tramp (a few minute* later): LH Ueg ptvrding, mum, but if it mtkes no difference to you 
rather saw up the pudding and eat ike wood / 1 

DliAWN BY TOM BROWNE FOR ** THE KING." 


JiqirizGd t 


iy Goode 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






































Some Wonders from the West . 



i^Ttrtrt 0] 


THJS GATE DP Altt.VAGtHlE KA&t«, 




XLVL—A WOODEN MENAGERIE. 


HE animals in this menagerie 
bite not. The lion does not 
roar, the elephant never eats 
nuts and cakes, and the sea- 
serpent is as peaceable as 
such a serpent ought to be. No 
one ever visits this extraordinary “Zoo” to 
see the animals fed, for they have no appetite, 
and can go from one year’s end to the other 
without a morsel of food, and the inquisi¬ 
tive visitor can poke any one of the exhibits 
with a stick, yet never evoke an ebullition of 
zoological wrath. Indeed, one can wander 
with assured safety through any part of the 
“Zoo,” and little children can see every¬ 
thing thoroughly well without the help of 
their uncles or their mothers. 

It would, of course, be otherwise were 
these animals not made of wood, the wood 
being the roots of trees which Mr. Hugh E. 
Jones, a kindly-hearted gentleman of seventy- 
six years, has for a long time collected on his 
farm near Columbus, Ohio. Mr. Jones’s 
own title for his homestead and its collection 
is Menagerie Farm, and under that name it has 
attained a reputation which has travelled far 
beyond the borders of the “ Buck-eye State. 1 ’ 
Possibly it is the best name, too, for there 
are other things on his farm besides animals, 
particularly men, and if these men happen to 
be fearfully and wonderfully made it is only 
in strict accordance with that well-known 

Vo). *siv. - 08 . 


dictum which to name the author of would 
be to asperse the intelligence of our readers. 

Forty years ago Mr. Jones went to America 
and settled in Ohio, after an adventurous life 
passed near the Holy Land. He was born 
on board his father’s ship within three miles 
of Alexandria, Egypt, and the effect of 
environment on youthful fancy is shown to¬ 
day on his Ohio farm. Whether or not the 
entrance gate was built before or after the 
other attractions of Menagerie Farm we can¬ 
not at the moment say, but the gate shown 
in the above photograph is a fairly exact 
reproduction in wood of the original brass 
gate which leads from Jericho to Jerusalem. 
It is hung in the centre, and opens inward 
or outward, forward or back. The effect of 
environment upon maturity—or it may be 
to an intelligent reading of the daily press— 
is shawm by the elaboration of the original 
design. On top of the gate an old and not 
always to be honoured friend, Oom Paul, 
stands in the centre, and acts as a weather- 
vane for the benefit of passers-by. On the 
right post screams the American eagle, and 
on the left post a democratic “ rooster 11 
raises its head in conscious hope of a glorious 
future, yet sadly aware that for nearly a 
decade he ha. ..-;t had a genuine opportunity 
to crow. The introduction of these two 
birds gives evidence of the proprietor’s 
patriotism and political proclivities, and the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















77 S 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE .. 


gate as a whole is a most commendable 
example of native ingenuity. 

For the convenience of travellers the 
respective distances to Columbus and Lock- 
bourne are given upon this gate, and on 


of a collection of figures extraordinary and, 
indeed, unique. The animals are scattered 
about the lawn with a profusion almost 
characteristic of bounteous Nature* The 
elephant looks down with some disdain upon 



From a] mk* iiuui i jonfs im his wqjmkshcjiv (jPAoto, 


the right-hand gate post Mr. Jones's letter¬ 
box is attached, giving all necessary postal 
information, as follows: “United States rural 
delivery* Box II., L. Station C. Route 3, 
South East.” Those who would make a trip 
to this remarkable farm now possess accurate 
information as to its whereabouts, and we 
can only add that the farm is worth going 
miles to see* 

If we enter the gate we are in the midst 


the deep-sea turtle, and the sea-serpent raises 
its fearsome head from the billows of the lurf 
towards the monarch of the jungle. This lion, 
by the way, was Mr Jones's first contribu¬ 
tion to his menagerie, and the improvement 
in the handiwork of the proprietor from 
early times to the present is shown if you 
look at the mule on the following page. 
Up to the time of writing this mule was the 
latest contribution to the menagerie* and 
















SOME WONDERS FROM THE WEST 


779 




was, of course, suggested by the late war in 
South Africa, as it is, on the face of it, a 
distinctly American mule, with a British 
soldier on top. The shipment of American 
mules to South Africa is, of course, a fact; 
but it yet remains to be proved that Tommy 
utilized the Yankee hybrid for general cavalry 
purposes. That, however, is by the way. 
We ought to add that this wooden mule, like 
mules in general, arrived very slowly at 
maturity, for it was entirely hand-made, and 
to turn the root of an ordinary apple tree 
into an approximate representation of a forly- 
dollar quadruped is not a labour to be com¬ 
pleted in a night. 

In all this curious collection there are but 
two animals made of oak, these being the 
giraffe and Persian wild boar, which are 
shown together in the last of our illustrations. 
All the others have been modelled out of 
the roots of apple trees, and all the roots 
have been found on Mr. Jones’s own land. 
Students of Nature have often observed the 
peculiar shape into which apple trees, root 
and branch, twist themselves, and it was such 
observation that gave to this ingenious man 
the idea of Menagerie Farm. The embellish¬ 
ment of the wood w'ith teeth, eyes, and other 
characteristics of the animal kingdom was a 
natural advance upon the original idea, and, 
to paraphrase a well-known Johnsomsm, the 
wonder is, not that they really look like 
animals in a w Zoo,” but that the “Zoo” 
should have been thought of at all. 

The people who visit Menagerie Farm 
come from all parts, and an afternoon’s out¬ 
ing in this curious demesne is made pleasant 


for everyone by 
the courteous 
simplicity of the 
owner in his treat¬ 
ment of his guests. 
He will tell you, 
in more detail 
than we can use, 
of the history of 
the farm, its slow 
but regular deve- 
lopment, the 
people, noted and 
unnoted, who 
have come to 
visit him, and if 
you care to hear 
you will be told 
the interesting re¬ 
miniscences of an 
active and adven¬ 
turous youth. If 
you wish he will take you to the room in which 
he works, where, with chisel, plane, and saw, 
he laboriously executes his ever-growing col¬ 
lection. You may in this simple workshop, if 
you care to stay long enough, witness the 
development of the gnarled wood into some¬ 
thing interesting and full of surprise. Nature, 
full of tricks, has supplied the material, and 
the man does the rest. It is, after all, a hobby, 
but it gives pleasure not only to him but to 
others, and is a proof of a contented old age. 


the gikaffb and the Persian wild boar. 


rroTrt- 3 fhofo. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















780 


THE STM AND MAGAZINE. 

XLVII.—GOATS AS LAND-CLE A RE RS* 


The present is the age of machinery and 
mechanical labour in lieu of manual, for the 
very cogent reason that it is both cheaper 
and quicker. But even a machine costs 
money, and after it has accomplished its 
allotted task is only worth its weight in 
old iron. An enterprising American farmer 


of all descriptions. It looked a Herculean 
task to clear it by the conventional means, 
either manual or mechanical, and would 
have necessitated a heavy expenditure of 
money* While cogitating over the matter it 
suddenly occurred to him that, as goats will 
devour nearly everything green, the land 



tfom a) 


WHAT Tim LAMP LOtlKliO LIKE HE FORK. THE COATS WERE TL'KSKU IN, 


has gone one better, since the means by 
which he performed a special task in hand 
were actually worth more to him than the 
price lie expended in securing them. 

Mr, D. D. Moss is a wealthy farmer, 
owning large expanses of fields and uncleared 
pasture in Boone County, Missouri. As is 
always the case out West, when a farmer 
desires to open up any of his ground for 
agricultural purposes it is primarily necessary 
for him to clear away all the bushes, weeds, 
and other obnoxious shrubbery on the 
land. Mr. Moss’s speciality is the manu¬ 
facture of vaccine, and for this purpose he 
has a large stock of the finest-bred young 
cattle* 

A few months ago he desired to open up 
and develop a large expanse of his virgin 
land. It had run very much to seed, being 
covered with dense undergrowth and weeds 


might be efficaciously and cheaply cleared 
by this agency* 

Mr. Moss consulted Dr. H* j. Waters, the 
head of the Missouri State Agricultural 
Experiment Station—to whom we are in¬ 
debted for permission to reproduce the 
accompanying photographs—at Columbia, 
and the result of these negotiations was that 
a decision was made to test the experiment, 
and to follow its progress with a view to its 
adaptation to other districts* Several fanners 
in the State were apprised of the fact, and 
requested to repair to Mr. Moss's farm to 
follow the trial 

After the consultation with Dr* Waters, 
Mr. Moss hied to the cattle market at Kansas 
City and bought two hundred mongrel goats, 
at an average price of nine shillings each 
—a total outlay of ninety pounds- and had 
them transported to his farm* Here a 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













SOME WONDERS FROM THE WEST 


certain area of land was wired off. The 
vaccine young cattle were first turned in to 
eat up the sweetest grass, followed by other 
general cattle, which ate everything that was 
worth eating* The goats were then turned 
in and allowed to roam over the area of their 
own free will. 

Naturally, the animals first cleared off 
what was to them the most luscious and 
appetizing verdure, but as this was in a very 


781 

leaf left behind them* The weeds were 
cropped close to the ground ; all the leaves 
were devoured off the bushes; the trees had 
been barked as high as the animals could 
reach, and even the young shoots and tender 
branches had been consumed. Our photo¬ 
graphs, showing the land before and after the 
goats had been at work upon it, will afford 
a very comprehensive idea of the utility of 
goats for this special work. The animals 



/'YwJIflj THU t^OATS AT WOKK. 


short time all devoured they soon turned 
their attention to the coarser pasture. The 
farmers who had gathered at the vaccine 
farm followed the experiment closely every 
day, while Dr. Waters and his own staff 
from the State Agricultural Station made 
daily careful observations and memoranda 
as to the varieties of shrubbery preferred by 
the goats, and the effect of the constant 
nibbling by the animals upon the plants. As 
a matter of fact, there were very few descrip¬ 
tions of foliage the goats refused to eat, and 
these comprised thistles and one or two 
other plants* 

The observations made showed that the 
animals first cropped off the elm, dewberry, 
blackberry, and crab-apple classes of bushes 
as being the most tasty, and the hickory and 
ash were left to the last The last-mentioned 
small trees the goats barked with their horns. 
The animals did not display very appreci¬ 
able preference for any particular weed 
beyond the dock leaf, and they scoured the 
pasture for this dainty. 

The rapidity and thoroughness with which 
the animals cleared the ground were most 
remarkable. When the goats had passed 
over an expanse there was scarcely a green 



cleared the land at the rate of forty acres in 
twenty days, an average of two acres per 
day, which was considerably quicker than 
would have been accomplished by machinery 
or manual effort* 

Also while this garbage was being devoured 
Mr, Moss was improving the marketable 
value of bis stock. When he purchased the 
goats they were in a comparatively wasted 
condition, but they soon gained flesh and 
improved thdr appearance after being turned 
out upon the weeding work, thus showing that 
these animals can thrive very well upon the 
verdure that other classes of cattle refuse to 
eat. They also entailed no further expense 
beyond their initial cost, since the pasture 
they devoured was sufficient food for them. 

Moreover, Mr. Moss, the enterprising pro- 
moter of this unique scheme, further profited 
in his venture by a substantial increase in his 
flock. During the season the herd was 
augmented by sixty kids, which were worth 
four shillings a head in the open market at 
the age of one week, and increased in value 
as they grew older. 

Under the circumstances of this unqualified 
success achieved by Mr* Moss’s experiment 
it is no small wonder that several other 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


7S2 



MfluUl u] 


THE SASIE I'tECE OF LAND WHEN THE GOATS HAP FINISHED WITH IT. 


farmers are adopting the same cheap process 
of developing their land. Labour is difficult 
to obtain in some districts in Missouri. By 
means of the goats large tracts of land will 
be opened up for the culture of cereals or 
other produce. The goat-labour is unlike 
any other : it enhances rather than depreciates 
in value, providing there is a sufficiency of 
verdure for them to thrive upon ; maintenance 
costs nothing ; the work is done for nothing ; 


and when the task is accomplished the 
animals, owing to their improved condition 
and appearance, can be sold for more than 
they cost. In the case of Mr. Moss’s herd 
of two hundred goats, their present value is 
estimated at two hundred pounds —an excel¬ 
lent return upon ninety pounds' expenditure 
for less than one year, which proves that 
goats for farm - labouring are a gilt-edged 
investment. 


XLVIII. -A WHISTLING CHOIR. 


The famous whistling regiment of history 
nas a present-day rival in America. The 
new whistling force is not an army, however, 
but a choir. The head quarters of this, the 
only whistling choir in the world, is in the 
Berean Baptist Sunday-school building in 
Augusta, Ga. Mr. F. F. Lockhart, who is 
the superintendent of the school, is respon¬ 
sible for this brand-new departure in Church 
music, and it was through his efforts that the 
innovation became eminently successful. 

Mr. Ixxkhart obtained his idea from ** The 
Burgomaster," a play which recently appeared 
in America. He heard one of the airs, called 
“The Tale of the Kangaroo,” whistled, and 
when the audience joined in the chorus the 


effect struck him as being so beautiful that 
he at once decided to put it in use in his 
choir. 

Mr. Lockhart talked the matter over with 
the Rev. J, H. Oliver, the pastor of the 
church, and it was decided that the plan 
should be tried on the following Sunday. 
The Sunday-school numbers about three 
hundred members, and, although music has 
always been a marked feature of the exercises, 
it was often difficult to induce the scholars 
to sing, as everyone hesitated about taking 
the lead, so that the hymns were very apt 
to drag. 

On the Sunday when Mr. Lockhart had 
planned to introduce whistling music the 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













SOME WONDERS FROM THE WEST. 


7S3 


exercises were opened by a short talk on 
the sacredness of all melody and harmony, 
and of the praise that could be rendered to 
God in every form of music. Mr. Lockhart 
then told the scholars that they were going to 
try a new form of music. He said that, as a 
great many of the young men who had really 
good voices would not sing because they had 
never been trained to do so, he had decided 
to form a whistling choir. 

The superintendent had no difficulty in 
inducing the boys and young men to come 


clear notes of the choir harmonized beauti¬ 
fully with the vocalizing of the school. All 
were unanimous in their praise of the scheme, 
and the “Whistling Orchestra" became a 
permanent organization. Rehearsal nights 
were arranged, and the whistlers showed the 
sincerity of thetr desire to progress by 
attending the rehearsals regularly. They 
have now developed their whistling faculties 
to a high degree of perfection, and their 
notes are not only high and voluminous, but 
faultless and in perfect pitch. Even chro- 



/’rffni n] 


MH. F+ F+ LOCKHART AND HIS WHISTLING CHCUJi. 




forward and whistle. Those who would have 
left the Sunday-school rather than lead the 
singing responded readily when asked to 
whistle. 

Twenty eight young men, attracted by the 
novelty of the thing, volunteered to join the 
whistling choir. They took seats around the 
organ, and after Mr. Lockhart had announced 
that the Sunday-school should sing the 
words while the new choir whistled, the boys 
were requested to lead the next hymn. The 
14 Whistling Orchestra n responded heartily ; 
the boys felt quite at home in the work, and 
the innovation was a pronounced success from 
the start. Never in the history of the Berean 
Sunday-school had such a volume of music 
flooded the building. 

With the whistlers to lead them the 
scholars gained confidence, and all those who 
could sing did so with a will, and the high, 


matic passages are faithfully and correctly 
executed, and sharps and flats are distinctly 
brought out. 

This novel whistling choir has proved a 
drawing card ; many have visited the church 
prepared to criticise and even laugh at the 
whistlers, but they have all remained to 
enjoy. There is nothing frivolous in the 
innovation. If the congregation is at first 
inclined to smile when the boys screw their 
mouths up into a “ready," amusement is 
soon lost in admiration as the music rises 
and falls, sweet and clear. 

At first the choir merely led the singers ; 
hut now, having gained confidence, they give 
whistling overtures unassisted by organ or 
scholars. All are interested in the Berean 
whistlers, and many Sunday-school superim 
tendents and pastors are talking of following 
in Mr. Lock hards lead. 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











784 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


XLIX.— A ROPE SLIDE FROM A BALLOON. 


By a. thrilling slide of fifteen hundred feet 
from a balloon, Simeon Nicks, formerly u 
sailor, has made himself the champion long¬ 
distance slider of the world, 

Nicks himself thinks this feat no more 
wonderful than a slide down the jib-stay of one 
of the many good ships on which he has sailed* 
But thousands of spectators witnessed with 
breathless anxiety his daring performance at 
Charles Park, Los Angeles, California. 

It is the longest slide on record, and it is 
believed that no similar performance was 
ever before attempted* 

The turnstile register at the Park showed 
that fifteen thou¬ 
sand people were 
within the enclo¬ 
sure, and every 
neighbouring house¬ 
top, fence, shed, 
and tree held as 
many spectators as 
could find space on 
which to sit or stand. 

About 6 p*m* all 
the arrangements 
were perfected and 
the balloon rose in 
the air* The huge 
gas-bag was made 
captive by the rope 
by which Nicks pro¬ 
posed to regain the 
earth* He carried 
in his hands a ten- 
inch section of 
garden hose, slit up 
the side, that fitted 
snugly over the inch 
and a quarter 
Italian hemp rope 
that kept the bal¬ 
loon from straying. 

Accompanying him 
were Aeronaut 
Hudson and the 
son of Professor 
Baldwin* 

At a height of about two hundred feet 
Nicks clambered out of the basket, and, with 
a sailor's twist of his legs around the pliable 
hemp, he began to slide downward* Then 
he checked himself and, remaining stationary, 
he rose with the balloon until it reached the 
limit of the rope, which was thus held taut. 
Then he began to slide, slowly at first, and 


gradually increasing his speed until the rope 
spun through his hands at a terrific rate. 
Regulating his speed at will he sometimes 
came to a full stop, when he would release 
his hand-hold and lean back as though he 
were in an arm-chair. The friction of the 
rope on the calves of his legs created a burn¬ 
ing sensation, sufficient to scorch his trousers ; 
but his hands, being protected by the hose, 
were not affected in the least by the long 
descent 

Then he grasped the rope with his hands, 
released it from his legs, and made a giant 
swing through the air. Then he would 
slide swiftly down 
for a great dis¬ 
tance, catch himself 
with one leg, and 
turn himself upside 
down* He con¬ 
tinued to cut up 
such dangerous 
antics until he 
reached the ground, 
and every moment 
thrilled the spec¬ 
tators with some 
new sensation. 

When finally he 
reached the ground 
there was one tre¬ 
mendous sigh of 
relief* Many de¬ 
clared that no 
money would tempt - 
them to witness 
another such per¬ 
formance* 

But for Nicks, 
who accomplished 
the descent in just 
five minutes, the 
feat was as easy a 
thing as he could 
be asked to do, 
for while he was a 
sailor he became 
known to the tars 
of all nations as the most daring rope 

performer afloat. He was in the American 
Navy and also in the merchant service, 

and he is no doubt the best-known man 
that ever went aloft. Once he slid down 
a three-inch wire cable into the shaft of 
the Silver King Mine in British Columbia* 
Thirty-eight feet below was a gage contain- 
Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


- - V - 



SIMEON NICKS, CHAMPION SLIDER OF THE WORLD. 
Fro tn a Photi*. 







SOME WONDERS I'ROM THE WEST. 


7 S 5 



flj 


N ick £ sea him; the h;kuu\|) on ills sum: <>F 1,500 F T. 


L Piuita. 



mg a number of miners. The cable had 
broken, and it was necessary for some- 
one to go down and repair the damage 
before the men could be rescued. Nicks 
volunteered, and succeeded in splicing the 
cable. At another time he swam across 
the Mersey River at Liverpool, England, five 
times without touch¬ 
ing land on either 
side, for he is also 
a swimmer of inter¬ 
national reputation. 

In this contest he 
won the swimming 
championship of the 
world's navies, - 
Simeon Nicks was 
born in Los Angeles, 

California, in 1863. 

He became a sailor in 
1875. Since then he 
has been round the 
world seven times, 
sailing before the 
mast under flags of 
every nationality and 
touching at almost 
every known port. 

He is of light com¬ 
plexion, with brown 
hair and blue eyes. 


b'fom ti| NICKS JUST AFTER HIS UUMtiBKIf'UL si tilt. 


His weight is one hundred and seventy 
pounds. To a remarkable series of adven¬ 
tures he adds the harrowing experience of 
having been shipwrecked with three com¬ 
panions off the coast of Africa, one hundred 
and fifty miles from the Cape of Good Hope ; 
and he was quartermaster on the Walla 
Walla , bound north 
to Puget Sound from 
San Francisco, Cali¬ 
fornia, when she went 
down off Point 
Arena, 

When asked what 
were his sensations 
of fear when drop¬ 
ping from the clouds 
on a rope, he was 
amused at the ques¬ 
tion. 

11 Sensations of 
fear ? ,J repeated the 
athletic sailor; u J 
don’t know what they 
are. I've been all over 
a ship and have made 
sail when she was 
rolling hard enough 
to take the sticks out 
of her. It is no use 
to be afraid ” 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















The Man Who Drove the "Rocket." 





I ,T HOUGH seventy-three years 
have passed since George 
Stephenson's “Rocket” made 
its initial trip between Man¬ 
chester and Liverpool, the 
man who held the throttle 
during that performance is still living. He is 
Edward Entwistle, and lives in Des Moines, 
Iowa, where he has resided continuously for 
forty-five years. 

Notwithstanding his eighty- seven years, 
Entwistle is still in the full possession of 
all his mental faculties. He hears distinctly 
and can converse as well as a person of half 
his age* His sight is but slightly impaired, and 
although the onee-powerful frame is droop¬ 
ing, it still retains much of the strength that 
was formerly so abundant. Mr* Entwistle 
lives with his w ife, who is shghlly his junior* 
He was born in Lancashire in March, 
1815, at Tilsey’s Banks* When old enough 
to work he was apprenticed as a machinist to 
the Duke of Bridgewater, and put at work in 
the shops at Liverpool. After having served 
as an engineer for some time Stephenson 
conceived the idea of a railroad from Liver¬ 


" HiJCKKI NOW PitKSEUVKO is I NK 

Fmm n t*koto t 


Nt IH k K N>| N( il tJN 


Fivtn a Photo, by fiodpt, Itet Hoinet. 

pool to Manchester, and about 1S25 a charter 
was secured from Parliament. 

Entwistle knew Stephenson well, and talks 
freely of the difficulties which the latter 
encountered in getting the charter through 
A committee was appointed by Parliament 
to investigate and report on the merits and 
safety of the road. The Duke of Newcastle, 
a particular friend of Stephenson, admonished 
him to be careful in his replies to the com¬ 
mittee lest the charter be withheld. 

In due time the committee notified the 
inventor that it desired his presence, and he 
obeyed the summons. The inter¬ 

view was long and exceedingly mono¬ 
tonous, the committee seeming to be 
anxious to get some reply which 
would warrant its refusing the re 
quest. One of the most important 
questions was : 14 How much will the 
engines pull and what will be their 
speed?” To which Stephenson very 
cautiously replied ; “ They will travel 
fast enough and pull freight enough to 
pay interest on the money invested.” 
The report of the committee was 
favourable and the charter was granted* 
Entwistle likes best of all to 
tell of his selection to run the 
,k Rocket.” A prize of five hundred 
pounds was offered for the Ijest 


high - speed 


for passenger 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















THE MAN WHO DROVE THE 41 ROCKET 


7S7 


service, and Stephenson had 
perfected the now famous 
“ Rocket.” When at last 
everything was ready and the 
day for the competition was 
almost at hand, he found that 
he had no desirable engine- 
driver. He accordingly went 
to the shops*where many of the 
pieces of the engine had been 
made, and asked the foreman 
for a man to run the engine, 

“ I have no man that is suit¬ 
able,” was the reply; 41 but if 
you take that lad there, and 
can get the permission of the 
Duke s steward, you may have 
him, and I’ll warrant that he 
will be satisfactory.’ 1 

So Stephenson took the lad. 
They made a trial trip together 
on Sunday* The nest day came 
the contest. 

The quaint old print which 
we here reproduce shows the 
triumph of the “ Rocket.” The 
eye of man beheld for the first 
time a machine running at the 
speed of a mile in two minutes. 
Up to that time ten or twelve 
miles an hour had been looked 
upon as the utmost limit of con¬ 
ceivable velocity in travelling, 
and the general amazement at 
the performance of Stephen¬ 
son's engine reached a pitch of 
which no description can con¬ 
vey an idea. The u Rocket ” is 
recorded to have run on one 
occasion four miles in four 
minutes and a half, a speed 
scarcely exceeded by any engine 
of the present day. 

For two years and a half 
after the day of the competi¬ 
tion Entwistle ran a train on 
the road, making from two 
to four trips each way daily. 
Finally he became nervous 
and ill from the high strain 
to which he was constantly 
subjected, and gave up the job. 

In speaking of the speed 
made by the “Rocket” and 
by the other engines on the 
road, Mr. Entwistle declared : 
“The mile a minute trains of 
today are not such great 
improvements over those days. 



Many’s the time Fve made the 
thirty-one miles from Liverpool 
to Manchester in sixty minutes.” 
The average time, however, on 
the first passenger trip was in 
the neighbourhood of fourteen 
miles per hour, while the fastest 
speed attained was not much 
above thirty miles per hour. 
After leaving the Liverpool 
and Manchester road Mr. 
Entwistle went on to one of 
the coasting steamers of the 
Duke of Bridgewater, where lie 
remained until 1837—the year 
of Queen Victoria’s ascension — 
when he removed to America. 
He obtained work on a 
Hudson River steamer, but 
shortly afterwards, the engine- 
driver of the locomotive 
41 York ” having been injured, 
Mr. Entwistle was back in rail¬ 
road service. He did not 
remain long, however, but re¬ 
turned to his boat as soon as 
possible. When the Troy — 
his boat — was finally con¬ 
demned as unsafe he took the 
engines to Rockland County, 
N.Y., and set them up in a 
rolling mill. In 1S44 he landed 
in Chicago, where he remained 
for eleven years working in 
different positions as a station¬ 
ary engine driven He ran the 
Rossiter, a lake steamer, for 
several seasons. Upon his re¬ 
moval to Des Moines he ran 
a boat between Keokuk and 
Des Moines until the river 
ceased to be navigable, and 
until ten years ago followed 
his calling of stationary engine- 
driver. Mr, Entwistle believes 
that he was the first engineer to 
apply sand to rails to prevent 
a train from slipping* 

He has amassed a small com¬ 
petence, which is invested in a 
farm, the income of which is 
sufficient to support himself 
and wife in their old age. They 
are among the oldest people in 
the State, and Mr. Entwistle 
has achieved no little notoriety 
because of his connection with 
George Stephenson and the 
" Rocket,” 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY.QF MICHIGAN 












11Y E. Nesbit. 


IX. —THE LAST WISH. 


V course, you who see above 
that this is the ninth (and last) 
chapter know very well that 
the day of which this chapter 
tells must be the last on which 
Cyril, Anthea, Robert, and 
Jane will have a chance of getting anything 
out of the psammead, or sand-fairy. 

But the children themselves did not know 
this. They were full of rosy visions, and 
whereas on other days they had often found 
it extremely difficult to think of anything 
really nice to wish for, their brains were now 
full of the most beautiful and sensible ideas. 
“This/’ as Jane remarked afterwards, “is 
always the way.” Everyone was up extra early 
that morning, and these plans were hopefully 
discussed in the garden before breakfast. 
The old idea of a hundred pounds in 
modern florins was still first favourite, 
but there were others that ran it close 
—the chief of these being the “ pony 
each ” idea. This had a great advantage. 
You could wish for a pony each during 
the morning, ride it all day, have it vanish at 
sunset, and wish it back again next day; 
which would be an economy of litter and 
stabling. But at breakfast two things hap¬ 
pened. First, there was a letter from mother. 
Cranny was better; and mother and father 
hoped to be home that very afternoon. A 

Digitized by Google 

* O 


cheer arose. And, of course, this news at 
once scattered all the before-breakfast wish- 
ideas, for everyone saw quite plainly that 
the wish of the day must be something to 
please mother and not to please themselves. 

“ I wonder what she ivould like ? ” pondered 
Cyril. 

“She’d like us all to be good,” said Jane, 
primly. 

“ Yes, but that’s so dull for us,” Cyril 
rejoined ; “ and, besides, I should hope we 
could be that without sand-fairies to help us. 
No, it must be something splendid, that we 
couldn’t possibly get without wishing for.” 

“ Look out,” said Anthea, in a warning 
voice; “don’t forget yesterday. Remember, 
we get our wishes now just wherever we 
happen to be when we say ‘ I wish.’ Don’t 
let’s let ourselves in for anything silly to-day 
of all days.” 

“ All right,” said Cyril; “you needn’t jaw.” 

Just then Martha came in with a jugful 
of hot water for the teapot, and a face full 
of importance for the children. 

“A blessing we’re all alive to eat our 
breakfasses,” she said, darkly. 

“Why, whatever’s happened?” everybody 
asked. 

“ Oh, nothing,” said Martha, “ only it 
seems nobody’s safe from being murdered in 
their beds nowadays.” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











THE LAST WISH. 


79 * 


“Nonsense, dears,” said mother, briskly. 
44 I’m not such an old woman yet that I can’t 
take my bonnet off in the proper place. 
Besides, I must wash these black hands of 
mine.” 

So up she went, and the children, following 
her, exchanged glances of gloomy 
foreboding. 

Mother took off her bonnet—it 
was a very pretty hat really, with 
white roses in it — and when she 
had taken it off she went to the 
dressing - table to do her 
pretty hair. 

On the table between 
the ring-stand and the pin¬ 
cushion lay a green leather 
case. Mother opened it. 

“ Oh, how lovely ! ” she 
cried. It was a ring — a 
blue sapphire with shining, 
many-lighted diamonds set 
round it. “ Wherever did 
this come from ? ” mother 
asked, trying it on her 
wedding - finger, where it 
fitted beautifully. “ How¬ 
ever did it come here?” 

44 I don’t know,” said 
each of the children, truth¬ 
fully. 

“ Father must have told 
Martha to put it here,” 
mother said. 44 I’ll run 
down and ask her.” 

44 Let me look at 
it,” said Anthea, who 
knew Martha would 
not be able to see the 
ring. But when 
Martha was asked, of 
course she denied 
putting the ring there, and so did Eliza 
and cook. 

Mother came back to her bedroom very 
much interested and pleased about the ring. 
But when she opened the dressing table 
drawer and found a long case containing an 
almost priceless diamond necklace she was 
more interested still, though not so pleased. 
In the wardrobe, when she went to put 
away her bonnet, she found a tiara and 
several brooches, and the rest of the jewellery 
turned up in various parts of the room during 
the next half-hour. The children looked 
more and more uncomfortable, and now Jane 
began to sniff. 

Mother looked at her gravely. 

“Jane,” she said, 44 1 am sure you know 


Google 

O 


something about this. Now, think before you 
speak, and tell me the truth.” 

44 We found a fairy,” said Jane, obediently. 
“No nonsense, please,” said her mother, 
sharply. 

44 Don’t be silly, Jane,” Cyril interrupted. 



M • A . l»oa 

*WE found a faiky, said jane, obediently.” 


Then he went on, desperately : 44 Look here, 
mother, we’ve never seen the things before, 
but Lady Chittenden at Peasemarsh Place 
lost all her jewellery by wicked burglars last 
night. Could this possibly be it ? ” 

All drew a deep breath. They were 
saved. 

“But how could they have put it here? 
And why should they ? ” asked mother, not 
unreasonably. 44 Surely it would have been 
easier and safer to make off with it ? ” 

“Suppose,” said Cyril, “they thought it 
better to wait for—for sunset—nightfall, I 
mean, before they went off with it. No one* 
but us knew that you were coming back 
to-day.” 

44 1 must send for the police at once,” sgid 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


I') 2 


mother, distractedly, “Oh, how I wish 
daddy were here !" 

“ Wouldn’t it be better to wait till he does 
come ? ” asked Robert, knowing that his 
father would not be home before sunset 
“No, no; I can’t wait a minute with all 
this on my mind," cried mother, “All this" 
was the heap of jewel-cases on the bed. 
They put them all in the wardrobe and 
mother locked it Then mother called 
Martha. 

“ Martha/' she said, “ has any stranger been 
into my mom since I've been away? Now, 
answer me truthfully/ 1 

“ No, mum,” answered Martha ; “ least- 

ways, what l mean to say-■" 

She slopped. 

“ Come," said her mistress, kindly, “ 1 see 


“J.1AKTIIA BURST INTO HEAVY SOUS." 

someone has, You must tell me at once. 
Don't be frightened; I’m sure you haven’t 
had anything to do with it" 

Martha burst into heavy sobs. 

“ I was a-goin’ to give you warning this very 
day, mum, to leave at the end of my month, so 
l was on account of me bring going to make 

Digitized by Google 


a respectable young man happy, a gamekeeper 
he is by trade, mum, and I wouldn’t deceive 
you, of the name of Beale. And it’s as true 
as I stand here. It was your coming home 
in such a hurry, and no warning given ; out 
of the kindness of his heart, it was, as be says, 
4 Martha, my beauty/ he says, which I ain’t 
and never was, but you know how them men 
will go on, 4 1 can’t see you a-toiling and a- 
moiling, and not lend you a ’dptrtg ’and— 
which mine is a strong arm, and it’s yours, 
Martha, my dear/says he ; and so he hel|>ed 
me a-clean in’ of the windows—but outside, 
mum, the whole time, and me in ; if I never 
say another breathing word, it's the gospel 
truth.’ 1 

44 Were you with him the whole time?" 
asked her mistress. 

“Him outside and me in, 

I was/ 1 said Martha, “ except 
for fetching up a fresh pail 
and the leather that that slut 
of a Eiiza’d hidden away 
behind the mangle.” 

“That will do,” said the 
children’s mother. 14 1 am 
not pleased with you, Martha; 
but you have spoken the 
truth, and that counts for 
something/' 

When Martha had gone 
the children clung round 
their mother. 

14 Oh, mummy darling,” 
cried Anthea, “it isn’t Beale’s 
fault, it isn’t really. He’s a 
great dear, he is, truly and 
honourably, and as honest as 
the day. Don’t let the police 
take him, mummy, oh, don't, 
don’t, don’t ! ” 

It was truly awful. Here 
was an innocent man accused 
of robbery through that silly 
wish of Jane’s, and it was 
absolutely useless to tell the 
truth. All longed to, hut 
they thought of the straws in 
the hair and the shrieks of 
the other frantic maniacs, and 
they could not do it. 

“ Is there a cart here¬ 
abouts?” asked mother, feverishly. 44 A trap 
of any sort; I must drive in to Rochester 
and tell the police at once." 

All the children sobbed: “There’s a cart 
at the farm, but oh, don’t go!—don’t go!—- 
oh, don’t go !—wait till daddy comes home/* 

Mother took ngt the faintest notice. When 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












THE LAST WISH 


793 


she had set her mind on a thing she always 
went straight through with it. She was 
rather like Anthea in this respect. 

“ Look here, Cyril,” she said, sticking on 
her hat with long, sharp, silver-headed pins, 
“ I leave you in charge. Stay in the dress¬ 
ing-room. You can pretend to be swimming 
boats in the bath, or something. Say I gave 
you leave. But stay there, with the landing- 
door open; I’ve locked the other. And 
• don’t let anyone go into my room. Remem¬ 
ber, no one knows the jewels are there except 
me—and all of you, and the wicked thieves 
who put them there. Robert, you stay in the 
garden and watch the windows. If anyone 
tries to get in you must run and tell the two 
farm men that I’ll send up to wait in the 
kitchen. I’ll tell them there are dangerous 
characters about—that’s true enough. Now, 
remember, I trust you both. But I don’t 
think they’ll try it till after dark, so you’re 
quite safe. Good-bye, darlings.” 

And she locked her bedroom door and 
went off with the key in her pocket. 

The children could not help admiring the 
dashing and decided way in which she had 
acted. They thought how useful she would 
have been in organizing escape from some of 
the tight places in which they had found 
themselves of late, in consequence of their 
ill-timed wishes. 

“ She’s a born general,” said Cyril, “ but 
/don’t know what’s going to happen to us. 
Even if the girls were to hunt for that beastly 
sammyadd and find it, and get it to take the 
jewels away again, mother would only think 
we hadn’t looked out properly, and let the 
burglars sneak in and nick them, or else the 
police will think we've got them, or else that 
she’s been fooling them. Oh, it’s a pretty 
decent average ghastly mess this time, and 
no mistake.” 

He savagely made a paper boat and began 
to float it in the bath, as he had been told, 
but he did not seem to find it amusing. 

Robert went into the garden and sat down 
on the worn, yellow grass, with his miserable 
head between his helpless hands. 

Anthea and Jane whispered together in 
the passage downstairs, where the cocoanut 
matting was with the hole in it that you 
always catch your foot in if you’re not 
careful. Martha’s voice could be heard in 
the kitchen, grumbling loud and long. 

“ It’s simply quite too dreadfully awful,” 
said Anthea. “ How do we know all the 
diamonds are there too ? If they aren’t the 
police will think mother and father have got 
(hem, and that they’ve only given up some of 

Vol. xxiv.—100 


them for a kind of desperate blind. And 
they’ll be put in prison and we shall be 
branded outcasts, the children of felons. 
And it won’t be at all nice for father and 
mother either,” she added, by a candid after¬ 
thought. 

“ But what can we do ? ” asked Jane. 

“ Nothing ; at least, we might look for the 
sammyadd again. It’s a very, very hot day. 
He may have come out to warm that whisker 
of his.” 

“ He won’t give us any more beastly wishes 
to-day,” said Jane, flatly. “ He gets crosser 
and crosser every time we see him. I believe 
he hates having to give wishes.” Anthea had 
been shaking her head gloomily; now she 
stopped shaking it so suddenly that it really 
looked as though she were pricking up her 
ears. 

“What is it?” asked Jane. “Oh, have 
you thought of something?” 

“ Our one chance,” cried Anthea, drama¬ 
tically ; “ the last, lone, forlorn hope ! Corne 
on!” 

At a brisk trot she led the way to the 
sandpit. Oh, joy ! there was the psammead, 
basking in a golden sandy hollow and 
preening its whiskers happily in the glowing 
afternoon sun. The moment it saw them it 
whisked round and began to burrow—it 
evidently preferred its own company to 
theirs. But Anthea was too quick for it. 
She caught it by its furry shoulders gently 
but firmly, and held it. 

“ Here—none of that,” said the psammeld; 
“ leave go of me, will you ? ” 

But Anthea held him fast. 

“ Dear, kind, darling sammyadd,” she said, 
breathlessly. 

“ Oh, yes, it’s all very well,” it said ; “ you 
want another wish, I expect, but I can’t keep 
on slaving from morning till night giving 
people their wishes. I must have some time 
to myself.” 

“ Do you hate giving wishes ? ” asked 
Anthea, gently, and her voice trembled with 
excitement. 

“ Of course I do,” it said. “ Leave go of 
me or I’ll bite; I really will—I mean it. 
Oh, well, if you choose to risk it-” 

Anthea risked it and held on. 

“ Look here,” she said, “ don’t bite me; 
listen* to reason. If you’ll only do what we 
want to-day we’ll never ask you for another 
wish as long as we live.” 

The psammead was much moved. 

“ I’d do anything,” it said, in a tearful 
voice. “ I’d almost burst myself to give you 
one wish after another as long as I held out 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



794 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 



SHE CAUtiHT IT HY ITS KURKY SHOULDERS. 


if you’d only never, never ask me to do it 
after to-day. If you knew how I hate to blow 
myself out with other people’s wishes, and 
hcAv frightened I am always that I shall strain 
a muscle or something! And then to wake 
up every morning and know you’ve got to do 
it. You don’t know what it is—you don’t 
know what it is—you don’t.” Its voice 
cracked with emotion, and the last “ don’t ” 
was a squeak. 

Anthea set it down gently on the sand. 

“ It’s all over now,” she said, soothingly. 
“ We promise faithfully never to ask for 
another wish after to-day.” 

“ Well, go ahead,” said the psammead ; 
“let’s get it over.” 

“ How many can you do? ” 

“ I don’t know ; as long as I can hold 
out.” 

“ Well, first, I wish Lady Chittenden may 
find she’s never lost her jewels.” 

The psammead blew itself out, collapsed, 
and said, “ Done ! ” 

“ I wish,” said Anthea, more slowly, 
“ mother mayn’t get to the police.” 

“ Done ! ” said the creature, after the 
proper interval. 

“ l wish,” said Jane, suddenly, “ mother 


iy CiGQQ le 

O 


could forget all about the 
diamonds.” 

“Done!” said the 
psammead, but its voice 
was weaker. 

“ Would you like to 
rest a little ? ” asked An¬ 
thea, considerately. 

“ Yes, please,” said 
the psammead ; “ and 
before we go any farther, 
will you wish something 
for me?” 

“ Can’t you do wishes 
for yourself? ” 

“ Of course not,” it 
said; “we were always 
expected to give each 
other our wishes — not 
that we had any to speak 
of in the good old mega¬ 
therium days. Just wish, 
will you, that you may 
never be able, any of you, to tell any¬ 
one a word about tne” 

“ Why ? ” asked Jane. 

“ Why, don't you see, if you told 
grown-ups I should have no peace of 
my life. They’d get hold of me, and 
they wouldn’t wish silly things like you 
do, but real earnest things, and the 
scientific people would hit on some way 
of making things last after sunset, as likely 
as not, and they’d ask for a graduated 
income-tax, and old-age pensions, and 
manhood suffrage, and free secondary educa¬ 
tion, and dull things like that, and get 
them and keep them, and the whole world 
would be turned topsy-turvy. Do wish it 
Quick.” 

Anthea repeated the psammead’s wish, and 
it blew itself out to a larger size than they 
had yet seen it attain. 

“ And now,” it said as it collapsed, “ can 
I do anything more for you ? ” 

“ Just one thing, and I think that clears 
everything up, doesn’t it, Jane? I wish 
Martha to forget about the diamond ring, and 
mother to forget about the keeper cleaning 
the windows.” 

“It’s like Anstey’s ‘Brass Bottle,”’said Jane. 

“Yes; I’m glad we had that or I should 
never have thought of it.” 

“ Now,” said the psammead, faintly, “I’m 
almost worn out. Is there anything else ? ” 

“ No ; only thank you kindly for all you’ve 
done for us, and I hope you’ll have a good, 
long sleep, and I hope we shall see you again 
some day.” 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE LAST WISH 


795 


“Is that a wish?” it said, in a weak voice. 

“ Yes, please,” said the two girls together. 

Then, for the last time, they saw the 
psammead blow itself out and collapse 
suddenly. It nodded to them, blinked its 
long snail’s eyes, burrowed and disappeared, 
scratching fiercely to the last, and the sand 
closed over it. 


“So you see it’s all right,” Jane whis¬ 
pered. “ She doesn’t remember.” 

“ No more does Martha,” said Anthea, who 
had been to ask after the state of the kettle. 

As the servants sat at their tea, Beale, the 
gamekeeper, dropped in. He brought the 
welcome news that I^ady Chittenden’s 
jewels had not been lost at all. Lord 



c. ^ 

“ IT HURKOWKD AND DISAPPEARED, SCRATCHING FIEKCKLV TO THE LAST.” 


“ I hope we’ve done right,” said Jane. 

“ I’m sure we have,” said Anthea; “ come 
on home and tell the boys.” 

Anthea found Cyril glooming over his 
paper boats and told him. Jane told Robert. 
The two talgs were only just ended when 
mother walked in, hot and dusty. She 
explained that as she was being driven into 
Rochester to buy the girls’ autumn school 
dresses the axle had broken, and but for the 
narrowness of the lane and the high, soft 
hedges she would have been thrown out. 
As it was she was not hurt, but she had had 
to walk home. “ And oh, my dearest, dear 
chicks,” she said, “ I am simply dying for a 
cup of tea. Do run and see if the kettle 
boils ! ” 


Chittenden had taken them to be reset and 
cleaned, and the maid who knew about it had 
gone for a holiday. So that was all right. 

“ I wonder if we ever shall see the 
sammyadd again ? ” said Jane, wistfully, as 
they walked in the garden while mother was 
putting the Lamb to bed. 

“ I’m sure we shall,” said Cyril, “ if you 
really wished it.” 

“ We’ve promised never to ask it for 
another wish,” said Anthea. 

“ I never want to,” said Robert, earnestly. 

They did see the psammead again, of 
course, but not in this story. And it was 
not in a sandpit either, but in a very,* very, 

very different place. It was in a-but I 

must say no more. 


p mo Ci\i> Ori g i n a I f ro m 

lc UNIVERSITYOF MICHIGAN 


Curiosities* 

[We shall be glad receive Contributions to this section , and to pay for such as are accepted ,] 


A MONSTER 
CHRISTMAS 
CRACKER- 
"The im¬ 
mense cracker 
shown in my 
photograph was 
carried by the 
confectioners in 
the * ei g h t 
hours 1 proces- 
si n in Sydney, 

Australia. The 
length was 
twentyTive feel 
and the dia* 
meter six feet 
three inches. It 
was made by 
Mr. Alexander 
Wyatt, presi¬ 
dent of the 
Confectioners 1 Union. The boy in the opening is 
engaged in distributing the contents of the cracker— 
a ton of sweets (over twenty thousand bags)—to the 
crowd along the route/’— Master Lionel Walcot, 52, 
Ebley Street, Waver ley, near Sydney* 


AN INTERNATIONAL SNOW MAN. 

“There is perhaps no place in the whole wide 
world w'here the long hours of the dreary winter drag 
more slowly than in the mid land of the New North 
of America, the vast waste of ice and snow-covered 
wilderness broken only at very irregular intervals by 
straggling settlements that 
in the rush of the short¬ 
lived summer are boastful 
cities in embryo, but which, 
whh the falling of the 
mercury to 5odeg. and 
6odeg. l>eIowzero* are but 
halting*places for the men 
of iron mould who trek it 
over the river-ice to or 
from Dawson City* The 
coming of these, the daily 
arrival and departure of 
the stage up or down the 
solid - frozen Yukon, and 
the consideration of the 
comparative merits of dog 
teams make up the entire 
chapter of winter life from 
Whitehorse, the railway 
terminus, through to the 
Klondike goldfields, Five 
hundred miles or more of 
bleak, inhospitable deso¬ 
lation. Nowhere in the 
broad and busy world are 
the contributory elements 
of suicidal melancholia 
more in evidence* and 
when an enterprising resi¬ 
dent of The Summit pro¬ 


posed some few 
months ago 
that the entire 
population of 
the boundary 
post * turn out 
and build a 
snow' man/ his 
ennui-breaking 
suggestion was 
bailed with glad 
approval, altieit 
the overworked 
thermometer 
showed minus 
52deg,, and the 
comforts of life 
upon the moun¬ 
tain lops that 
mark the pro¬ 
visional inter¬ 
national boun¬ 
dary are notably inconspicuous in fact. The people 
of the American western and northern wonderland 
do nothing incompletely ; hence their snow man 
takes precedence over all other snow men that 
yet have been. He calmly guards the peak on 
which there are flying side by side the significant 
banners of Great Britain and the United States, 
looking serenely down upon a sea of snowy ridges 
and a rugged wilderness of valley through which the 
world's northernmost railway crawls from cliff to 
precipice in manner most uncanny. The snow man 
is himself a trifle reminiscent of bygone days of giants 
upon the earth, for from 
liase to crown he stands 
thirty-two feet six inches 
high, a glittering and com 
spicnou?* if scarcely an 
artistic, figure. As the 
blocks of snow were piled 
in place, w-ater (readily 
obtained by melting the 
convenient snow f ) was used 
with prodigal liberality 
until the snow man be¬ 
came in truth a man of 
ice, and lasting as other 
ice formations in these 
latitudes. The fancy of 
the architect has made 
him Janus - headed* and 
when imagination is 
coerced to aid the eye the 
features of the serene and 
silent sentinel of the snowy 
summit are recognised as 
those of His Majesty King 
Edward overlooking the 
British domain and of 
Uncle Sam on the 
American side*”—Mr. C- 
II. Giblions, Editor Ian- 
<ouver Worlds Vancouver, 

ILC* 




‘ Copyright, 1902, by George Newnes. Unijijad 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














CURIOSITIES. 


797 



A LUCKY SNAP-SHOT. 

“ This curious snap-shot was taken on Souihsea Common 
with an ordinary quarter-plate hand camera. I happened 
to t>e passing and noticed the man going up rather high. 
Thinking it would make a good picture, I took a snap 
and managed to get the man just as he was going over the 
top.”—Mr. V. Le C. Binet, 2 t Bond Street, Jersey, 



THE MISSING LINK. 


“ T took this photograph with a No, i East- 
man’s Pocket Kodak in our grounds at Fairview. 
It is a photograph of myself, and for some reason 
or other the picture came out in this way,”— 
Mr. C. G. Clute, New Westminster, British 
Columbia, 


A CAGE FOR HUMAN RE1NGS, 

This cage is not intended for wild animals, as might 
t>e supposed from its appearance, but is used to confine 
human beings. The convicts are made to work upon the 
public highways, and in order to work the roads at any 
great distance from the county gaol it is necessary for the 



prisoners to camp out, so this steel car was conslructed for 
the purpose of confining the convicts while working in the 
outlying districts. The cage is twenty feet long by eight 
feet six inches wide, and is eight feet high from floor to 
roof. It is divided into two compartments ; the larger 
one, for the prisoners, contains twelve bunks, and the 
smaller one lias two bunks for the guards. The whole 
thing requires six horses to pull it over the country 
roads.”—Mr. V. W. Goyld, Poland^ Florida. 


A NOVEL ADVERTISING DEVICE. 

** Almost everyone has heard of 1 Idris’ 
mineral waters, but, for the benefit of those w ho 
have not, the proprietors have hit upon a novel 
plan for attracting the notice of prospective pur¬ 
chasers. The device does not require much 
explanation, for a glance at the photo, will reveal 
the ingenuity of the idea. The huge siphon 
dawdling along the footpath al the rate of two 



and a half miles an hour is a sight not easily 
forgotten.”—.Mr. C. Chaddock, So, Percy Street f 
Bowie, tfyPfifffiHram 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


798 




AN INGENIOUS 
LIVING.PICTURE 
PHOTOGRAPH. 

“ The picture repre¬ 
sents a unique idea of 
illustrating 1 Jiving pic¬ 
tures/ the group at the 
top having the appear¬ 
ance of a photograph 
suspended from the wall. 

The effect was secured by 
hanging an open picture- 
frame, by means of the 
usual picture cord, in a 
double doorway, allow¬ 
ing a pair of white sheets 
to hang so that the edges 
would be just over the 
edges of the frame, * a 
third sheet being Sus¬ 
pended just at the hack 
of the group having their 
likenesses taken, in order 
to hide all furn ture or 
other objects which might 
show through the opening. Thus Itle-size pictures may l>c shown 
with others in the foreground w ith all the appearance of an ordinary 

- picture/’ — Mr. W. C 

Bouk, 3,026, South Nine¬ 
teenth Street, Omaha. 

WILL SOMEONE 
EXPLAIN ? 

“ I think your readers 
might l>e interested in 
an experience of mine. 
The other day I was 
testing a rook rifle. I 
placed an empty tin on a 
stick and fired at eighty 
yards. 1 heard the bullet 
strike and saw the tin 
revolving slowly, but out 
of the perpendicular. On 
examination I found no 
fewer than four distinct 
holes through the can— 
two entering and two 
issuing [as shown by the 
jagged tear of holes}. I 
was so puzzled that I tried 
again with anolhercanisler, 
and with the same result ! 
I am forwarding a print of 
a photo, of the can, and 


4 








mirage which I send 
you represents an event 
which actually took place 
at St. Malo on August 
the 15th, when even 
wheeled vehicles could 
l>e seen up above moving 
upside down. The ex- 
citement in St. Malo was 
so great Lhal religious 
processions and services 
were immediately organ¬ 
ized. It is nol often 
that so interesting a 
photograph is secured.” 
— Mr. Thomas Norman, 
3, Sussex Terrace, Wood 
Green, N. 


THE POWER OF COM¬ 
PRESSED AIR. 

“ I send you a curious 
photo, showing the force 
of compressed air. It is 
of a cheviot shirt worn 
by a student while making a series 
of tests in which compressed air was 



I shall be grate¬ 
ful for any sug¬ 
gested theory as 
to how one bullet 
can make more 
than two holes 
(one in and one 
out) in a canister 
at eighty yards/’— 
Mr. Herbert Greg, 
Breingorto n t 
C o I i n t r a i v e , 
Argyllshire. 


A WONDERFUL 
MIRAGE- 
ti The ext raordi¬ 
nary picture of a 


Doll 2 


from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


used. Air under 
a pressure of five 
pounds was com¬ 
ing out of a two- 
inch orifice. As 
:he student leaned 
over, the shirt 
came in front of 
the orifice, causing 
the result shown. 
The horizontal 
threads were torn 
out, leaving the 
vertical threads.” 
—M r. Donald 
G. Robbins, 33, 
Mulberry Street, 
Springfield, Mass. 









































CURIOSITIES. 


719 




A WOQDIitf ALPHABET. 

** The letters in this curious alphabet are all of 
wood, chiefly twisted roots of the blue gum* and 
have not been altered in any way from their 
original growth ; three girls collected them in 
their daily walks or rides for a jieriod of six 
months, and the specimens were found in various 
places ; frequently one was carried home on horse¬ 
back for many miles. All are alniut tvvo feet high. 
The 1 B' was the last found, and when the young 
ladies had almost de¬ 
spaired of eveT getting 
one it was found in a 
heap of driftwood 
caught against a tree 
in the river." —Miss 
Cave, Ver gem unt, 

Clonlreagh* Co. 

Dublin. 


the same kind. *'The picture of the steamboat was 
taken from the deck of another vessel, but the two 
are not headed in the same direction. The one in the 
picture is either approaching the vessel from which the 
photograph was taken ot leaving it. Which is she 
doing ? A passenger who had just come on deck at 
the lime the picture was taken made a bet that the 
ship was approaching—hut lost it* for, as a matter of 
fact, she was rapidly going away from it/ 1 —Mr. D. 
Allen Willey, Baltimore. 


WHICH WAY IS SHE 

GOiSGt 

In a recent issue 
we published a photo¬ 
graph of a man on 
horseliack in such a 
position that the reader 
was lefl to judge 
whether the animal 
was moving away 
when the picture was 
taken or coming toward 
the camera. Here is 
another photograph of 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


Soo 



A TOWER OF TRAM-TICKETS. 


*' My brother and I made ihk tram-ticket tower on 
a very wet morning while staying at the seaside. It 
took ns nearly three hours to complete. It fell twice 
when half completed, and again for the third time 
when finished and the camera was nearly ready. We 
began it again for the fourth time and succeeded. 
I send you a photograph of it, and it may inte¬ 
rest yoilr readers to know that we used a hun¬ 
dred and fifty-five tram-tickets in all,” — Master 
CL Holzapfelt care of Mrs. Ha we, Boys 1 High 
School, Croydon. 


HOW TO MAKE THE 
MOST OF A SMALL 
ROOM. 

“ This is a photo, of 
my room, to which a 
gieat number of Cape 
Town people have 
made a pilgrimage. 
The loom was small, 
so to gain space 1 
have suspended every¬ 
thing from the ceiling 
by cords with counter¬ 
poises. In this way I 
have the floor space 
clear; the corners of 
the room are fitted up 
as 1 cosy corners/ and 
the following can he 
pulled down from the 
ceiling as required : 
dressing-table, shaving- 
table, washstand, stove, 
ash-trays, pipe, cirds, 
and chairs. Cords 
from the bed open and 
shut the windows and 
door, operate a musical - 
box, and bring a trolley 
from the window con 
Tnimng coffee, etc. 


And, by the way, my bed is behind the curtain on 
the left of the picture, with a bath-room under¬ 
neath.”—Mr. Richard B. Sainsbury, 133, Longmarket 
Street, Cape Town, 



A WAGGISH WORKMAN. 
lf I am sending you a photograph taken at the 
W. L. Douglas Shoe Factory at Brockton, Mass., 
U S* A., by one of our men. At the first glance this 
looks like an enormous pair of trousers, but in reality 
it is a section of the blow -pipe which is used to 
carry dirt and dust away from the factory.”—Mr. 
F. E. Erskrne, Brockton, Mass. 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


- 












INDEX 


PAGE. 

ACTRESS? WOULD YOU BE AN .249 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD, THE. By A. Conan Doyle. 

I.—How Brigadier Gerard Lost His Ear . 

II.— How the Brigadier Saved the Army . 

III. — IIow the Brigadier Rode to Minsk. 

{Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I.) ' 

AFTER-DINNER SPEAKERS, SOME . 

{Written and Illustrated by Harry Furniss.) 

ALMA-TADEMA’S HALL, THE PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE. By Rudolph de Cordova 615 
{Illustrations from Pictures by Eminent Artists.) 

ARCADIAN CALENDAR, THE. By E. D. Cuming. 

{Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd.) 

ARTISTS, DUTCH HUMOROUS. By Arthur Lord . 

{Illustrated by Facsimiles and from Photographs.) 

ATHLETE IN BRONZE AND STONE, THE. By C. B. Fry ... 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

AT THE SIGN OF THE THREE SNAKES. By R. E. Vernede 
{Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

AUSTRALIAN BATSMEN, NOTABLE. By C. B. Fry . 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY, BY WAY OF. By C. B. Fry . 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

AUTOGRAPH HUNTER, THE . 

{Written and Illustrated by Harry Furniss.) 


123 

483 

603 

3<H 


42, 169, 264, 378, 555, 636 


90 


531 


243 


207 


57 


542 


BATSMEN, NOTABLE AUSTRALIAN. By C. B. Fry 
{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

BIKES, MY OLD. By Leonard Larkin . 

{Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.B.A.) 

BILL’S LAPSE. By W. W. Jacobs . 

{Illustrations by Will Owen.) 

BLUNDELL’S IMPROVEMENT. By W. W. Jacobs. 

{Illustrations by Will Owen.) 

BREAKING A SPELL. By W. W. Jacobs . 

{Illustrations by Will Owen.) 

BRIC-A-BRAC HUNTER, TIIE. By Geo. Manville Fenn ... 
{Illustrations by W. D. ALMOND, R.I.) 


... 207 

••• 449 
... 548 
... 177 

... 671 
... 144 


CALENDAR, THE ARCADIAN. By E. D. Cuming. 

{Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd.) 

CALv£ : ARTIST AND WOMAN. By Kathleen Schlrsingbr 
{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

CAMERA IN A KEDDAH, WITH A. By John Swaffham 
{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS, A. By Mrs. Newman. 

{Illustrations by W. S. Stacey.) 


42, 169, 264, 378, 555, 636 


*5 




jOOQ 

o 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


284 


31 










802 


THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 


CHARLES DICKENS, TO MEET. By Harry Furniss . 695 

{Illustrations from Sketches and a Portrait.) 

CHRISTMAS. By Leonard Larkin . 737 

{Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.B.A.) 

CHRISTMAS FOR THREE. By Winifred Graham . 702 

{Illustrations by James Durden.) 

CHRISTMAS, THE HUMOUR OF. By James Walter Smith . 771 

{Illustrations from Facsimiles.) 

COMPREHENSION OF PRIVATE COPPER, THE. By Rudyard Kipling . 363 

{Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I.) 

CRATER OF A VOLCANO, A NIGHT IN THE. By Mrs. Alec-Tweedie . 154 

{Illustrations by Norman H. Hardy and from Photographs.) 

CURIOSITIES . 116, 236, 356, 475, 594, 796 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 


DICKENS AS AN ARTIST. By Leonard W. Lillingston .233 

{Illustrations from Drawings by Charles Dickens.) 

DINING PLACES, SOME. By Leonard Larkin . 188 

{Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.B.A.) 

DUTCH HUMOROUS ARTISTS. By Arthur Lord . 90 

{Illustrated by Facsimiles and from Photographs.) 

ESTABLISHING RELATIONS. By W. W. Jacobs .257 

{Illustrations by Will Owen.) 


FASHION, MARTYRS OF. 44x 

{Illustrations from Photogarphs and Old Prints.) 

FIGHTING FIRE. By Jeremy Broome.201 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

FIGHTING THE SEA. By Nicholas Everitt . 67 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

GEMS OF THE WORLD’S GALLERIES. By Frederick Dolman .. ... 49$ 

{Illustrations from Pictures.) 

GREAT BOYCOTT AT THE HOTEL D’ANGLETERRE, THE. By Mrs. C. N. Williamson 273 
{Illustrations by Howard Somerville.) 

GREAT SIRIUS DIAMOND, THE. By Gilbert H. Page.7*> 

{Illustrations by W. D. Almond, R.I.) 

GUARDIAN OF THE PULWANI, THE. By Frank Savii.e . 5$3 

{Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

HOUSE THAT JERRY BUILT, THE. By Leonard Larkin . 24 

{Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.B.A.) 

HOUSE UNDER THE SEA, THE. By Max Pemberton . 3 

Chapters XXIV. and XXV. {Illustrations by A. Forestier.) 

HOW I COMMITTED MY MURDER. By H. Thomlinson .161 

{Illustrations by W. S. Stacey.) 

HUNDRED YEARS AGO—1802, A. By Alfred Whitman . 73 ° 

{Illustrations from Old Prints.) 

ILLUSIONS, SENSATIONAL MAGICAL . 754 

{Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.) 

INCENDIARY, THE. By Edwin Pugh .215 

(Illustrations by S. H. Vedder.) 

IPSWICH EXPRESS, THE. By G. II. Page . 82 

(Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.B.A.) 

JUPITER AND HIS SYSTEM. By Sir Robert Ball . 572 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings.) 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












INDEX. 


803 

PAGE. 

KEDDAH, WITH A CAMERA IN A. By John Swaffham %.284 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

KING’S NAVAL ENGINEERS, THE. By Alfred T. Story .419 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

KITTY AND NIBS. By G. II. Page .433 

{Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

LADY DRYSDALE’S THEFT. By Edgar Jepson .195 

{Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills.) 

LITTLE GIRL IN THE LACE FROCK, THE. By Winifred Graham . 71 

(Illustrations by Claude A. Shepperson, R.I.) 

LOST TOMMY JEPPS. By Arthur Morrison .328 

{Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.B.A.) 

LOVABLE MISS LINGFIELD, THE. By Winifred Graham .294 

{Illustrations by James Durden.) 

MARTINIQUE, THE TRAGEDY OF. By Chief Officer Ellery S. Scott, of the Roraima 339 
{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

MARTYRS OF FASHION .441 

{Illustrations from Photographs and Old Prints.) 

MISS WREN’S DEVICE. By Mrs. Newman.742 

{Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills.) 

MONEY-BOX, THE. By W. W. Jacobs. .. 50 

{Illustrations by Will Owen.) 

NAVAL ENGINEERS, THE KING’S By Alfred T. Story .419 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

NINE-FIFTEEN, THE. By Florence Warden .681 

{Illustrations by Howard Somerville.) 

PANAMA HATS, THE CRAZE FOR .300 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA’S HALL, THE. By Rudolph de Cordova 615 
{Illustrations from Pictures by Eminent Artists.) 

PICTURES AND PARODIES. By Rudolph de Cordova.136 

{Illustrations from Pictures and Caricatures.) 

PICTURES, SEASIDE.221 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

PSAMMEAD, THE ; OR, THE GIFTS. By E. Nesbit. 

IV.—Wings. 105 

V.—The Besieged Castle .226 

VI.—Bigger Than the Baker’s Boy. 348 

VII.—The Elder Brother . 467 

VIII.—Red Indians .. . . . 586 

IX.—The Last Wish .788 

{Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

" ROCKET,” THE MAN WHO DROVE THE.786 

{Illustrations from Photographs and an Old Print.) 

RUSKIN AND HIS BOOKS. By E. T. Cook.709 

{Illustrations from Portraits, Letters, and Sketches.) 

SEA, FIGHTING THE. By Nicholas Everitt . 67 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

SEASIDE PICTURES 221 

{Illustrations from Photographs.) 

SIBERIA AND ITS POLITICAL EXILES, DARKEST. By Harry db Windt . 658 

{Illustrations from Photographs by the Author.) 

Digitized by Google 

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




























8 o 4 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 

PACK. 

SNOW MAN, THE. By Alfrep B. Cooper . 631 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

SORCERESS OF THE STRAND, THE. By L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace. 

I. —Madame Sara. ... 387 

II.— The Blood-Red Cross . 505 

III.— The Face of the Abbot. . 644 

(Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.B.A.) 

SPEAKER’S CHAIR, FROM BEHIND THE. By Henry W. Lucy ... 7 7 , 184, 462, 519, 67 7 

( Illustrations by F. C. Gould.) 

SPEAKERS, SOME AFTER-DINNER .304 

(Written and Illustrated by Harry Furniss.) 

SPIRIT OF AVARICE, A. By W. W. Jacobs. 455 

(Illustrations by Will Owen.) 

SPORT, THE HUMOUR OF. By James Walter Smith. 

I.— Automobilism . .. 319 

II. — Golf . 402 

(Illustrations from Facsimiles.) 

STALLS. By Leonard Larkin . 579 

(Illustrations by Tom BROWNE, R. B.A.) 

THIEF IN THE NIGHT, A. By Florence Warden . 408 

(Illustrations by Alfred Pearse.) 

TRAGEDY OF MARTINIQUE, THE. By Chief Officer Ellery S. Scott, of the Roraima 339 
(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

TRIALS OF THE TEA LADIES, THE. By G. H. Page. 524 

(Illustrations by W. E. Webster.) 


VASCO PELOTA. By Arthur Inkersley . 113 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

VOLCANO, A NIGHT IN THE CRATER OF A. By Mrs. Alec-Tweedie. 154 

(Illustrations by Norman H. Hardy and from Photographs.) 


WHAT CAME TO THE MAN WHO WAITED. By Gf.o. Manvillb Fenn 
(Illustrations by Rex Osbornb.) 

WONDERS FROM THE WEST, SOME. 

XLIII.—A Wonderful Marksman . . 

XLIV.—A House Built in Four and a Half Hours. 

XLV.— A Runaway Car. By Clifford L. Higgins. 

XLVI.—A Wooden Menagerie . 

X EVIL— Goats as Land Clearers . 

XLVIII.—A Whistling Choir . 

XLIX. —A Rope Slide from a Balloon . 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

WORLD’S GALLERIES, GEMS OF THE. By Frederick Dolman 
(Illustrations from Pictures.) 

WOULD-BE ASSASSIN, THE. By Edwin Pugh . 

(Illustrations by W. D. Almond, R.I.) 

WOULD YOU BE AN ACTRESS?. 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


763 


98 

102 

429 

777 

780 

78 * 

784 


496 


3i* 


249 


GEORGS NEWNKS, LIMITED, 7, 8, 9. IO, II, AND 12, SOUTHAMPTON STREET. AND EXETER STREET, STRAND, LONDON, W.C. 


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'K^Coooa 


vtm 


After a Day's Shopping* 


There Is nothing nvore refreshing ami revivifying than a cup of Van 
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find how very refreshing and delicious it is. It is specially cheering in 
cold weather. 

Order a Tin at your Grocers to-day * 


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hi ( 




Southall’s 


f COMFORT— M 

tJlf M L M real lasting 

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They resist fatigue. 

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Ruslan ntylv, lined throughout, uud 
ttyliihl}' tnmined rows uf cording and 
Ijundl of itltcbed illk Full tLom.it* 
Skirt. triaimed at Ik and cording Ex¬ 
traordinary * nine for 14 .& Oi-rtigu, 
fid. extra. When ordering Ck»turoe* 
plf»>% give bagt meuaranwit under 
arms, biw of waist; and length of 
skirt In front 

-PI D«|lgKt No. 1UT 136. 

| This iSklrt in- made in Ai.i.rx b'osrri 
I * L’o.'jworJd-Tuii.qwiwd Speciality 

■ *_ « -- — - Cloth. 


Design 

HO. 

1516. 


Serge or Venetian - - 

Colour* ; Drey, I Slack. Xavy, Hrown. 
Royal. Light Urey, vricford. Ur«u, 
Fawn, etc. The Skirt is lined 
throughout and imule in the new 
Hull bhji]n\ trim¬ 
med rlci l nu till 
L »Lnt|>piitgi, three 

L MraigliL frill*, and 

K ailk button*. A 

■L grisi t bargidn for 

X 13 fi ; sent 

I I Nj. (*TT JfctM, 

*• TMffc Sd. exlm. A 


ALLEN FOSTER & GO 


The London Manufacturers. 


Madam u BONDS fRegi&trwtf 


e*Ji h* really relied upon to 

IntlsnLly and efTactUftllg 
remove nil luperTluout 
hair without an y paln nr 
Injury t*i the skin A *qcc*M 
of many yean'jUndiQf. Prepa 

mi and «. vawui i u. i i i i i i F a «&■ £■» Th, 


f ration and every rtHiuiwfe. with T>r 

Griffith* 1 analytical c«rtinc*ta of 
^ itevnLueuidt-»1 cIei, 
3 , 6 * IKMl free .plain wrapper 
WaiumiS rWu.g7.Bnll St . P—-“ ' 


Birmingham. After using. 


CHIVERS’ 
DISINFECTANT 
CLOTH SOAP 


KEH 

TABLET. 


REMOVES GREASE. DtR T, iNK, AND 
ALL iMPURfTiES. 

Ik** jour *ult shin* In pieces ? The 1,1 shine ^ will all b* 
nurtured by CHE VERB' CEhOTH lOAP, which make* an old 
suit look new again without injury to the fabric 

Sold by Ch&mitts, Grocers, end others. 

Send Heren Penny ftbunp* for Sample Tablet, post free, from 

CHIVERE* 9 DAP FACTO«V, BATH, ENGLAND. 

Butino Audits W*inro in Fraorg and fRi OoLOifin. 

CHIVERS - CARPET SOAP. fAME PRICE. 

Pltdlr irinitiffn ifogrtijrif 


SHIRTS OF SNOWY WHITENESS 

Set off a Man and mahe him Prominent* 
IMPROVED WHITE SHIRTS with RovOralbl* 
CufTa Beautifully Laundrled end Ready for 
IMMEDIATE Wear. identifi«3iy cat **£ carefully 

finished, with nil tlifi latest improvement*. in nn* «i«1w 
linen*. Each ahirt In fitted with revemibleeulTk. which enable* 
them lo k worn twice, and the wwircr thu* ol'kltu practi* 
cally two nlilrl* for the price of mie, In ordering |d«w# *tat* 
•i£c of collar. Made in twoqikalitlM : — 

The " KANELAOH ” to open from or behind, m preferred. 
Sample Shirt. 3 11: i d»L. II 6; |-dnA< 6 Post Free, 
The ■■■ A DELPHI* made with a wide, heavy Ptm* front, mm 
itml-hole, fitted with [intent side tab* end flexible waltttmiui 
to prevent uiialghtly bulging Homple Shirt, 4 11 ; t-dot. 
llfl: Hoe. 3ft 6. IFree. 

Reversible Print Shirt*, for taulneea wear, Short 
front, one NtLid-hole. Oun in front only. Sample Shirt, ft 6; 
Mot, 10 3 ; t-do* , 20 I\*t Free, Pa Hem* on appljtwtion. 

COLLARS, all thu latent ahapea, four-fold linen, puHjjUea 
at mamifccturert - price*, l dot., 2 ft ; 4 11 dui. Po*t Fiwa 
A’terjr fifnit^mnn uii <m f for o«r Jfo, X Ftoc&lgL 

HOWITHON ft RARBMAN, fthlrt Maker*, 
RANF.I; — ---- 


THE -PERFECT" PIPE SCRAPER, ;^d fl 

with grcK>ved tdiuk* navi ng rljATp Mge* I uilu rt hladcN 
in pipe ami turn *cratHjr round, wb^n aak i* <m scl 
Don't Buy Worthies* 


it Wort I lies* 
ImitaUana 


Will not 
bunt 
bowLand 
cluati* 
it to 
bottom. 


^ Adi nit* iu.lf 

to any *i» pip*. 

I laving aiHiilt Hvenlp*nknivH in pljwrl railing, 1 
it 1 Perfect' Pirte Scraiier if I couln not get anothi 
Lale.i. - tin F, Hlpklnm A Ben, 5Q A 53, Ala tun 


ahv£1 for 
Iwn t t'!ar- 


A<Ui PLAf:E. LIVERPOOL. 




























AD VER TISEMENTS. 


r 


EIGEL'S 

$YRUP 


A Goo<1 Liver, 

| thorough digestion and efficient 
kidneys render Gout and Rheu¬ 
matism impossible, Sergei's Syrup 
tones and regulates these organs, 
securing healthy normal action— 
that is how and why it both pre¬ 
vents and cures these painful 
I crippling disorders. Rheumatism 
is caused by the deposit of uric 
acid in the blood, Uric acid is 
produced by Indigestion affecting 
the liver. The kidneys, unable to 
I expel the excess of uric acid, 

| permit it to accumulate and form 
urates. Urates are the burning, 
itching lumps indicating Gout. 
Cold, damp weather never causes 
Gout and Rheumatism, but when 
the poison is already in the tissues j 
it frequently develops and brings 
them out by hindering the action 
of the skin, liver and kidneys, 
SeagcTs Syrup, made of fruits, | 
roots and herbs, expels this poison 
from the system, and prevents its. I 
excessive formation by inducing [ 
healthy activity of the liver, 
kidneys and digestive organs. 


FOR 


GOUT 


Read this testimony ^-Mrs. Mary Woolven,^ 
Barristown, Stachallen, Co, Meath, says.:For 
several winters I suffered terribly from Rheu¬ 
matism and Indigestion, Three bottles of 
SeigeL’s Syrup drove every pain out of ray body, 
ana 1 have never been troubled with either 
^ complaint ainee." 


AND 

Rheumatism 


Digitized by Google 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







AD VER TJSEMENTS. 


viii 



CHRISTMAS PRESENT FOR THE YOUNGSTERS . 


LIFE SIZE DOLL 
FREE! 


“Baby's Clothes wilt now fit Doliie. ’ ’ 

Girls can get ibis beautiful Life-sire Dull absolutely free for selling only ten 
packages of 


di a package. Something new for cleaning and 
without the use of powder, paste, or liquid, 
we will send you the Fabric post paid. 'When 
this Life-size Dull, 


Doll 

when 

made 

up. 


tli c Klee trie Polishing Fabric, at 8d* 
polishing Jewellery t Silverware* 

Sells at sight. Wnie to-day and we will send you 
sold send us the money (gs.) and we will scad you twist free 

which is 2 ^ft. high, and can wear baby’s clothes. When stuffed, this doll ts an 
exact reproduction, in fast colours, of a hatid-pauited French creation, done on 
extra-heavy cloth that will not tear. The workmanship is perfect, the colour 
effects the very' finest* The doll is intended to be stuffed. It is this century's 
model of the old-fashioned Rag Doll that Grandma used to make, and would make 
Grandma open her eyes in wonder, Dollic is printed with Golden Hair, Kosy 
Cheeks, Brown Eyes, Kid-Coloured Body, Red Stockings, Black Shoes, and will 
stand alone. If Mamma can donate One of baby a out-grown dresses ihat her little 
daughter can put on and off, button and unbutton to her heart's desire, the Life-size 
Doll will live in that child's memory long after childhood s days have passed. 

If you do not oars to soli our good* wa will rnid the Dot] post frwe. upon 
receipt of 3 *. These dolls arc cold all the voar round. A ilntfln ouk«t or 
SHY NALL cent poet paid on receipt of U. 


Address - 


SHY-NALL CHEMICAL CO. H,T), 75, Queen Victoria St., LONDON, E.C. 


HINfiB’S 

Ci re urn 1 lances alter cases, 
Hlnde s Waver* Alter facet 


r*at h*ir 
savers* . 


WAYBRS 


NO MORE CORNS OR TENDER FEET. 



SEE TESTIMONIALS BELOW 1 

arona Plait 

Sole*. which 
will hint much 
Ion; tr tli An 
Inither. with 
ordinary w™i 

Mr. Williv, 
1 Vul rul Hlatlnn, 
dim—feel n«ver Mem Uj 

iff! tired 111 them. 4 * Mr. P-. (LI, Park tftn»t, Southport, writ an 

’ Last |«lr wore for hIx jrearft foT OjitIb. I Imiwi. and Garden Wear 
Knrloee Leliwth ^ Hiking Bln re, Price* fjxrtt ffw 

White, IlmwiL. or Rlkck— Children I. Ladle*'. uent*. 

A_ Plain Shoe* (without ■tramiln#| _ 

l>. Bo peri or Canvas iw* i^er illustration! 

TL Velvet Vppen (Bkn ki. 

Felt Sllpprr*, Dent quit lily (black,I . 

Ostlirri* J^euther-Boled flfcnie* taiiTrerissr 1 . . 

Warm Lined [(Lark ford Hoot* i Ijadh-n" onlyi 
■Ditto Pell Upper* ( ditto ) 

HfT three at one time i f allow Bi per pair 
/“Ml fret t'nitad abrcNiJ frini. 

PATENT LANYAS SHOE G0. f 05s, BATH STREET, GLASGOW. 

/U unrated Catalogue p id. 


Mum Whiter, wiV> : Have worn them for hi it 

— - ” - - " - t atn 


it 

18 

2 0 

— 

at 

39 

_ 

3 0 

3 3 

io 

13 

e 

a e 

to 

4 0 

_ 

e o 

_ 

— 

3 0 

— 


Goddards 
Plate Powder 


NON - MERCURIAL, UniTer*.!]* admitted te he the G159T 
JAF1-ST Alain./ for CLEANING HILVER, ELlnTRG 

PLATE- Ac- Bold eTerrwheir Sn l*,. la. Nd*. and A*. Od. 

NIX COLD HRDflLS. 

GODDARD'S POU 1 BINO CLOTHS* I la a bsi. !/■. 







fj YfiJtttfW 


MW#M W 


ier 

Nayy Cut 

A FIRST-CLASS PIPE TOBACCO. 

SWEET AND COOL Said ia 3 3trfn|thfc 
mjLD * - - MEDIUM - - * FULL. 

I or. & 2 oz. foil Pkls* 2 oz*. J lb. & { 1b. Tins. 

TADDV'S celebrated tobaccos 

MYRTLE GROVE.*- far Pip* <w Cifarelta 

RAMPART MIXTURE Mild and Cwh 

IMPERIAL TOBACCO Rip* and Fult-Fm. Cat 

ORBIT BRAND ___ Swultned and Miltmr. 

GRAPNEL MIXTURE F.n* Vlfglnla and UtaM* 

1 02. £ 2 02^oil_Pkls. 2 02. a i lb. Tins. 
C4iV BE OBTAINED OF ALL TOBACCONISTS 


ta D.D.rrfa; 


InjoIIbT 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 































AD VER T1SEMENTS. 


EDWARDS’ 

“ HARLENE ’ 

THK HAIR 



THE GREAT HAIR PRODUCER AND RESTORER. 

The Finest Dressing. Specially Prepared and Delicately Perfumed. 

A Luxury and a Necessity to every Modern Toilet. 

“HARLENE” produces Luxuriant Hair, Prevents It Falling Off and Turning 
Grey. Unequalled for Promoting the Growth of the Beard and Moustache. The 
World-Renowned Remedy for Baldness. For Preserving, Strengthening, and 
Rendering the Hair Beautifully Soft; for Removing Scurf, Dandruff, &c.; also for 
Restoring Grey Hair to its Original Colour. 


THE CHARMING 
ACTRESS-MANAGER, 

writes : 

“ Previous to my 
using • HARLENE ’ 
my hair had become 
brittle and was tail¬ 
ing off. I have used 
your preparation 
daily for Eighteen 
Months, and my hair 
is quite restored. 
/ cannot recom¬ 
mend * Harlene ’ too 
highly." 


A FREE SAMPLE BOTTLE 

tmil be sent id any person filling p *p (hit Farm and 
enclosing jd. far carriage ; if presented personally 
at our offices^ no charge will i>e trta.de. 

Ataw«........ 

Address ..... .. ... 

1 /-, 2/6, and {3 times 2/6 size) 4/6 per Bottle, from 
Chemists and Stores all over the World, or sent 
direct on receipt of Postal Order* 

EDWARDS’ “HARLENE” CO., 

95 & 96. HICK H0LB6RN, LOUDON, W.C. 




















X 


AD VER TISEMENTS. 




TWi Wi-n-H'fomnl VelTpt**n Is equal lh n.t*pMnm?« tn the best 
CUnrta Velvet, End it* duTEbUity i* the wander at ell wtw> have lied 
It in ¥W. H 1* !fl nnufaccured In E nflland, him can Oti|j 
taahtalned direct from LiWIB'fl, whe will forward t law 
ho* of PiiLiRrms, ErictucUnjr BIecL and ell the New 
Poat Free. Fa*t Pile. f *irr pvwn. Event Iwun UrAEAtfTtitip. 

SEASONABLE DRESS MATERIALS. 

Wonderful Value. White for P*TT*sifB. 

Plw* ituuUoti 3 tpuw& and address— 

IN 

, MARKET ST., 


ww uijuini i 

H Pi™* maul 

LEWIS'S. 


MANCHESTER 



SEEGER’S 


It dyes th« hair a 
beautiful Blond*. 
Brown, or Bluet, b,t 
merely combing It 
throtifho 


Annual Sals 362,000 Bottles. 


Ot Ell Hairdresser*, 
2 /-, or plain leutaJ 
res* post fr«. 
HtNUL*., Ltd.. FLtiA- 
bury* London, K.C, 


HAIR EVE 



it 


"Browns 

Oriental 

TOOTH PASTE/ 

fr V SOU/ UNIVERSALLY. 1/6S.2/6 A& 

-I-SV Eighty years in use s 2 r\~. 


CABINET Q/ 
PORTRAITS Of 

! 6 C-D,V. t i/6; 34 Stamps, l/d, iw for ; Sin. Enlarge- j 
l merit, if -; Id by 8 Permanent Enlargement, 5/+, Send ; 
1 Photo, and Postal Order to 

j FRANCIS Jfc CO., LUDQATE HILL, LONDON. 

_- 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



































































AD VER TISEMENTS, 


Ji 



The London Medical Rrroni \ 

siys; 

4 It is retained when ail 
other foods are rejected^ 
The British MedicalJournal 
says: 

“Benger's Food has 
by its excellence estab¬ 
lished a reputation of 
its own / 1 

Beftotr's food It sold J* tins , 
by Che mBtt 4 c.. e» cry where ( 


BENGER'S FOOD 
is not only highly 
nutritive, but is most 
easily digested, and is 
so delicious that it is 
enjoyed by Infants, 
Invalids, Convales¬ 
cents* and the Aged. 


j 



Follow the majority and you’ll use 
Hauthaway’s Peerless Gloss, be¬ 
cause the majority now use 


HAUTHAWAYS 

PEERLESS CLOSS 

onladies 1 and children’s boots and shoes. 
Been using it for over forty years. Iris 
the shoe polish with a history—a his¬ 
tory rich in shoe polishing prestige. 
If it didn’t shine most brilliantly, if it 
wasn’t kind to the leather,it wouldn’t 
be to-day the PEER OF ’EM ALL. 

Hoot and jho*factors j*H Haufha- 
Way's Tffpftj.1 C/ujj. He sarm yon 
g*t the genuine* Mad # only by C. L. 
H<*ti tha Way Ion, V.J’.A. 



raifn oar 


But it ii not ofVm tbit tbe j 
of £l (town wi stcure you neb 
excellent Tilue u * « , 

HARDMAN’S 


£1 BEDDING BALE 


It la th« highest Tilui for money ivu otTtnd to the 
thriity hougawlin. It contains: 

l Fair Whit* Cloth Blankets, Hi infills lon«, Oft inches wide, 7 lb*. 
wciirhL., good, nott and Heecr ; l Simile 1 'loth Under-BlauItet. 73 inches 
iii-ciien; l Handsome Fringed Q.U ilt, fist colours, 3 yds. Iona, 24 
jus. wide, in Pink Mid White, Sky end white-nr Ltimnon and White, 
pretty Floral Patterns; l Pair Heavy Pure Twili flh«t# h 'J!| yda by 
r._ . ■ Corar, *£ ins, long., 12 In*. 


£1 


PTrttf x iUia-P 4. HbWIIU , P * PUi uw 

Ifvdn.; 1 Pretty Swiss lir«M Table 
wide. jih utistlc Open-Work Cover 
The whole Parcel, and with A FREE GIFT FOR 
of [ Lutift Whit* Pillowslip and 2 Short Frilled 
ones for XI. CiUTiiUfC, 1«L to am jjarL uf British 
Isleo, (is. to any imri of Europe, 10* to any Colour 
in tbe Empire, 

HERE 18 ANOTHER SPLENDID BARGAIN 

The IO/- HOUSEHOLD PARCEL 

Contains;—| Pair White or Ecru Lac® CurUta uL 8 yds. km*. 50 ins. 
wid-n, handsome tmttem, Wotoq J-Mgi*; 1 ™rWhits or Ecru Laos 
Curbum* for Bedroom, -J yds, long. +fj Ida wide. Woven Edges: l 
White JiLimntfk Tablecloth, Hemmed* pretty Floral Derifn, ium 
quality, iu* square ; 1 Coloured l>ansa*fc Table Dover, pretty Fiefs! 
0dm hi nation 9 of Crimson end Cold or Crimson end Blur, 63 in*, by 
63 ins,; 3 Large White Honeycomb Towels ; 3 Largs Check UInasclothg, 
THE COMPLETE PARCEL FOR 10 - Carriage, M. ciLra 

A Realty Marvellous Ten-Shillings*-Worth! 
NOTE.—The uu.illty, make and perfect finish of every article ia 
absolutely guaranteed, and by purchasing direct from ns you are saved 
all middle profit*, 

Mouth African. Colonial, and Foreign orders receive 
■ pedal attention. 

CD EE Every lady should read Hardmans Guide to Economical 
rilEEe Outfitting. 

W. HARDMAN A SON, Dept, it. 


S oulh&H s 


Antiseptic, and of 
Downy Sof&nen 


owels 



MARTIN-SILENT 

CYCLE TOOL BAC. 

At.w4 ts Niar ixd Tmt. 

Mfwa iaiY Halt .Million Holp. 


MARTIN-SILENT CYCLE SADDLES OPINIONS. 

W. E. Simp-rin. Esq ; , *Hte* 1 ; "*T ha?o completed Jfl.ew mil re 

onjo nr (T7 1) middle and cannot s^k loo highly In its prai» " 
m™, Houaiun my* she has ridden over 6,000 mile* on oar ft?1 
saddle and has nerer known what It Is te be Kiddle tore, 

guim-mancim. im emmu st. Biiaiicnii* 


W°lsey 


(BRITISH 

UNSHRINK¬ 

ABLE 

GUARANTEED 



MADE,} 

UNDER¬ 

WEAR. 

ALL WOOL 


WGLSEY Garments never shrink, ami as a proof 
of KOod faith, the Manufacturers will replace, 
free of oharg-e, any garment shrunk In washing. 

For Men* Women, and {Jkll deeds' wear, lu al l sites. 
Qualities. and Price*. 

Of all Drapers, Hosier*, and Oat fit ten t 


UN1Y 


HI 

YOFMICHIGA 








































X1J 


AD VERTISEMENTS 


PHONOGRAPHS! GRAPHOPHONES! 
GRAMOPHONES! TALKING MACHINES! 


w c . 



Best house in the trade for Machines, Sundries, 
and Records of all Makes. Prompt delivery. 

No Cheap Rubbish, but Every Machine Guaranteed Perfect. 



EASY TERMS ARRAN GED. 

are the largest dealers in this line and have machines at all 
prices from ioQ Char record stock exceed* 100,000 Cylinder 
and Disc Records of *11 makes, so we can promptly execute orders 
to customer's own selections. Write for Our Catalogue and you will be 
surprised at our prices. 

Repairs. Machines on Hire. Machines Exci angeth 
RECORDS EXCHANGED. 

SPECIAL OFFERS FOR CASH. PACKED FREE ON RAIL, 

No. i f * Dulcet to* Phono, a perfect reproducing machine, 
complete with six assorted records, latest band selections, 
comic song*, and recitations .. .. .. ♦ . *. f8/<f 

No. 3 * £ Dulcet to complete in handsome cabinet fitted with 
recorder, with which own records can be made. Six 
assorted records and six hUnkv Wonderful value . „ „ 45/9 

•* Duleetio " Special Phono, a highest grade instrument fitted in 
splendid cabinet complete with special recording apparatus, 

S ood horn, etc., ta assorted records and 6 blanks. A 
rst-class outfit .. *. .. ** .. -* 80/- 


Write at once 


for Catalogue 
or call. 


THE PHONO EXCHANGE, **' ^Tet* lJSdoJ: w xford 

Hours <? te S. Wholemh and Retail. 



TRUE HAIR GROWER 

When I wa» bald Team* lntopo^e**iou 

of the iwcirt. of a genuine hair (power Mi 
hair grew to its pfewnt length III about *a 
days, Hundred* uf other similar caws, 
I Netllng the marrelkraj pietwratinn To 
Introduce it l will T**l you t trial box In 
scale, 1 |>laSn parcel fnr ornlv 5 stamp*. Tri 
it, u I did. and convince youraelf. 
Address t 

JOHN C RAVEN-BURLEIGH, 
C,D. no+Bt. Martin'a Lana, Condon, 

„ USEFUL 

No lady lhfml.1 be without the new Sciiwora 
6in_ Jong, wilh Mprinr tape mamni ixnaliiiwt 
All lb* rage I 




POST FREE, 

(Jold -plated band lea. A f=M endi d Ftw< 

Well Wurth H- —— 

Cuts like a rasor. Warranted to lut for years. 






___11 Marked, Pearl Beales, 

This SIh- Our pri« 4/- Not* 1 - 

bANGSKTT ROAD. 

t mr .-nj fi j.f .Jirirf ifrti _ 

UGLY NOSES. 

TjMS K*t Invitee all who bare Fgljr or Red Now* 
to araly him for relief. llin No« Marhins*. 
by Hi* Majesty's Royal Letter* Pa**nt> lisre 

imjiroved thoumrnb o< Ugly N«»- 
defect, a Rfid None, can lie eared, and the wn« 
of the Fundamental Tre-arment i" S’ 0 - T* 11 ' 

cure ia medically approved, Pundlnent aar* 
HEn* 1 LEES RAY (DBA Bpecwilat, 
_ --— --«te Uxwpool, 


i oohgpi- .... --L- 

iisiurc can get from John Walsh, Ltd., value for mmey 
in High Class Cos fames which no other J!rm has jet 
hem able to supply* 

GENUINE 


TAILOR MADE COSTUMES 


I sent carriage paid, at shortest noike, after receipt of 


measurement and remittance. Perfect fit guaranteed. 


lized uv 


.GO 




M q,— This Genuine 
Tailor * made Cost is®* 
supplied in good, un¬ 
shrinkable .striped cloths, 
as foTlowa: Black and 
While t Navy and Whitt. 
Grey and Black, also in a 
variety of mixed Tweedi- 
Coal, with 61 ting trekj 
as sketch, or with semi 
or sac back, nicely 
Stitched collar and cuffs, 
lined tailor's imped polo¬ 
naise. Patterns and in¬ 
structions for self'mea¬ 
surement sent Post Free. 
The Gcsrumt is beauti- 
fully fin ished r and is equal 
to any at a Guineas. 

Pnce for complete 
Costume, 

29 / 6 . 

Sent carefully packed 
and carria ge paid. 

Illustrated GMa/«fW 
Post Free, 




JOHN WALSH, Ltd., Sheffield. 


urigmarrro rn 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















































AO VEHT1SEMENTS, 


jciii 


Weak Lungs. 
Consumption 

Those who have weak lungs or any tendency to Con¬ 
sumption will fit>d in Angier's Emulsion the very best 
remedy for fighting the disease. The most convincing 
proof of its value is the fact that it is prescribed by the 
leading lung specialists and is used in the large Con¬ 
sumption Hospitals and Sanatorium^ 

Anglers 
Emulsion 

(PETROLEUM! WITH HYFOPHOSFHITESJ 

has this great advantage, that it not only soothes 
and heals the mucous membrane of the lungs and 
air passages, and relieves the troublesome cough, but 
at the same time it promotes appetite, keeps the 
digestive organs in a natural healthy condition, and 
greatly improves digestion, assimilation and nutrition, 
thus building up the health and strength as nothing 
else will Pleasant to take, it agrees with the most 
delicate stomach, and can be taken undiluted or in any 
agreeable beverage. 



On receipt of 3d, postage, 


SAMPLE 

Mention The Strand Magazine. 


CAUTION*—Do not risk disappointment or worse by try¬ 
ing cheap imitations made with ordinary petroleum* but 
insist upon having the original. 

Of all Chemists and Drag Stores, 1/1$, a/9 and 4/6* 


Angiers Throat Tablets 

These threat tablets are composed of our specially purified petroleum, combined with pure elm 
bark and other valuable ingredients. They are pleasant to take, and do not contain an atom of 
any narcotic or other injurious drug. While not having the same constitutional action as the 
Emulsion, their marked local soothing effect upon the mucous membrane of the throat and 
adjacent structures is just what is needed for acute coughs, irritation of the throat, hoarseness, 
huskiness, dryness, and those peculiar throat affections common to public speakers, and all who 
are obliged to use their voice to excess. A point greatly in their favour is that, uniike other 
throat tablets, they benefit the digestive organs and promote normal bowel action. Samples post 
free on request. Angier's Throat Tablets are put up in boxes of seventy- two at j/i H, of chemists 
and drug stores, or post free from 

THO ANGLER CHEMICAL* CO, Ltd., 3ft SNOW HILL, LONDON, EX. 








XIV 


AD VERT1SEMENTS. 


The GRAMOPHONE. 

THE WONDER OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY* 

Tlu? most dirtiurt «nmj.-pf™iucin|r machine yet in- 
Tflltad. Gtneahrclrtrkwnrk- Ri.H?rjrd discs practically 

indt'slrm tiMf. Gradual Payments- 



Length of Trumpet, 2ft. 


A Ci stoniK tori ted; 
'"Your Gramo- 
[iiliunc eitwcin all 
*u t vktvrtatfaafc 
W# find ii magni¬ 
ficent in the open 
air." 


Thousands of Records to choose from. Records sent 
on Approval If postage paid. 

PRICE from £3 3s. Records 2,6 each. 

The CONCERT GRAMOPHONE, playing six 
records with one winding. WONDERFULLY 
CLEAR and NATURAL in Tone, loin, discs* 
Price £12 10s., with Brass Trumpet. 

The “Imhof” — SELF-ACTING PIANO 

PLAYER, ^former merely controls expression. 

FITS ANY PIANO* Price £55 net* 
ImhoPs Patent ORCHESTRIONS. Patent 
ELECTRIC PIANOS. 

TEN GOLD MEDALS. 

Bv APPOINTMENT TO THE TATE QUEEN VICTORIA. 

Srmt/ar /tluitKaUtl List (Fret), 

1MH0F & MUKLM, 110, New Oxford SL, London,W, 



DENT’S 

Toothache Gum 

STOPS TOOTHACHE 
INSTANTLY. 

HOW TO USE IT. 

—w*.^_ ^ lcn.ii ckTitj of tooth mill umt firm It 

into it m piece of gum. if aa canty, 
AStVELLAFFAtP apply to tin? gum am * piaster. 

DENT'S CORN GUM CURES CORNS . 

QUICK RELIEF-PAINLESS* 

All ttwmiiU, Tfrd- each, or by post on receipt of pric*. 

CL S* DENT & CO M 

{Dept. 12). 3, Farringdon Avenue, London* E.G. 





For the Hair. 


the only reliable hair restorer 

Enjoying an Yearn* Popular Success, 
PROMOTES LUXURIANT GROWTH OF HAIR. 
NOT CREASY. NOT INFLA■ MABLB, 

If m>t obtainable locally. sand 10 for Sample Bottle Ptwt FrtS. 
Sok jipeafir 0* Fornaro & Co*. fill, Mark Lane, London, E.G. 



Ribbons 

AND 

Carbons 

for Typewriters, 


Ribbons, all colours for all machines, _ _ 

from your Stationer, or poji free from III C. STEFHE 


3/- cadh. Carbons, 8 by_io qt 8 by 13 


litized by GoOqI< 


, all kinds, Black, Purple, Or Blue, x/ti per dares, 
Aldersgate Street, London, E.C, 

Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













AD VERTJSEMENTS. 


*v 


GARDENER 


AND 




HAS TAKE* VI-COCOA FIVE YEARS AMD HOW FEELS 
A DIFFERENT MAM. 

Mr. J. HARMON* Gardener, 58, Simsons Road, Bromley, Kent, writes :~ 

lt I am writing to inform you that six year* ago I vis in the hospital ten months 
When I ]eft the doctor told me not to urinh tea, so I had to take cocoa or coffee. 
1 tried several packets of different kinds of cocoa* but they did not suit me. 1 had 
Dr* Tibbies' Vt-Cocoa and that suited me, and I have taken it now five years* t 
never drink any tea—nothing else only Vi-Cocoa, 

" 1 had indigestion for a year whenever 1 ate anything* hut I would take a Cup 
of Vi*Cocoa and I soon got better, 

/l I can safely say* and so can my wife* that 1 am a different man ever since 

I have taken it. 

T ' I recommend it to everybody. I tell them there is nothing to heat it. 

“ This is the truth from experience*” 


* Undoubted Purity and Strength."—Medical Mapaxiiw. 
4 *fn the front rank of really valuable foode,"—Lancet* 

Hospitals 
Of Great 
Britain. 


Favoured 
by the 
Homes A. 


$$fCccoa 


> 


Dainty Sample Tin Free to any address* 

■ Mr,-,,; DR. TIBBIES' VI-COCOA, LcL.fiO, Bun hi 11 Bow, London, 1 


DAINTY SAMPLE FREE. 



No more generally acceptable Christmas Gift can be found than some little piece of Jewellery 

— a Brooch or Pin— a Watch or Chain — a Bracelet or Locket—Ring 1 or Charm— or something 
more generally useful in the house — Electro-PIate or Cutlery. 

OUR CATALOGUE (Illustrated), 

which we send free of all cost to anyone sending their name and address* will be found 
a perfect gold mine to all who are wanting to make presents this Christmas. It contains* 
besides Jewellery* Electro-Plate, and Cutlery* hundreds of charming things* Opera Glasses, 
Cameras, Phonographs* Musical Instruments* Organelles, Furniture, &c.* St c,, practically 
everything that the present-seeker is likely to want* and all at Figures Considerably Below 
Usual Prices. Send at once for this valuable Book of Reference, 

if you can't pay att at once for the article chosen, we shall he lust as pleased 
to supply you on terms whereby you can pay a little at a time r monthly, 

J. M. DRAPER {?•?-), Northern Emporium, Higher Audley St., 8LACKBURN. 



UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






























-1 . I 


^ U ^HAFwS 
j°*UlJW US jCl*B P 

J flN ^CUT5.,0i||' 
0 | "Jists. icftif ^ 
► Sk,n Aiiiif fS ; 


Awarded 


Gold and Silver 
Medals 
and Diplomas 


A D VERT1SEMENTS. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














































AD VERTISEMEiVTS. 


xvu 


KUTNOW’S POWDER 

The greatest boon to humanity in the alleviation of sickness and the prevention of disease 
is Kutnow’s Powder. To every man, woman, or child, the occasional morning use of 
Kutnow’s Powder acts as a certain safeguard against Sick Headache, Constipation, 
Biliousness, and Kidney Troubles. That is a statement which can be verified without 
expense by filling in the Application Form below and posting the same as directed 


FOR 

SICK HEADACHE 
AND 

MENTAL 

DEPRESSION. 


FREE 

SAMPLES 

SENT POST-PAID. 


Kutnow’s Powder 
accompanied 
the 

Red Cross 
throughout 
South Africa. 


CLEANSES 

THE 

SYSTEM. 

ERADICATES 

CONSTIPATION. 


A FELLOW AND LECTURER OF 
ST. JOHN S COLLEGE, 
CAMBRIDGE, 

writes 

“St. Martin’s, 

“Cambridge. 

“ Dear Sirs,—I am thoroughly 
satisfied with your Kutnow’s 
Powder. It is pleasant to take, 
and mild and efficacious in 
action. Yours faithfully, 

* 1 (Rev.) C. F. Graves, M. A. 
** {Fellow and Lecturer of 

St. John’s Coll., Camb.) 



FOR 

INDIGESTION, 
BILIOUSNESS, 
AND LIVER 
TROUBLES. 


Kutnow’s Powder 
stands 
triumphantly 
alone. The 
scientific produce 
of the Spas. 


ftriawi* itnwwa 


A Thorough 
Test Offered 
Free of 
Charge. 


PURIFIES THE 
BLOOD, RE¬ 
MOVES PIMPLES, 
AND ENSURES 
A HEALTHY 
COMPLEXION. 


APPLICATION FORM 

FOH. 

A FREE TRIAL 

OF KUTNOW’S POWDER. 

~“T tip tlifa I" Ami htnl send the samp to 
KUTNOW 4 00., Ltd.. *1, Knrrinqrfrm 


t T’ a UlU.j 

Kojid 1 London, E.d 


Naim . 

AnPKZM,.. 


Strand. HugiLElrLt, H*c. t 'OS. 


SIR MORELL MACKENZIE, M.D, 

wrote :— 

“ I have tried Kutnow’s 
Powder, and find that it answers 
particularly well.” As a pain¬ 
less and agreeable antiseptic 
aperient it thoroughly cleanses 
the bowels, kidneys and 
bladder, promptly slopping all 
fermentation and germ action— 
cool, refreshing, palatable, safe, 
thorough, and never gripes. 


Proprietors: S. KUTNOW Ac CO., Ltd., 41, Farringdon Road, London, E.C. 

Proprietors In U.S.A.: KUTNOW BROS., Ltd., SB3, Broadway. New York. 


C 


TToo^Tc 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














































XVI11 


AD VER TISEME NTS. 





The BLICKENSDERfER 

Saves TlWE, MONEY, and TROUBLE. 




TO Learn, because it has no complicated devices. 
To Operate, because the writing is always visible* 
To Acquire, because it is reasonable in price. 

because it is not only cheap 
in first cost, but cheap in 
up-keep afterwards! 

It unites in itself thevanous 

good points of (be Remington, 
Tosl, Smith* Hammond, tnn (be 
rest* and Rivet advantages to be 
found nowhere else* 


PRICES* 


LIST No*13 TELLS ALL ABOUT IT. 


O 

O 


o 

o 


to £13-13-0 Cash or Instalments. 


I 


Head Office: NEWCASTLE-ON.TYKE. 

London Depot: 9, CHEAPSIDE. 

(West End Agency: 195*Oxford St.) 

Manchester Office; 74, MARKET STREET, 


MEMORY and SUCCESS. 

The Secret of Success—A GOOD MEMORY. 



The HELM AN SYSTEM of MEMORY 
TRAINING Ensures a Good Memory 
In FIVE POSTAL LESSONS* 

Ia\T r lulamthig, Hit! Practical. Lost 
Memories nsutantti-Dlo *onit mada jjihmI 
--good Meniorie* 1mprofed. Mo mere 

llicory. but a genuine aid ofetj moment 
oJ the day. (wifc irA fiferw r mjr*£cr*d 

m dm rfffdmjf. Pfunportun Fort Free, 
civtriK the Opinion* of Kdilon. Jlunim-tts 
Men. Itoeton, Ijiwysra, rierfrTTuen. »tu- 
dcEitH. nml otlien who Huts *Iudied sod 
aumrded by the aid of the Palm on 
fWm, TACtfHT THOROUGHLY 
riV POSTAL LESSONS at my time 
Addreni for parties lar* F free to all- 
Mr O. U PELMAN CBdX «). 4. Blflflrewbm-y Street. London. W.C* 
Melbourne Brandi, G.P.0, I'Bo* mh Sir PRLHANS PAMPHLET, 
'‘The Natural Way of Learning a iAiiguage,' Pwt Free, Sixpence. 


Memory Means money. 


MAGIC LANTERNS 



Cinematographs . 

Cheapest and Besttn the World* 

Pamp hen gas Oil Lantern, girin# 12ft, 
njctuim. £3 JOa* equalling lime tight. 
Triple and IliunliL ban tom* aihI high- 
claw effect*, a* luppUsd Dr, Grattan 
Gnlnot**, Mine. Patti. Animated 
Picture MichLuej, Photo-Rotoreop* 
attiK hinml fiT 7 ■*. equal* reach! him 
costing xNi. Cincmutugninh Pccp- 

ellftwa, for Mittloora, great money 
taker*. £ia I3l, Grandly ilia* 
tinted i’ata].ogufc» fid. and lOii, ■ 
0O.DO9 fllidel, Ibt 6d. 
illustrated CMnemetegraph lift. M, 
flriaa IlflT d j Uo. 44, flecoud- hand Ian - 
krtia. Cdnetl'uitogTnpli* and Film*. 
tHLiyAili*. fUttltrated llrit,4d, Kf«ay 
and Guido, M i^ara/M tq CYne- 
irtrttutjraph* fl ncl OjAijrnl 
Brawit*rHoutfl,B2HuHimBr 
Pond, Kingttlutld* London, T 





Don’t Fail to use CrEsoleLfos for the distressing 
and often fatal affections for which it i* recom¬ 
mended For more than twenty years we have bad 
the most conclusive assurances that there is nothing 
better. The sleeping room quickly becomes per¬ 
meated with the germ destroying vapor which is 
inhaled! with every breath of the sleeping patient. 
CRBSOLBrcS is i! safeguard for those with m tendency 
to consumption, or bronchitis. Of all chemists. 

Write for descriptive pamphlet free from 

ALLEN & NANBURYS, Ltd,, Lombard $U LORdon, 


CURES WHILE VOU SLEEP 


Whooping 

Cough, 

Croup, 

Asthma* 


Bronchi til. 


Influenza 


Distressing 
Coughs in 
Young or Old, 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




































AD VER TISEMENTS. 


xix 


RftffUUred News., 342,18017, 


FOX’S 

PATENT 

S PIRAL P UTTEES 

Are so shaped as to Wind da Spirally from Ankle to 
Knee and to Pit Closely to the Leg with Even Pressure 
Without any Turns or Twists. 

Made in Two Weight*, *'H£AVY" and “UGHT" and in a 
Variety of Colours. Shade Cards on Application. 

The Spat Puttee hjw been *utopted hj the Wnr Office f^r Officer*' wear. 
The “ H 1 AVT” Weight or ** REOULATIOH " Quality Is 
the lain* u now supplied to Hie Mnjesty's Government* 



CHILDREN 


rwith Spate 

7/6i 

1 per Pair, 

/ fin Yurlon* Pii«) 

In Light 

l without Spats 

5/- J 

f Weight. 


Patentees and Sole Manufacturer*— 

FOX BROTHERS & CO., Ltd., 

WELLINGTON, SOMERSET. 

Agent* for the United SUtes and Oannjla: BALE k M ANIrKT, Wool 
Exchange Bnildln*, HEW YORK, U. 9 .A, 

Diaslized' bv C iOOQ 


BORAX 

Dry Soap. 


The gloom of wash-day 

Is unknown in the house 
where Borax Dry Soap Is 
used. There’s a magic about 
it that banishes worry and 
irritation. The essence of 
brightness is In every packet. 
Borax Dry Soap gives all the 
credit of a good wash to the 
washer* it pleases both 
mistress and la undress^ the 
mistress by its wonderful 
efficiency, the laundress by its 
time and toil-saving quality* 
It’s the same tale the week 
round. 

There is no soap made that 
will lighten the work of 
house - cleaning and, at the 
same time, instil such sweet¬ 
ness and brightness in the 
home as Borax Dry 5oap. 




To prove it, we 
will send you 
A Free Packet 
and some 
Novelties 
If you name this j| 
paper and your 
Grocer, 






Borax Dry Soap is sold by 
Grocers everywhere in 
packets and dozens. 


By Special 

Appointment 


Makers 
to the King. 


The Patent borax Co +i Ltd., Birmingham. 

OriginaTfronn 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











XX 


AD VER T1SEMENTS. 



CAN BE OBTAINED AS 


PUBfretJIYEH MILT, w wits ORCHESTRAL ORSAS COMBINED. 

WITH THE ANGCLU5 niU CAN PPCDUCE THt TOUOWINC 07013:- 

PIANO PLAYING MONT PIANO WITH 

ORCHESTRAL ORGAN PIANO WITH V 

ALONC. OH flUTT 

PIANO WITH TiILL ORCHESTRAL ORGAN I 


®JB€US 


ORCHESTRA! 


EPan^playerI 


Unas hi 1 n puT ORliAN CO m MUTifl N 1 


TlSTINOaUL from 

MDMEi CLARA BUTT 

' I [hint I ht * A if GEL US' tplepdfd f Apart from 
the plojtmcrw it gtvca &De / *nj Mff If fa iff- 
stmcr/v# ia every «n« of the word, t kmve 
bttnl All the other iavenUaa* of thh kind, tor 
the 1 ANGELUS* Ik far mnd awaj the fleas*" 



. * J 

CL jfl 


1 m M . 

Wbrit 

w 




Ideal Irish 
Linen Shirts 
and Collars 

Direct from the Factot y 

As shirt and roller manufacturers 

our snjpniujicjf is Iniilt upon 
Quality. We make the Jnurt. and 
tuo best, Is dM>a[K»t. The 
material* are excellent. The fit 
and making perfection, Our (food* 
ore supplied from our factory, saving 
Mir customers (ill middle profit*. 
There It? hq extra ch( wk t: for am king 
shirts to ruxtocnerM pattern shirt*. 

3 Leading Qualities: 

TVt-L liHCiSl. 

Shamrock - \ Lka. 33 0 
Emerald , \ IQ 0 
Erin . . „ iOe 

Same qualities with short Imalnes* fsnnts: 

3t - 1ft - and 15 - per | Dor. 

rndressetl, ft - per Du*. lew, 

IIIu*t rated Price List of Collars, and patterns of Cambric 
and Wool Shirts nil Irish Poplin Scarfs on request. 

Harper & Co., Royal Avenue, Belfast 

cash wim oibfcfL 


P1,c a» say size of Colin r worn. 
Foreign and Colonial Postage 
7 ■ doc Rhodesia tt ■ dot 



Fourth Annual Distribution of 

BOO JO-EGG INCUBATOR*. 

lady and Gentlemen Amateurs are now greatly 
lnrraaiing their incomes by Poultry breeding, 
w|tTiH>ut pncrlooi knowledge, or Interfering with 
ordinary duties, Penny egg* can be connoted 
r into shilling chickens or duck lings and the prmtit 
immediately realised. We sold 12,000 lacubator* 
through rn’oinmeniUtiou lost MVOD by our 
system of frfi distribution. We are now about to distribute MO for 
nezt SraP^n. Write at once for Free Gift Form to NEW POULTfik 1 ' 
SYNDICATE, 7 Y Albion UroTt, Stoke Newington, London., N. 



pIK) 


A 1 




CROWNED WITH SUCCESS* 


CHADWICK’S 
FANCY VEST. 


uppearancfl. 

THOUSANDS SOLD t 

Still *rl II nff fner-ly ; only mrUPUrfmefil 
required, inches round the chest 

Post Free for s 


J. B* CHADWICK, Tailor, LEICESTER. 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










































AD VER TISEMENTS. 


xxi 


To CURE 
Drunkards 


Ttnsre is a cure for 
Drunkenness which has 
shed its radiance into 
ihounnnds of hitherto 
desolate homes. It <Jo« 
its work so silently and 
surely that white the 
devoted wife, sister, or 
briber looks on_ the 
drunkard is reclaimed, 

CTen against his will or 
without his Jtnowkdge or 

coopRwiioc. Mrs. Geo. Fuller, 

fhi? "™' d 7 htr iuilaU 

hsu guided many a young ^ 
man to sobriety and into the high toad of fortune, 
and has saved the father, the brother, and the son. 

IF you send name and address to the Ward 
Chemical Company, 9, Century House, ketfent 
Street, London, W.» they wllj post enough 
of the remedy free to show bow It la used 
In tea, coffee, or food. 

JVtrp. George Fuller says i— u I am *nfy 
tkankfui my k*$band neifer n&tv tin's Ae*/or intoxi¬ 
cants. I gait Aim A nHdipsm in kte tea m/ 
toff*f, And it has quit* cttrtd him* With the 

FREE TRIAL 

packet will be sent books, and testimonials from 
hundreds who have b«n cured, and everything 
needed to save those near atid dear to you. Don't 
neglect to write to-day. , 




Simple, Sure—ffature’s Cure. 


Bald Spots, 
Falling Hair, &c. 


Ho Medicine, either outwardly 
or Inwardly applied. No Elec¬ 
tricity. THE ROOT-CURE Is 
simply an application of 
Nature^ law, which your 
family physician will endorse 
and which on examination 
you will admit the efficacy of. 


The complete cure cciti 12 6 , 
No Further Expense, 


Digitized by 1 L.oogie 



Five times the ligh t 

of ordinary gas burners, 

One-third the cost. 

It is calculated that the Welsbach 
Mantles and Burners save IJE/tOi 
per annum for the consumer upon 
each burner. 

Hie 

Welsbach 

Mantle 

and 

Kern Burner 

together give a tight equal to 

75 Candle Fewer, 

and bum only 3 feet of gas per hour* 
You can fix them yourself with' 
out trouble. 

They are obtainable of all Stores 
and Ironmongers. 

Beware of plausible substitutes, 
which are inferior to the Welsbach, 
and unsatisfactory. 

The Yfeisfcach In Gan descent Gas light Co., Ltd., 
York Street, Westminster, 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















AD VERTISEMENTS. 


xxii 




Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 












AD VERTISEMENTS. 


xxm 




“ Refresh yourselves and feel the soothing 
pleasures of a dreamy rest* * 



The Premier Egyptian Cigarette 
for the last 20 years, and still of 
the same remarkable flavour and 
aroma. Beware of English-made 
so-called Egyptian Cigarettes, and 
see that each package bears the 
Government stamp. 


Of alt Tobacconists and stores 
throughout the world, and 

10, New Bond Street, London, W. 



Digitized by VjOO^ 



THE FAMOUS 

PREMIER BATH 
CABINET 

now be obtained 
on 

‘Ube Himes’ 

Bjvtom 

or Euy Payment* 
You may have the 
unequalled! pleasure 
of taking 

TURKISH-RUSSIAN 
BATHS 

at home at a cost of 
only ltd, 

TurMih Bathe in 

preventi?*. curative, keep 
the tiiithj itronR, 
ftrenglh«n the tm! - 
cure RheamatleTn.alf 
BUhm| DiHKuwn, u Trill no 
other treatment, by torcing all imp untie* 
through the puna The Premier Cabinet 
to Ltinstnirtoil on four itrcl frames, TTitli 
hygienic cloth, folding up into twrO- 

inrh spare, ia eelf-purtfyiuir, and therefore ■nperiay 
tn those I 'a hi not & built of Ttud or uni Wood fmffl£f, 
which wnr[.' iml absorb nffletl nuktters, With the 
Premier Cabinet id included a perfect Inafde 
Safety Heater fOotald* Floater fitted at extra ccwtb 
and a lOd-poro Book of Advice and Formula*. 
There by Itoe Air and Vapour Bath* may be ocjojod 
’with all ease and Inrunr. 

WB EMPLOY NO AGENTS, 

We eel! direct at ■ahen' Prltts. 30.-, 60' , 
and 7OK and pay carriage. We guarantee 
■aItsf action, and allow 30 days'Trial, Our 
Uiuftithd Cattilotfua Ne. I 1 rIvniII lartirntui, Write 
for U to-day, mentioning 0ia*wn Man,* when. a FREE 
copy of n valuable bock, 11 The Natural Method of 
mRindhg Tlc&ILh. and Strength," will alto be rent 
PREMIER TURKISH BATH CO., Dept, ft. 
no. Regent Street. London, W. j 



WORKING 

MODELS 


(a N* Rly* 

: N*W. fcty., 


MODEL LOCOMOTIVES 

L. & S.W, Rly., Mid. Rly*, L. & 

G.C. Rly., UV. Rly., &e*l wftfc CoachtSi 

Trucks, Line*, Paints, Signal*, and all 
accessories Tor Model Railways, with 
MODEL STEAM STATIONARY ENGINES, 
and MODEL STEAMBOATS 

tality Engine and Boiler Fillings, 
Brass Tubing, Bolts and Nuts r 
■ical Goods, and every descrip- 
EngineerSj fitfly dcscrihid- 
in mtr new /Vrcr Lut, 

A Splendid Production of over 100 pages, 

address at home or abroad, 
great pleasure but valuable 
be gained from these Models. 

.WAY SYSTEM CAN BE ERECTED* 

Write to- 

I. BASSETT-LOWKE & CO., 

Model Engineers. 

NORTHAMPTON, 

{Mntiam this Magannuj 


Original from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









































XXIV 


AD VER TISEMENTS. 


r A SAFE & PERMANENT REMEDY ^ 

FOR ALL 

SKIN AND BLOOD DISEASES. 

If you suffer from any disease or complaint due to an impure state 
of the Blood, remember that 


Clarke’s Blood Mixture, 

The World-famed Purifier and Restorer, 


is warranted to cleanse the blood from all impurities, from whatever 
cause arising. For Scrofula, Scurvy, Eczema, Bad Legs, Ulcers, Glandular 
Swellings, Skin and Blood Diseases, Blackheads, Pimples, and Sores of 
all kinds, its effects are marvellous. 

It is the only real specific for Gout and Rheumatic Pains, for it 
removes the cause from the Blood and Bones. 

Thousands of unsolicited Testimonials of wonderful cures have been 
received from all parts of the world. Here are two recent cases:— 


Mr. T. Lovell Blake, 17, Wetherall Street, 
Levenshulme, Manchester, says : “lam writing 
to testify to the benefit I received through taking 
Clarke’s Blood Mixture. For three years I suf¬ 
fered with a rash which made its appearance every 
month, and also discharged watery matter, so that 
I had to apply bandages to my leg. I had tried 
almost everything, but received no benefit. At 
last I saw Clarke’s Blood Mixture advertised and 
decided to give it a trial, with the result that, 
after taking three bottles, the rash entirely disap¬ 
peared, and now my skin is perfectly free from 
any trace of it whatever.” 


Mrs. E. Welland, Shakleford, near Godai¬ 
ming, Surrey, writes : 44 I feel I must write to say 
what wonders Clarke’s Blood Mixture has done 
for me. For nearly a year I suffered with that 
dreadful complaint Eczema all over me. I was 
under a doctor for four months, and doing me no 
good my son advised me to try Clarke’s Blood 
Mixture, which I did, and after taking a few 
bottles I began to find relief. I continued with the 
medicine until I had taken eleven bottles, when 
I may say with thanks that I was completely 
cured. I feel I cannot speak too highly of your 
wonderful Blood Mixture, and will recommend 
it wherever I can.” 


NOTE.—As this mixture is pleasant to the taste and warranted free 
from anything injurious to the most delicate constitution of either sex, 
from infancy to old age, the Proprietors solicit sufferers to give it a 
trial to test its value. 

Sold in bottles, 2s. 9d. each, and in cases containing six times the 
quantity, us., by all Chemists and Patent Medicine Vendors throughout 
the world. 

ASK FOR 


Clarke's Blood Mixture, 

AND DO NOT BE PERSUADED TO TAKE AN IMITATION OR SUBSTITUTE. 


jfTi 


wriymdi IrUflI 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









AD VERTISEMENTS. 


m 



“ Ever-Readjr - Shamrock 

Clock :nnl Night Light, 

hii|h-rlily mounted and iiriE:dn-il 
lu (inwfl and Gold. No, ij 
ai - and aft'-, in<-Lin ling Bdt- 
lery, imat free. Refill*. Ifl 
earn Will illuminate a i*nj- 
iwhti Instantly, so that (he 11 mu 
can he seen fit h distant. 


,J Ever-Ready H House qr Hand 
Lamp. No. 12. — Highly PHilppud 
and wmII made, rftmjilete with lUt 
U iy, 14 *. J'luvlnl tli'niKll. 31 Hu- 
Ill t*. l ft each. EviTTft^dj ilihI tUM-ful 
everywlieru, and for Hunting, Riding. 

Driving, Cycling, *c. 


No. A. 

Reading 

Lamp. 


du Artistic mad Appreciative 
Present. 


W WE INVITE INSPECTION OF 
OUR SHOWROOMS, 

Where a large assortment of Elec¬ 
trical Novelties can be seen, such as 
Watch Stands, 14 6; Walking Sticks, 
21/-; Candles, 14,6; Cycle Lamps, 
21/-; Tie Pins, 10 6, elc. f etc. 


-m For 

Railway 

Travelling ft Rtad 

Ins 111 Pul up in 

at Ltiillitr Cult 


Electric 

Candle 

Lamp 

for 

Tabl* 

Dtcora- 

Llon. 


a iB ss r s ra i.*- -' i MUSIC IN THE HOME, i 

COLUMBIA "« l 0 T" GRAPHOPHONES 

entertains w 35 DIFFERENT STYLES, EVERY STYLE A C000 ONE. ~m 

EVERYBODY thousands of Seconds fn Stock List Od 1 Application, 

JJ25J" THE WORLDS BEST TALKING MACHINES. 

WHERE, Absolutely the fiUHfc Talking urn! Flaying Maul Linus orer offered, Provide 

etldlBH AmuEwmunt every *rhero. 

Price* i r Cylinder MauWnet. Tn* Q.. Oft.'- : ^rpeQQ . 43'- ; Type A. A., TO'- : 

■V^llV Tji* A T . 110m'-. w*c Machine*. da - and fo-. Latent H&ctloti of «trm 

_ 03 - loud nsronls, 1/0 and T-, 

j|*“ c ! Call and hear these Machines, No obligation to buy; or 

write for Catalogue to iDapt, 2>, 


GRAND 

PRIX 

PARIS. 

1000. 


Showrooms & Offices: 8, NEWMAN $T., OXFORD ST„ LONDON, W. 


uigmzea oy t Jt jyzi v 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 














XXVI 


AD VER USEMEMTS, 


THE BEST 

FIRE INSURANCE. 



PROTECTION from FIRE. 



ERRYSBMENJ 

ALL STEEL SPRING 
EXERCISERS 


R ome a great im- 
penreximil over 
all other*, Ik> 
Oft« sc.litii njr of l*wt #te*l only, , 
with wooden handle sriiis, yf 
then: ix norubbri Iothif- 
idi Thej retain their 

pJ-riugAvlmur.ii-ity.i, 

■h IIILaictalifetime 
with proper 
trwLmaitL 


[A ■ mmmkd 

|6y the jfedKoi 


"I hare 4^ 
rlrtil much 
fcCDtflt ftOD] J(inr 
Exarctatt, I find 
it better than any 
rubber eiendwr bare 
iwd,"—J. H_ Puaci^aE. 

/Jumfnsfj of oilier letlimtmirifa. 

PRICES. fifnglu. Doublet 

Nft 0. Infanta' .. .. ,, .„ „ .. SV- fr - each 

>‘(j,L Ladle*', Oirla 1 , and Hoyf* ... 2<t ftf- 

No. 2. Men* ............ ¥0 &■< 

No. l Men* BE rang ., .. .. .. V- 7 /3 ” 

Ku. ± Athlete-' . t/S 9 3 „ 

Can be o&amed/rmn atl dealer*, or d tr*ri /rom— 

H. TERRY & SONS, REDOITCH. 


Sem> tdk Full Pxktjctjlakji. 


The Mate nt Safety Ex tendon Ladder a are the Rest 
Fire Escapes, as they can always he kept on the spot* 
No house safe without them. Occupy a small apace 
when closed. Are extended in a few seconds. 


MANTTFAOTrREI) ONLY BY 

THE PATENT SAFETY LADDER AND GENERAL 
WOODWORKING CO., PETERBOROUGH. 

Send for illustrated Lists, 



Digiiized by 


m um 


i post'om 
iimig HM) n 


m recent ^ _ _ 

Album (.ailHilling loo pag** un( i,mo HliMntions I 
of Jiitvylh-rj', nt' fn-H. ( hx-kf, ilronzi'a, tE<, all m .irked I 
or Wholaaai* Price*. 

WHY are We Doing This? 

ikvftumn wu knr>w it will aava you mum-v. IV* j 
mani]farturrrs, and can supply you Direct frum our 
fnctoriiiH it , 1 

Whole- 
■ala 
Price*. 

I thus Hiding 
I you all In 
tanoedi&t* 
profit* 

Renumber* 

w* liavc t\Q 
retail 
■hops no 

abopjioj] i-i,l 
gooiti; ail 
our foods 
*ni sent at 

fim oust 
from 

Factory 

to 

VUNF, 

■t half the 
usual retail 
shop price*. 


Write at 


BaiuUonie OirdEffed KnlHti Watcfe. 
fiuiry niaTtiullad 41*1, wi t h oxrdtoed bmr 
brooch suspender. Jb t« 1 retained 
JoalJiarcov TT-l oaae campl*ta. Po*t 
Ffw. 12 0 cm h. 

i Dope Wk Whole- | 

fctlc .fcwelWl 


LAMBERT & CO. 

Hall St., BIRMINGHAM. 


Jrmmal from 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

























































AD VERTISEMENTS. 


xxvii 


10,000 WATCHES 

GIVEN AWAY 


With our / Of6 ^imperial” Fountain Pen * 



Uuftranlwi (ojfiivr t Effort \ r»n. Nuitar TPtqnwl If not anproml 

nf. 10 6 ' CASH WITH ORDER, POST FREE* 

Xotl—A HlgH-tiw Watrh, lor nothing l*t)BT FREE. 

THE IMPERIAL PEN CO. t 

78, Newgate Street, London, E,C. 


10 6 


THK 

■rirEBiii’ 

FQLIT1JI 

m 

Fitted with U rt. 

Solid Gold Nib. 

9u|)trb CtuL<<u| Vulcan¬ 
ite Holder. Twin f*«l 
retfulaiiruf flow of inlL 
Fitr, MRjui.it. and 
Birom Poitt^. 

Writ ps ewily, 
"omothly, and 

fl Lteni |y, 


IMPERIAL* 
FOUNTAIN 
PEN 

- ike with each 
I'm. without extra 
ch&rf » 4 ?t Lull an or GL-nht 

Keyless. Oxidised 
Cyn Metal Watch 

Warranted Dust 
und Damp-proof, 
with Trtiast 
Ini prove- 
OMllU. 




GENUINE 

IMPORTED 

MEXICAN 


• 3 ? & 4 ? Each 

THE 

EL DESTINO 

Cigars are manufactured 
in Mexico from the finest 
selected Tobaccos, grown 
on our own plantations, 
and for flavour and quality 
cannot be surpassed by 
any other cigar in the 
world at the price. 

SOLD BY ALL TOBACCONISTS 

At 2d., 3d,, and 4d. each. 

A/ OTE.^If you cannot obtain the 
El Destiwo Cigars from four Cigar 
Merchant, write io SPIERS Jt POND'S 
S T O It E 3 , K Dept., W t New firfdge 
Street, E.C .with whom we have arranged 
to Rend, poet free on receipt of P.O.O, or 
Stamps for a sample packet con taining 
One srd„ twoud., and one id. Cigar. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




















XXV! TI 


AD VER TISEMENTS. 


XMAS 

CIGARS 


Direct to you at one small profit 
on import cost, saving inter¬ 
mediary profits and expenses, 


You are more sure of pleasti 
x Xmas 


rig a 

than 


man with Cigars at 

with, any other token of your good will 

“ HIGH DECREE ” Favoritas 

A oiiolce, rail'd»imported Boirno Ctj»r—timi-iajua, 
100 —delightful!? ooo\ BJtd soft Uj the {.aULte, 

25 Box, 4 9 ; 50 Box, 0 3 \ or 18,0 per 100. 
Duty Paid and * oat Free. 

Remit bv Cheque or P.O, tf nni nturfaefarv u* ex kange^ 
or refund yvnr 

PleMe writ* fprUnt(iuu Ifimklet,' lJurt>iily A Real' ; 
tells tbiiia oiit dimt Ui«tl)iidi of «i1iu|( tin* 
CisuntA'igtiretle^mnJ oiookitix Mixlurvu—it'* free 

PEDLET CICAR CR-, Dept. S t BLACKBURN. 





I F you suffer from Influenza, 

H ead ac h e t T oot hache, 

Earache, Neuralgia, Cold 
in the Head or Che&t, 

Asthma, Bronchitis, /yyy/ jt will 
Hay Fever, or give you 

Mmilar ailment, speedy relief. 

TRY lts effect is 

THE jr marvellous. To he 

^ had of all Chemists, or 

Post Free, Price 2 9 W 

FROM THE 

YIT01ITE MEDICATED TUBE CO., 

Granville House, Arundel Street, Strand, 

LONDON, w.Q. 



Take* iTtelnrea 
41 by 31. 

For Plates, or 
Dayllaht Landing 
Roll Film, 

Kxraedingly compact, 
iiriil purtHblif, 
and iiiaj lw raudlif 
carried in the pocket. 


LOADED 


UNLOADED 

IN 

DAYLIGHT. 


LENS. 


Fine uLUility. Rapid 
Rectilinear. with trie 
IH»l>hnifni!L 


SHUTTER. 


Fillerl with Speed 
Jtnpibiivr, giving four 
varTetie*, " liiKticitu- 
nconf Kipoaiim. 

PRICK complete fur ROLL FILMS 70 1C. 

"Ermijm ,h Developing and Printing K ■„ / fjW% 

Outfit . 

"MODEL B," with Riving Front and Gtwrt Jpfl fie 
Jinutigowl Leivi ■-■■■■ 0-3■ 

OF ALL PHOTOGRAPHIC DEALERS. 

WHtfrfited f’nfntofliHf of Photograf)htf Camera* pad Matennlt 
jX*t fret from— 

GEORGE HOUGHTON A SON, 

88 A 88. HIGH HOLBORN, LONDON. W.C. 


Everyone . * 
should read 


JUDY 


FuMUied We:tnomiaj 

PRICE Sd. 

i) hlal liable everywhere 

HI* Majesty th* King graciously accepted a copy of 
*JUDYV dated August 13 th, 1903 , 

Far FUN, WIT , and HUMOUR, read * JUDY . 1 


Early. JUDY XMAS NUMBER. p &" 

24 pane*., fully flluatmtcd. Published December 3rd. 

Olft TlABi Bt-RVCRtFTlDH ffl 'JUDY' TO ,NT PlM OP Tnt WflRtD, 
tUi lfl, Fast Furr. 

Bt*o Id. for Sre. tarjt ©arr JUDY OFFICE. LONDON. W.C. 

Trade supplied now. in If. or return. 




Drum in 


posuncL 


iSD HEAD NOISES izuited by oiura 

WILSON S COMMON-SENSE EAR-DRUMS. 

A new N'icntlflc Invcntimi. entirely different in 
ChH»tniC<icm frum nit other derira". Aflci*! the deaf 
When all other device* fit), and where njediml .kill 
lists riven ho relief. They an noft. cnmfotUblx 
and iurlalble ; hare no wire or Birina attachment, 

tFrite for pamphlet Mention tki* JfapariM. 

WILSON E 

I>. n. wilso^. 


_ THE 

Empire 

TYPEWRITER. 


"The Machine with Visible Writing .’ 1 



£13. 2s. 6d. 


(Complete with Cmtj 

The Highest Grade in Modern Machines. 
STRONG ] RAPID l DURABLE 1 

Com bining British Solidity with American; Ingenuity < 

The EMPIRE TYPEWRITER SYNDICATE Liz. 

77, Queen Victoria St., London, E.C. 

Send tor Booklet. Set our Frtt Trial OMtr. 


At WHOLESALE 
PRICES. 

Specially selected de¬ 
signs. Splendid value 
in all sizes, White or 
Ecru, Send ar cnee 
| fur Illustrated Cata¬ 
logue, Post Free from 
C. NIRLETT & Co., Lace Manufacturers, 

W aveHey Place, Carri Hilton St,, Hof Ingham. 


CURTAINS 


OLD FALSE TEETH 


BOUGHT. 

Many people have old or disused false teeth. Mem 
]i T ft & j, U. Fraser, Ltd,, of Princes Street, Ipswich 
(established 1B33), buy old false teeth. If you send your 
teeth to them they will remit you by return of post the 
utmost value; or if preferred, they will make you the best 
offer, and hold the teeth over for your reply. The largest 
and oldest o’d f: L>: r-eth in the world. 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















































ADVERTISEMENTS. 


XXIX 




why Jpu fthould ha.v* 


i Vegetable Remedy tnsrej it unoe 
rurnjMcly rerntwe* the com. and 


PAINFUL 

Cured 


There ta no reason 
■a single week lout— r 
&qet cures permiinunl! 

m*ke 9 you eaaj. With Wood* sWlal Appll*.-,___ 

Ihistratiuui you nil attend Ut your n>m« m » few secoDdjL and 
n m J L ** Hundreds ot gmMu 1 people 

b J tn 'i H e £ c “C* » A '"/"il *' 11 ** hy rtium 

tvL Po *M ° r .l er 1/_ *" *■ WOOD, chemist rtfy Royal 
Warrant to the hingi, *0. Hjgfi Strict. Wiki>sok, "Nora— 
Jtofltug': SkL extra tu furrign muni he* juhI Australia: Id, for 
ether Colunieg. 


^ _ < 

^INfC&TTlCPm 


ASTHMA RELIEVER 


, , .. ~ ancl hrimtdiEite 

™ [ *! J n Asthma, Bronchit is and Whooping Cough* hold by 
a 1 L n „ T l!' a Is., or Port Free same price from 


a uiMvSfuTS? st . l 5 ^r«- Ptwt ^ ree s** 1 ** P fJCL ' free 
J HI NKSWAN, Chemist tARLUKi. N.B., who will send 
^^any applicant aFREE TRIAL packet that you A 
at his cost, test its value and virtues. 


Improved Tailor-made 


Waterproofs 


GUARANTEED perfectly Waterproof, or 
money back. Proofed with best rubber, free 
from smell, do not become sticky: rubier 
dues not crumble off. Cut full to allow for 
ventilation and easy movement; unaffected 
by greatest extremes ot climate. Can be had 
in all shades and styles. 


BLYTH’S DRESS SHIRT«v 

H kite &*rtx uHEfA Linen Fitti U[ 7 I, l'ivirwied, oj from Factory, 

You cannot need a better dress shirt than this. 
The style, quality, comfort, and wear leave 
nothing to be desired. The besi-drcs&cd men 
wear these shirts and are delighted. Every 
time you purchase one of my Drew Shirts you 
may remember that you are gaining in style and 
saving money, as (he price charged is the lowest 
compatible with high quality. This is a Full 
Dress Shirt with Extra Wide Front, one stud 
hole in front, and large square cuffs. State 
siee of collar used when ordering. 
PRICER: To Open In Fronts 310 each, TI/3 for 
3 , iiul 32 0 for a. To open at Buck, 4 /- each, 

11 9 lor 3, Mid aare for & By PARCEL POST, 3d* ext™ 

for I. *d* for a. sd. for 3 . ad. for 6. 

FULLY ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE of fl.ll kind* 
or Snlrti and Underclothing Post Free from 

HENRY BLYTH (Dept. S.\ 16. 18, iq. a 4 , 

. Earl Grey Bt., EDINBURGH. J 


DEFECTIVE 
SIGHT 

f ^ ail .V people * tiller from fnid sight, or 
aim* and .-peeks All such dionlB send 
to BTiCPHTilN GRKKJS, 210. Lambeth 
Wuftd, Lund on, for hia little book 
■ ^low to Preserve the Eyesight/* This 
tells of SINGLETON'S LYE DINT- 
Mb!NT, a cure for all troubles of the 
eyeit, eyelids, and eyelashes, having 
iWO ye*™' reputation as the best 
remedy. Supplied in ancient pedestal 
pot* for2/-each by all ch emit 1 to * stores 
- Please note that it retains its 
healing virtues for yean 


There's iio difficulty In getting this if 
you u*e Redford’a China Gloss. Don't 
arid this to the starch, hut rub on lined 
before Ironing end yon eet a beautiful 
surfsce. Nn sticking and no trouble, A 
box ]»Bt* for months, and will 
for Is, S-end Tor sample 
Oxford S L . Li t erpog 1 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


SANDOWN. D.B. CHtSTER FIELD. PNEUMATIC CAPE. 

,ipatfsti 

13 6 o 21/- a/11,10/6,11 6 

PARKER'S PNEUMATIC CAPE (“j'S) 

A wonderful invention for cyclists. Cape keeps 
taut so that rain cannot collect, and knees and cycle 
are kept quite dry. Air chamber in lower part does 
not increase the weight and can be inhaled or 
deflated in a few seconds. Folds to small space. 
State whether for Lady or Gent, and give height. 
Write for PATTE R N S and D ESIGN S at various 


prices Price List of LADIES' or GENT 'S 
WATERPROOFS and CATALOGUE of an 


WATERPROOFS and CATALOGUE of »}] 

our other Goods post free from 


Dept, i4 r 
P roofers, 


LANCASTER, 


ALEXANDRA 

fwith HtWi. 

11/6 to 15/6 


11 6 


126 


■XT 


'OBK 





































XXx 


AD VER TISEMENTS. 


A Clock that Makes Tea. 


Patent. 



THE GREATEST INVEN¬ 
TION OFTHL AGE- Guaranteed 
to tLo the work in five minuLw which 
would ordinarily qccuny half an Lour. 
Nuv^r appranchwi before 3 Will 
moke T«, jivt pare «hav mg waJter, 
hot water lor any purpose warm 
Infant#' food, 4 cA e. TtaL mys¬ 
terious machine cmtauijilieH *n 
who have teen lu performing an 
i uerwdi bln amount of work. The 
uluek rails the tleftfwr at the 
boor deni red. and a tew minutes 
afterward* he Lb drinking a hot cup of Tea The machine work a with 
a Spirit l 4 tmp. which ft light* automatically. boll* water, lip* up 
erntly, put* out lamp, ud finally rings a second gong to notify Umt 
Tea U made. 

Failure Impoeuible 1 Tested by Etci*srt# and fully recommended. 
— Vid* rmt fh uaunL*. 

The complete article covered in will: handiwtue polished case. 
English mode throughout, including a pretty ami reliable Ahum 
tdnek. Nut only & novelty, hut a m> »( useful article anti a huuilseme 
piece of furniture. May tie cu-dly carried about. being email and 
compact. Price 21 - ; or. with copper kettle a d tistin finish, 30'-. 
Apply to FRANK CLARKE, Gothic Arcade, Snow HUI, 
«gmlmihmm» 


Weight Does Not Mean Warmth . 

TochnkVlhe body w ith heavy woollen stuffs is 
the old idea of warm Underclothing 
Kaaipr f.iMin. a light. iKtruus fai lle, i 
I he new Idea which ho* the approval of 
the Lancet and Medical Situ- I* 
light yet warm, and keep* the 
cold out without choking the 
pin. 1 * nf til & akin. 


Invigorating, 
Hygienic, 
Healthy. 


The 

Lnacet says: 

Tti- a knitted, 
elastic material which, 
while protect big the lwdj 
from rohl, freely allows the 
escape of i wrspi ration." 
Prevents Chilly 
hc/ethEi. Rheumatism, 
ant\ Prkkly Heat* 
ETpUna+orr Booklet. with Samples, Prioef. 
and Nome of Nsareal Agent, po^t fnw from 
YORK ®TR££T FLAX SPINNING CO., Ltd. 

iBeh’ontl, B, Ml Ik fllreit. London, E-C, 
Hlgibournei 321-313, FHndera Lane. 


CONNOISSEURS OF COFFEE 

DRINK THE 

RED 
WHITE 
& BLUE 

DELICIOUS FOR BREAKFAST & AFTER DINNER 

I Id making, use . It being no much 

stronger truu^rdinaTy COFFEE- 

SOLO THROUGHOUT THE WORLD, 


STAND AT EASE!! 

Hand-sewn Footwear to Measure. 

nand W.rt.d ind H*nd StKchfcrf. No N«HIm Warh «!Mtt lit upp*r*. 

-Quality LX S S,licltdeih tirkBull) 


on Mudirfl L««|«. ctMblp 
or (h> ald-riihiapit* 
And Hard Wmp wltti 

BEST FRENCH.-* 
CALF 17/6 

WPll* rap ll>OBtP*1*d 

■HiUP«m*Pl Papflti 



Irt* (ha good quillrl.i 

Boat, *><#►— Cam rapt 

1 ha atria of I h» n.w, 

MTER’S w WHITE S 
MX. CALF 18 6 

dtilogwt and 1*4 f. 


C. W. HITCH IMS. nfe - Bespoke Bootmaker, 

* CHEW MAGNA, BRISTOL. * 

Ut* fmr gvirihlHd Has* iivn 1 hr<ngrm«i. HDT mad* by Machine *n [hi Ktaj tt*« prbdpli 

vmv auiTA&tt Fpn colonial wi*nt, 


THE POPULAR 

SCOTCH 


is 


BLACK* 

WHISKY 


PATENT— W1/1 


CICAR CUTTER 



FIERCER 



/ 


a 


Cigars are ruined 

by cutting or biting the ends—they either 
unwrap, fray, or leave broken pieces of leaf in 
the mouth. Nothing spoils a cigar so easily. 

Hardtmutb s Patent 
Cigar Cutter and Piercer 

does away with these annoyances. It is a 
handy contrivance, which drills a clean hole 
into the end of the cigar without damaging 
it, and the cigar retains its shape to ihc end. 

It help to give a more comfortable smoke 
and a belter flavour. 

Of SaltfWK <$r* G£mcksiein's Bntrurktl, 
/rwtl/ersi High-class To6acc*nJits > 
llsvai DemHrt. 

A neat Christmas gift for a male 
friend. 

Price*, Nickel Plated, lf-i In Silver and 
Gold from 10 0, 

L. & C. HShDTMUTH, 12, GOLDEN LANF, 

LONDON, E.C* 


Articles for 


103 t 



CASH 

pnict, - 

19/e 


W. H. Beaumont 

Division St., 

SHEFFIELD. 

WE will supply you with 
one of our Parcels of Cultery 
on monthly payment# 
follows :— 

YOU send us aft and vour 
name and address, and »e 
will send you one o*t 
approval. 

IR you do approve of 
it, yog send a/6 mart on 
receiving it, and 5 /- each 
month for four month*, 
making the full * 5 /*. 

But our Rttmikithanl) 
Ordar-Prioo It 19 B wlp 


ra 1 r DF HK hi'.jAN 









































A D VER VISE ME NTS. 


X-tXI 





BILLIARDS at HOME 




Best Slate, Mahogany, Lou Frost-Proof Cushiony Adjustable Feet—Rubber-Shod, Ivory or the new Crystalnie Balls, 


. idiust r 

Two Cues, Marking-Board, Level, Tips, Wafers, Chalk, and Rest* 

SPECIAL QUALITY* 

SIZE. CASH t'RlCE. 

6ft. 4111. by 3ft. 4in. . £,7 0 0 or at 12/6 per month. 

7ft. 4m. by 3ft. loin. . . 9 5 0 16/6 H 


StZE. 

4ft* 4in. by aft. +in. 
5ft. 4in. by aft. loin. 
6ft* 410. by 3 t. 4111, . 


l ash I’Hice. 

£4 IO Q or at 8 - per month. 

5 6 0 T1 9 - „ 

OOO ...10 6 


BILLIARD 


DtUmrti C«rrwi/« Paid a* Our At**, 

AND DINING TABLES 


COMBINED. 


AS A DINING TABLE. 


of Size of 

CARRIAGE PAW Ulnlnff 

In Solid ftfahoYanv* with liinins Table Ton In one or ' Table. Table. CAilt mlc*. 

im>r ■ ptoofti. InitvTvtrtTUsviid action for rai-luur mi! lo^rrEna f I5*t. 4in. ..EfL flin.41 a O O mr It St '■ per month. 

To th.me *ho cannot iferot* a iwm itsperinlly tor Dill Lards «ft. 4ln. ..Sflfc. frilL *___ IS 10 O „ 23 0 

thE* TaMe !• lUflh I j recommended for a iierfect xanm I 7ft ’4in,.Wt, Mn. IT 0 0 „ 30.'- 

t DC c Full detailed Catalogue wEth lllnat rat loin of all kind* of noma Hilliard*, Billiard and THnin* Tkblea. Combined 
' •'tC* Couch, Hilliard and Idnitu Table, all kinds inmll and full-*Ew} Table* and Sundrle*. 

London Showroom* i 147 , ALOERSGATE STREET, E.C. 

ALL OQR RES TON P E TO WORKS AND TTEAt> OFFICES f 

E. J. RILEY, Ltd., Billiard Table Builders, ACCRINGTON. 

Export Prices quoted delivered Free any Port In the World. 

uiqiTizeo UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


A Billiard Table ready to place on any Dining Table, and instantly removable. 

CASH or EASY PAYMENTS. 


The introduction of our Billiard Table into your home will 
provide sound amusement and enjoyable exercise for every¬ 
body. It trains the eye, sharpen* the wit, and will last 
a lifetime. 


We are the Makers, 
and give 
Far Better Value 
at Less Money. 


/>^V yVw 









































ErWWlr %% Ir'V ti' % V*%%%**<**/ % % VVfcliWV 1, VfcM 4i W 


ILXX31 


AD VEKT1SEMENTS, 


^vw\%v%vvnWHU^i%ivvmw\j 

u % 


j> 


“ FRIZZETTA 


(Registered.) 



$ 

KEEPS THE HAIR IN CURL \ 
OR WAVE. I 

*r 

Perfectly Harmless, Colourless, Sweetly Perfumed ; is *f 
nut sticky or greasy, but keeps the Hair in Curl for days. ^ 

DAMP AND HEAT DEFIED. > 

Contains nothing deleterious and will not injure the Hair. 

Sold Everywhere at 1 6. 

Post Free, i/o, from f 

F. W. BATES, BROOKS'S BAR, MANCHESTER. 5 
i.<i%vwiv>rvaw«.viiAmwi,»ip i fri. , tMVfr»vV5 





... 

WMM 


Hi 

* ■L 


m 


Vo 


PRIZES of £20, £lO, and £5 
in Cash, and 22 others, 
value £1 is. each, 
SPECIAL PRIZE £rS for Best 
i let urn produced by learner 
at first attempt. 

Equal rtuuice* lur IVizA-winning lij Artist 
or Beginner. Wonderful rooalt* - very 
simpli’ pruee«— minimum (if nkill. Me 
ealrauce feu*. For Kunni of Entry and 
full jmrticuiar* »eu4 at uitusil mrettijie, 
Coin petition close* DiBreinWr 31. All 
IHttiir*i returned. 


Spec Sal Offnr to buyer* of our (‘™pltte 
Guinea Outfit during ComiJetiti™, 
L—Fre# tulli n by twnt during Cvia- 
pHtiUun fusual fee £1 is i. 

2 -— IncLiidp.t ostrn with outfit will lie 
onr phot -ifriUiti tlurd ainl i»re|mrA*tl 
gl**s numanrt and cleared — all 
ready L*be Tooted, 


AN IDEAL CHRISTMAS PRESENT, 

Material*, etc., *4 all Art Heal*™ or froni 

C, ALSTON, Prystoleum Depot, 

BURNLEY. 


Tq 


LANTERNS 


Cl incc in literally cndlew variety of 
OLIUCv every conceivable subject—r 
RELIGIOUS, SECULAR. SCIENTIFIC, 
EDUCATIONAL, ike. Suitable for every possible 
Occasion ; on sale or hire at the lowest prices* 

and every kind of apparatus 
connected therewith, of the 
most modern patterns, on hire or salt Cash or 
instilments* Send for lii^ts, Gratis and Post Free, 
and read about the 

FOUR-GUINEA “ PREASTANTIA,” 

the most marvellous value in Magic Lanterns 
ever offered. 

OXYGEN GENERATOR, Absolutely auto¬ 
matic ; makes the gas as the lectmt proceeds 

A ll Partftniart of Prices (Cash or Dtferrtd 
Payments) and Hire Lists Post Frtt, 

OPERATORS' GUIDE \BAU 4d, 

Complete Catalogue (B.a), 320 pages, most com* 
prehensive ever issued. Post Fret, 9 stamps. 


RILEY BROTHERS, Ltd., 

55 & 57, Godwin St., Bradford, Yorks. 

ANTERNS 



Digitized by CtOO^Ic 


IMPERIAL 
TART FABRICS 

For WINTER CURTAIN'S 
and DRAPERIES generally, 
no material can equal the 

IMPERIAL 

ART FABRICS 

in any of the following qualities;— 
CHEAPNESS, DURABILITY, 

VARIETY OF PATTERNS. 

RICH ARTISTIC EFFECT 

Pattern Cards oF this and other materials, 
as well as illustrated Catalogue, post free 
on application to 

arighi bianchi & CO, Ltd., 

ARTISTIC HOUSE FURNISHERS (Dept. 9X 

MACCLESFIELD. 

The New Patent 

SOUND DISCS 

Completely Overcome Deafnfks and 
Head Noises, no nutter or how Song 
■tandbg. Are ihe same to the e^rs as 
glasses are to the eyes. Invisible*. Com 
foruhle. Worn months without removal 
Explanatory Pam ph lei Fi«. 

Tb* V* H. WALII CO.. 1T1. Ntv Bond fltrut. London V- 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

















AD VER T1 SEME NTS. 


xxxiii 


#—FOR BEAUTIFYING THE HOME.' 

AS PRESENTS, PICTURES ARE WITHOUT A RIVAL. 

I ADOPT FROST & REED’S ART PUBLICATIONS—ARTISTICALLY WROUGHT ETCHINGS 
AND ENGRAVINGS OF THE HIGHEST CLASS. 

I ® A Beautiful Picture tea delight ul companion, and a PRESENT of a good Etching 
or Engraving, tastefully framed, gi os endless pleasure, 
contemplating a purchase should send to 

; 


Those who are 


FROST & REED, ART PUBLISHERS, of BRISTOL, 

for their Illustrated and priced Catalogue of Etchings and Engravings of 
notable pictures, containing over 130 illustrations^-enclosing If- in stamps 
(to partially cover cost I a This sum wifi bo refunded to purchasers. 


DIGESTIVE PEA FLOUR 


delicious Pudding am I (ienm.ne, natural 

flavour and last*. Adapted Invalids and Weak Digestion* 

polling Unnecessary. 

|fi 1-Tint; Sample Tiiii 14 post free. In Packets, 2rlf 
B&mnlc Packet?, p st free, 3d. From Chemists and Grucert,, 
or Wholesale fr >m the Vanufaciuren?, 

THE DIGESTIVE FOOD CO., PAISLEY. 



Are Pencils of Ink, and the next best tiling to a 
* Swan 1 Fo un la 10 Pen tVritt/er Cat a b£W, frti. 


{ White Shirts 

REV RSIB E 
CUFFS. 


Woar Twice am 
Lo IQ aa 

Ordinary Shirts . 

Tlid f etonoiojc ^ dranl iim 
H ix-iu.|rir*nt at a fiance. By 
l#nui[[irw the *hirt lo M 
Worn twice with aUudidclr 
fp;Fh cu 'pi each Litue tMy 
nsiiu<'u the laundry hill l y 
m if hn, If, and I he shirts with 
Ini- fri-'iur'tpt w filing wrar 
twice as tone. The Invention 
haj comTnendwd itself ut 
Im I n*i h of thnnwuii* D f 
(ruatijuic rs all over I lie World. 

Sample Shims from factory—unlaundred—in 
following style?. 3 9 post fret. 

^CJiiarnNferJ equal.u>hen drrtard, tty the e d iAjrl of tht 
drrffnfiv ■ I rii<|r,J 

Style 1. With revorelhla ctiflk 
Stylut! La me inonre cuT* 

Style 3. \Arn>w u rls tl »and* for attaching euiT*, 

8 yl« 4. Shnrt front fur huMrieJS tnen. 

Style S Full dreuerefiiDg shim. 



I 


MABIE.TODD fi* BARD, Maitaftic/urfri, 
&3* Cheipsidc, London. 95fl, Regent Street, W, 
3, Exchange Street, Manchester* 



REVOLUTION IN 
PRICE or COLLARS. 


Why pay S S pat d"*. 
whuii we carl n«i|>fkly 
y.nj * iihthc Bent Inuli 
Hanufad.uii'tl l our* fold ( ollm, any shape 
jxrul uiTHH fur 3 * Ul¥ hadf-dijutvii. UftrriJij^ 
Paid, unlm at mire. Send "Ul coUu for site 
and *W*!. J.AS.SAHUELS^/.ol±<7ol ar 


SIX ™>» 

2/* 

cash 

WITH OKI>E*L 



Six Shirts for 
21 6, 
post free. 

Whvn ordering 
mention s yte 
chinan, tin ot 
COLLAR rtr or r t 
ani whether to 
button at back 

or front, _ 

Cuff fir*t da?. 

PETTIGREW A STEPHENS, 

Oflpt. G. SrUCo ehi 1 Stre«t t GLASGOW, 




=z-fl°±iquTos 

NO—DAN GE R 1 ^ 


- N?L FIVES 
5000. FLASHES 

’ Price 12/6 
_ Refills M& 


Ivflf- 


Rojwiy 


House or 


Hand 


Lamp. 


No. 11 TTiffti’ 


*oni 


K 


(Dane, 


mmplfite 


Itu Bute 


ftiirry, 

Heflllp, 


14.0 


1/4 ! 


BRITISH MADE. 


INBTAJfT ELECTRIC LIGHT wl.,n ud 
where you want it. Tn valuable round Loa 
honse, atid inrlisp*?nwih|e lo Country Gentle¬ 
man, Its u*ee art Innumembl* toCk-roymen, 
Naval and Army uffloen. Mining Eiurlnevia, 
Surreyora Librarian!. Naturali*tij. ate. Can 
be Ijflbtrd In a Keg of Gunpewdee without 
any (mrurer. Illuatrated Catalogue of Ever- 
Heady Eb*’frit's,! Npt*dtiei by return. Post 
Free Hvltieh Mutoecope A ftiogrAph 
Co., Ltd. ■ l '-ii ALISA in. Ct. Windmill 
Burnt. London. W. [TN 


Stand * Night Light, 

fitted with TTOigidfyWiviiH 
and bug core), enahliup 
r^n»Ti in lied to lee time 
without 
Dxertlo - 

Al*> Ulb 
mi nates 
the room 
Prlr+ 
romplvt*. 
14 A. p^fUls. 

ilfHIfiiM 18 , " ltl 

















































XXXIV 


AD VER TISEMENTS. 



BELLS TOBACCO. 

“THREE NUNS” 

You will not tire of this Tobacco, if you once fall a victim 
to its indefinable charm, and if you can’t get “ Three 
Nuns 1 ' you probably won't smoke. It is uncommon and 
fascinating to a remarkable degree. In response to the 
demand for a stronger Tobacco of similar flavour, we stl) 
the “ King’s Head" Tobacco at a similar price, 
OBTAINABLE EVERYWHERE at 5d. per ounce. 

In 1 oz Packets, and 2 oz- and 4 oz. Tins, 
d, &. F. BELL, Ltd, Glasgow. 



DON’T SLIP! 

“PENNA” ELASTIC RUBBER HEELS. 

All other Rubber Heels have a tendency to SLIP on damp pavements, which is dangerous 
*" PENNA ” Heels have a device making them impossible to slip. They have the same 
advantages as all other rubber heels, wear as long, are lighter, relieve the NERVES, COST 
LESS, are easier fitted to any boots.old or new, and DO NOT SLI RAH EST to the FEET. 

Men's, 1/3 per pair; Ladles', 9d. per pair. Write for Particular*. 
HOWISQN & CO„ % SNOW HILL, LONDON, E.C, 


ALCOHOLIC 

DRINK .** DRUG 
HABITS 

*»» RESULTANT 
NERVOUS 
DISEASES 

eradicated at patten is own home without inconvenience by 
TUflVEY 8 TREATMENT (the English Treatment!. This 
treatment will perform all that IS desired. It is safe, effec¬ 
tive, and permanent in ks specific action upon all phases of 
the Alcoholic or Drug crave in either sex. Mr. Thomas 
Holmes, of the Church of England Temperance Society 
(Author of <+ Pictures and Problems fiom London Police 
Courts”), says, regarding his treatment of some of the most 
hopeless cases in London : " The patients' physical condb 
tion rapidly improves, their depression of mind passes away, 
they become bright and hopeful, in fact, new men,” Extract 
from Lord Rosebery's, speech. House of Lords, July list, 
ipo? : The real question before the House was whether 
Inebriety in a woman was curable or uoi, Mr Thomas 
Holmes, the well-known worker, had averted it was so, 
and had written him that it was his conv iction that women 
c&uld be cured of habits of intoxication." For Mr. 
Thomas Holmes' testimony, see page 50 of Treatise 
on Disease" (post Write or call, 10 to $+ 

Medical: Superintendent. *' TACQUARU " CO., IS, 
Amherlfly Home, Norfolk St,, Strand. London, W.C. 



DON'T COUGH for 
KEATING’S LOZENGES 
EASILY CURE 
THE WORST COUGH.] 

One gives relief. An increasing 
male of overSU years is a certain 
lest of their value. Sold in l3Jd. 

1 ins everywhere. 



ASTHMA 

llnkttmAn s Asthma Reliever 

ivalnablo Tlmaa who trv Lt once 
iimlly n*Dcmmrml it to their friends, 
it wfi.ll* eTn-t ii imraftlUte, and 
jtfveafcallrfftjntion. It per tin from 
1 1'hfmUta. erroat free, la. from 

j Linesman, xa 

































AD VER T/SE ME NTS, 


XXXV 


THE GALAXY 

SALE CATALOGUE 

ji Carjwt», Heamirugft, 
overmantels, 
Bedstead*, Bedding, 
'"umiiure, Table Linen, 
Jure a ins. fit., post tree, 
if mention'll^ 
“The Strand“(1/12/02) 
vhen writing. 


The Queen'e 
Royal 

HEARTHRUGS 

(Registered), 

6 3ft 1 ? 2/- «<*■ 

Postage, 6d. extra. 

SPECIAL OFFER. 

3 for 5, 9; 6 for Tt, 3; 

ti for 2 ®/-* 



Patronized by Royalty. 


Real Brueael* 

HEARTHRUGS 

(RegisleTedJ 1 , 

WM-* 

Postage, yd, extra. 

SPECIAL OFFER. 
3 for 14/0. 


THE GALAXY 

SALE CATALOGUE 

of Carpets. Hearthrug*, 
Overmantels, 
Bedsteads, Bedding, 
Flint it it re. Table Linen. 
Curtains, 5c., post Jree, 
If mentioning 
“The Strand” (1/12/02) 
when writing. 


Gigantic Bala of th* “Queen 1 ! RoyilHousehold 
Revercible Rich Turkey Pattern 


CARPETS 


I 

DC 


Trade .1 ark t>rt ftU 
(Jwl*. Bma ft of 
Imitation*. 


ADMITTEDLY TEfK CHEAPEST IS THE WORLD. Woven 
ttjtbiutl xfflai Altogether nuj^rinr quo-lity. with hand^nne liorJer to 
oorreapond. A marvel fur excclUm* t* and beauty. Tb<m«uuli of repoit 
order* mid teatlmoniale received. rhiiitf tb-lugheM Kitfnfectioa. AA lif ii 
ordering, plea no nuntlfin irfnr Jtei i. iuiing. Drawing, or Silling Hoorn. 
«jm1 ivny particular colour pre erred. 


ft ft- by fl ft. 

art. by 74 ft. 

ft ft by » ft 
H ft, by y ft 
« ft bj ll rt. 
& ft by 9 ft 
9 ft by lOfft 
# ft by ll ft 


S 

7 8 


.. aii 1 ' 

.. 13 . 6 

.. 1W- 


REDUCED 

8ALE 

PRICES. 


9 ft by n\tt. 
K»|ft by Vi ft. 
9 ft by li ft. 
n It. by Vi ft. 
Vi ft. by iLHft- 
1 2 ft. by its ft. 
ISt ft. by IS ft 
12 ft by 21 ft. 


108 
10 
10 0 
31 
33 
15/8 
30 

ase 


Black Mount. Tyndriun. X. B.. November 74 th. 
Tj«tnl Rp°*iU]hane write* Will feel obliged by Mr Hodgwm 
■ending to above address two more of the 1 Queen* Hoyai " blainct*. 
S It by U)J ft. (;he<iue£2 is. ed. oncluaed," 


CHEAT BALE OF BRITISH 

BRUSSELS CARPETS. 

Extraordinarily Heavy, very Best Quality. Newest and Choicest 
Inniigim. In Old Gold. Sultan. Terra CoiU, Crimson, Bky, Navy, and 
the latent colour!. With haniiKomu larder tocorrespond. Guaranteed 
to wear fnr yean and give every mtiifortlon. The kIxm and price* as 
follows lall rfeidy for putting downr? 

RBDdGlD SALE PRICE LIST, 


4*ft by ft ft. .. Tel 11 fll ft by IS ft . 33.0 

fi ft by 9 ft. .. 13 3 Real I ^ It by 134ft . 40 8 

Vn. !? lit: iS! Carpet * |* £ JJ JJ JJ- - 

! 2 & Bfc:: SSW l!!£ 5 S£:: SS 

When undering, ideane mention if for Bed. Dining, Drawing, or 
Hitting Room, and any iitrticulur colour pWMHWd, 


Alfto Real Brunei* Stair Carpeta, bonlend to match, iHin. 
wills. 1,‘B per yard; 22ilh. wide, 13 per yard; QTln. vj^le. 3/1 per yard. 

Croce well Terrace, SniulerLanj. January 37th. 
Mra. H. Jameson writes:—"I ulu very much pleased with the 
Rruoeli (krp*ft and Hearthrug, which arrived Mire liui week, ami 
would feel obliged by you fur warding the following order. Remittance 
Cl Hit Td." 




To Readers of Tux IStmasu > 1 ,u,azlm V13ISOS, Offered 

A STOCK OF 

10,GOO 
PATENT 
ODOURLESS 
WADDED 
8ED QUILTS 

fu i llust ration I, at 
an enormous re¬ 
duction to clear 
out, 

ISL 3 e 

Postage, 84* extra, 
levered with Ijctim 
tiful soft Oriental 
Sateen t'bibtx, and 
Oh re Ve rve wide 
another Iwuutiful 
fiend derign. riae 
sft In Arin. 
Special Often 
3 Quilts for la , 
at ft tor 10 6 , ur 
12 for 3B ■* 

TESTIMONIAL,—Hot*, Brighton, October mh. The 

Counter Ehulwth Of WhirhiUuH and Nottingham writ*; — 
“ Received the Bt>l Qullta, with which she is very much pleased, 
and rec|,i«*t« Me^ra. Hotlg^n and Huns to send *jx more, 
pretty, light colour*; chetiue enclcoed. '* 


Re SHAW & CO. Bankruptcy, late of 
6, Love Lane, Cheapside, London. 


A Hodgson A Sons, of Leeds, have purchased for 
cash, from the Official Try*fee, the whole of the 
Stock at a discount of 554 per cent* off cost prices * 
The Stock consists of Carpets, Hearthrugs, Quilts, 
Curtains, Table-Covers, Bed Spreads * Squares, Linens, 
Alhambra Quilts * Silks, Blanket*, Furs, Jackets, 
Dress Cloths, Skirts , Mackintoshes, and general 
Furnishing Goods, 

Special Safe Catalogue of the general stock 
offered at a great sacrifice for immediate realization 
will be sent post free io any address if, when writing, 
mentioning “ The Strand Magazine 9 f Coupon, 1/1202, 
F. Hodgson A Sons having purchased the whole of 
the above Stock, Business, Goodwill, and Effects, 
from the Official Trojfte in dsoJcn/pfcy. 

Ail Cheques, Orders, and future communications 
must be addressed to F. Hodgson A Sons (Oeph 5), 
Manufacturers, importers, and Merchants, Woodsley 
Road, Leeds * 


To readen of “The Strand Magazine, 0 
“ - - - , value 4 01H ' 


__ 1 I 13 1803. on receipt of 

PoataJ Order or Stempi, v&lue 4 6 < HqpU. w« will wtsiui y<m the Largest 
Genuine Reversible Carnet In Bru«ele Flnlah, with luf, ever n>ld 

at the Priir direct from the Looms to any address on receipt of amount suit¬ 
able for l>rawiTig-rrJom, Dining mom, lWrn«m. et«,, bonlered ami woven in 
Brupsels Fatlems, as an adTertiurment for our goods, thus raviiig any middle 
prrjflt. Remember these are woven, and are mitde of a material almost e^iual to 
wool Thousand* of these carpets have twee already sold at double these prices 

SPECIAL OFFER .—2 CARPETS and 2 RUGS, 8*. 


The 

Prudential 


BRUSSELLETTE 

CARPETS 


Woven and RcremiblH, Rich Brussel r and Turkey Pattern* and Colouring*, 
superior iiuality, with ham Isom* holder to match. A Marvel of Ezrellem-e and 
Beauty. Tlicc are superb imltaliana of Heal Bruesela. and, except by 

the clwwt scrutiny, the difference CMinat ha detected. 


DIRECT FROM THE LOOM. 

When ordering. pl*i*e mention if far Bed. THuiug. 


fl ft by ft ft 
ft ft. by 71R 
ft ft hr 9 ft 
74ft by 9 ft 
0 ft. by 9 ft. 
9 ft by ]0*n 
9 ft. by 12 ft. 
■WIT 


Draw 


3 11 each 

3 11 .. 

49 
All 
. 7 6 
. 6 6 
fi a 


= 


REDUCED 
SALE ' 
PRICES. 


104 ft by |i ft, 
9 ft by l.i ft 
12 ft by 12 it 
12 ft by ]3ift 
12 ft by 15 ft 
12 fL by Ift ft 
12 ft by 21 ft 


or fitting Room, and auj particular ontnur preferred. 


ll/Seoeh. 

13 8 . 

133 . 

14/* . 

13.9 . 

19 6 „ 

33 8 „ 


A PRODBHT1AL Bru«s«letta Hearthrug tRttfftb to match nbova Cnrpati aent Fur 18 extra, >l» 3yd*. long and 1yd, 
wide. SPECIAL OFFER.- Three Hearthrug* tor 4ft nr Six For 6 -. Sterling Value. 

Blair.piban, Maylxtle, N B , Augutl 3rd. Stockton Tlouse, Oodforrl ?l. Vary, Will*, Tanuarv 24lh, 1902. 

IsJif Hunter Blair writesWilt F. Fl^geon A Son* send Lady 1 .'bn William write* 11 The 1 Prudential' Bruascletty fujpet* 

her another Prudent ini' Br 11 ss*inr re ^iarpet eame a* Iwfuru, trlmeou have arrived, and are quite Mtlafoctonr/' 
and gold, dimeaeions ll ft, by l&J ft,:? Obe<;uo euclwnl-" llev further order* are ee'it orb , Iohoic. 

Cheques and P.O.'s payable to*- 

F. HODGSON & SONS (Dept. S). K ™£f u A\ll\£\T* r *' SfoMaM^ Road, LEEDS. 


































XXKVl 


AD VERT1SEMENTS. 



BEDDING, WfRE MATTRESSES, COTS, AND 
BEDROOM FURNISHINGS DIRECT FROM WORKS. 

quality, fit a Finish-Best possible 
Cheapen. Newer, a cleaner than shop Stocks 

Proinai Officer* , Carriage Paid: Picking Fr*«_ 
DISCOUNT FOR CASH, on CREDIT TEfliwS ARRANGED 
WHITE FOR ILLUSTRATED PftlCE LISTS, 
CIVING FULL DETAILS (POST FREE). 

Chas, RILEY, Moor St.. BIRMINGHAM. 


THE “ENTERPRISE" PARCEL 


The Finest Cutlery Value in the World. 


to thousands of flutiatted buyers. 

Wo make th* KNIVES of the BEST SHEFFIELD ST 

and they are splendidly finished with M IVORETTE " Hai 
a most perfect reproduction of the Finest African Ivory 

WP I.Vm fiPfiRNU Ihh rnout ♦.. i. . J 


CONTAIN K 


0 Table Knivee. 6 Table K«ir|(«, ft Eraser! Kill yea, 
J D «w r t Forks, S Dnwrt Wpoorui. e Tea Spoons, 
lp*lt Sugar To:ifti. 2 Table S|Oorn h ] Mcn»| *utfar 

K|aOoD, B Egg S] t?oDs. ’i MueLard SpuatiB, ‘l Sail: 
Spooiia, l Hckle l ok 

If you Can I afTiinl cash down, ernd if-, and ypK 

Oo»npk‘te furHiiiw In five Hid e Tncmlhfy iuiuhphU 
Of *h : or. HaMiH'HI. Pa>»UH PrkkKKT for i-nata. 
payment. If not urttailed. return die and wo 

ref Olid your derowll al onc«. 

Our Nit. 1 CamhmtM of JnrrtlsTv, (Vffery 

and Plat *, £u«iry rtc, F ttc.. Is «?* t Pmt Prte. 

AGLETS VUSTED everywhere to sell our Goods, 
flood i’ay. Write tor Lorrna and j^ArUdiiftn* 


k MUaranUHi the SPOONS AND FORKS to kMp their colour 
nd to wear equal to Sterling Silver. Mark- entirely of 
Loi,rMi*iAN ,r SiLVEit—they have an appearance equal to the 


Finest Plate. 


Oar Hook let. * Cutlery 
that Wcart,'' tells yoo aJl 

about " Enterprise " Cutlery 
Metuie sub for a ro,iy. ti 
will send you one Kheje. 


J. Q. GRAVES, 12, DIVISION ST., SHEFFIELD- 


The Musical Indicator enables anyone ei 
ignorant of Music to play the Piano or Harp,, 
beautifully by ea t, and to vamp to Songs in at 
in One Week Post free,, T 9 , 

ThE FUNNIPHONE, 

or New Musical Wonder. Most comical insin 
on earth. l o„ax> cat -power. Causes roa m of lau 
Anyone can play il. Post free, f/S» W, Ki 
(A.F,) t Radnor Drive, Liscard, Cheshire 


NEW “ wm " TREE. 

A nnwlkablt-. portable Bon-t T»w l.iaht, Strong. 
Aiul eully illumed. Fnldi up Into email *n*ra for 
convenience when travel ling. 

The Most Practicable Tree on the Market. 

Snliil Wood, a tl : Follow ffflxi, 

4 11: Aluminium, 106. 

Sold hr— 

H. B. RANDALL. Lid.. 39 * SO. 

Poultry, London, and Drencher. 

THE 

AMERICAN SHOE CO., 

109, RegantSL, London, 

and IhvichNL 


A 10^6 TYPEWRITER 


FOR * • 

LADIES 
ORGENT! 
BOOTS * 
& SHOES 


n fi The Btaci* gr-ti through 
V" — £ : % __ * W U 1 it-H work thofHUur nu* a £20 

NSjv mAChln#, Pori able 
\ ^r— ^ ami Compact, Cnnipli'k 

■^—^ y to opernts. Take* imper 

X” of sn.v ^iw. Pri^r 10 6 

W 1*A i r «U‘h, f^fl frrr (^llnloglLr of 

NnFelties and < heap Tviiewriti-n pail frim VARIETY CO„ 
BaHIfTiore Houu. FMUtt Square, D&latnn. London. 


Bedsteads 


LETS TALK OFORAVES CUTtiRY 


>A*fS f*rjr* 


U NITARIAN R EADING- FREE. 

Retr. Stopfori Brooke -Theo og, and Miracle. 
Or. Charming On If mortality. 

Or. Martineau Fi«e Points of Christian Faith. 

TV**" Publication, Ktit >-!»». iln, lutonitlua an VuKarlonlHn. 

- Apply % letter |*k- , \ , j 1 » ■ 

MISS r. HILL, IB, Chrutfihqrfih Road, Himp«ti&d, R.W h 



TROTMAN’S 

BABY j 

CAKRIACES I 

\tfik?r I 
A T * 1 


[ Esrfwir’Ncr 

ioruekf P le*t 

IK rbltoKnjiU 
London, H. 


Chtab~. IT 
tiniimink FTlEi:! 

C H TnMTW' 

















































AD VERUSEAiEJVTS, 


xxxvu 


'"A reputable cigar, firm and 
well made from matured and 
carefully selected Borneo Tobacco, 

1900 crop* —Tobacconists' Journal. 

EiKffift 

BORNEO CIGARS 

equal many Havana brands and cost only 
half the price. Their delicate aroma, 
payable flavour* and the even-smoking 
qualities of the fine silky leaf Tobacco 
from which they are made—1900 crop, 
the best yet produced in Borneo—place 
them first in the estimation of critical 
judges. By dealing direct wi + h smokers, 
we save them ail intermediate profits* 
REGALIAS (ordinary *i*e) 1(1 S per SO 
^ ,« 20 - 100 

IlVlPERIALES^itirabrgu) 15 /- ? ■ 50 

Carriage paid. Dutyfree, Sun- preference tor Mild 
Medium, nr Full Flavour. Remittance witll Order, 
da .t IVV shall he pleasedtn send cast? eoi*- 
* taint ng -5 cigar* as tatting sample* 
l f Htf for 12 penny sttimps. Sole address:^- 

i The Barnet) Tobacco Estates Co., 

37 Walbrook, London, E.C* 


You Want Crockery 1 



. . Then buy direct from the Manufac¬ 
turers and save all Intermediate profits. 

Look what we can give you for a Guinea^ 

ai/- 


On* Complete DINNER SERVICE 147 pieces, beauLl- 
fniiy printed on Semi-Porcelain body; One Complete 
TEA SERVICE for €t persona, pure white Semi- 
Porcelain, finished In tine gold; One Complete 
BREAKFAST SERVICE for 6 person*, in pare white 
Be ml- Parce l *1 n. 


This il TwI^nKfJi; (ftn iw»«rfcilkk mint («r n|#rw( far Si. 1 '- 
Miriutjf r*fnnutd if n .t tvri'frrUtt ft'hrfnrr. f hm( tht thing far Vt 
eta 11 *d I in# or Birthday present Packed Free, 

lilujtrBtlons Post FRLE 

IMPERIAL POTTERY CO 





-‘THE CUFTON. 


Russian Blau sc Coat and Skirt cwnp/e'e 

(as ah#?* sketch), 45 - to measure, 

SMARTLY CUT AND WELL FINISHED, 
Patterns & Sketches sent Post Free to Country 
Applicants, with Self-measurement Form. 

Please mention The Strand MAGAZINE when writing. 

PEftF CT FIT ASSURED. 

Carriage Paid tv any part of the UMi ted Kingdom, 

WEBB, WILLIAMS & CO., 

Newman House (Comer af Newman Street 

90, OXFORD STREET, LONDON, W. 


# 

LADIES ARE INVITED TO CALL :tnd inspect 
our Extensive Stock of Well - finished and 

* 

* 

High-dass TAILOR* MADE COSTUMES, 
COATS, etc., ready for immediate wear, which 

* 

4 

are told by us, at 3 ° i0 ^ cr **"*■ 

* 


1 ff ftM P&Yfl) 1 Prices. 



K kl 



Ladies AN )ress Well 
And Save Money 


By ordering their Gowns from 

WEBB, WILLIAMS & Co. 


Ladies’ Tailors, 

po, OXFORD ST. t LONDON, W. 


Made to 
Measure, 


Write for 
Patterns. 
Sent 
































AD VER TISEMENTS, 


xxxviii 




A Sign of Big Business: 

“MACKINTOSH'S TOFFEES SOLD HERE." 


- MACKINTOSH $ 


EXTRA CREAM 



ISN'T IT 

DELICIOUS? IT’S 
MACKINTOSH’S 
EXTRA CREAM 
TOFFEE 


TOFFEE 


HAS the LARGEST SALE in the WORLD 


Manufactured only by U. MACKINTOSH, Ltd., ™E.,1 HALIFAX 



A RARE CHANCE. 

£0 

CENT) us your name and iddrrK. and you will receive 
Free on approval 34 of cmr Silver Aluminium 1003 
Novelty Thimbles. Each one it prettily embodied wilfi 
IheiniCftption ,H RememiK!!-Me/' ■' FCirces.me-not." They 
are lichee r a ml t ought lltitt silver, never tarnish, and ldJl 
last a Lifetime. Ohc mitliun Sold already. 

*WE TUTTBT YOTT- 
3STO MONK’S" BEQ,T7I H2E "ID, 

Sell the Ihimbfeiit 2d* riiicli, miking 4/- iltnifdkr, which 
forward 10 US, and we will -end you iit once flip G^nnlnd 
Timfikef|.ief dr irttur laments of I [il' h-cLi^-s Jewellery you 
have earned, and which you can select front our list KTt 
with the " Sellat-Sufht" Ttumbles, and we w|| also tell you 
how you can make a regular Income of £2 lOr. par 
weak* Wr-;c fo-day and rc send t<vmnrmw. 

GOtiO ete OO. p 

No. 8.h *'7hc Watch Houmc," 
DELAMERR CRESCENT, LONDON* W, 


SADLER’S Mustard Embrocation 

A is a good Old English Remedy* Wonder- 

w fill in Rheumatism and L’hest Colds. 

W.urim, relieve*, and draw* out the pain. 

Of aE< Chemists, f/H : or 1/2* post free, from 
HAULER. FTttTH, It ROm t Ltd. Southwark. 
Loudun* B E,, the Vtu-E&rd Manufa« turera 



KEEP A BOTTLE BY YOU. 

w„.-i FOR ACHES, PAINS, A SPRAINS. 


TO THE DEAF. 

A Gentleman who cured himself of Deafness and 
Noises in the Head alter fourteen years 1 suffering, 
will gladly send full particulars of the remedy post 
free* Address H. CLIFTON, 45, Amberley House* 
Norfolk Street* Strand, London* W.C. 



Patron iwl 


SEWING 

MACHINE 


Patented* 


WWff for 


bit H.LM. th* Kmprt** A!*windr<s of 
XnMR. 

r TH ni*.rbino does work which will 
bf*r rompniNiin wlih that of other 
machine* costing higher price*. En¬ 
tirely midi of metal. with ilaled fit¬ 
ting*, Improved Hitch nr-g-ulaEnr, etc- 
II wofkn at great upeed. ft linnn com- 
plkalEnm H*e I he oldhuh foiled intri¬ 
cate machine*. E hen-fore no experienca 
is reqit red. Jt n-orki fine and coaraa 
QUleriili equally u wolL 
Bent in wooden hose, carriage 
paid, ft .r 6 9 j two for l*-„ 
Ultra needles Ad. and la packet*. 
Ouiniotu and FfdiiJivniAfl, or eailt anJ u* tht 
nwAiru af irar*. Addn st— 


SEWING MACHINE CO., 28 Dept., 

>3 A 13, Brooke Btreat, Holbam* London. I.C* 


A NEW THING IN BOOTS AND THE BEST 



for COMfQRT and tLtQANCl exceed all at fieri 

The old tedious method of lacing 
done a»ny with. Two seams ably 
In the boot, m arranged that the 
most tender fwt cannot feet than. 

PATENT . * . 

KYRTON/A 

BOOTS a SHOES 

from 

Ladles’ from 

W+ 





















AD VERT1SEMENTS, 


xxxix 





The ongitnl ftitQientc antiseptic Toilet Powder* 

Delightful after Bathing, a Luxury after Shaving 
Beautifies and Preserves the Complexion. 


4 Pcwltl™ llsHiff flftr Ciuteh Srip. Hahi-u, and ntt 

alt* ttunji nf tbfi skin. Knr nore. and rwmtj fwt, It lioa 

no s4|nit.|: remove* all odimr of perspiration. Gel Mr* s'ms. *rna 
CVRI4JIXAI ■ th* tfonTiii-iw BcmemoTia. SvarLK Vr hl 8«ld 


by all chemist*. or sent post free f«>r ijl ltd per bni by Men nen 

Chemical Co., It, Queen Victoria St.. LONDON, E.C. 


Free Boies to ill. 

5,000 Test Boxes to be Given 
to all Who Apply John A. Smith 
and His Remarkable Cure for 
Rheumatism and Gout. 



fP j(Mi are a puff^rei' from Rlicmuatitnn or Gout, ttnil your name to 

_ John A Smith, i.ooo, Mtn^u<uo lloum, Stonecutter Street, 

London. HU, ami ho will ind you a bi.jt <sf Gloria Tunic ■ aho 
the meet trlahoratidj llluctratexl booh. 
" Hlit’unntjjun : iU juuI Cure,” 

ami J00 recent cun*. Th|« Ixjoh route ns 
Hinny illutetrar lulls in mi actual lift, and 
if ill lull you all about your i4*e., Never 
before has a remedy been so highly sti- 

ooraen a» Gloria Tonic, 

I; It jii properly need, it should cure 
Rhi uni Lf ih,m L no nuttier if of one or fifty 
veuru' itiuidi 11 #. Km i ember this reuie.. j- 
bat i-nn-ij thousU daIfhom h'i#liitid£sliil 
dodon failed to ture. It has cumd 
ton id oxl.i who were enslaved Li cratches* 
and who never expected to walk n^iin. 
Decrepit jienwni ol 70 y«an olid over, 
axmniB them «rmic who were even un 
fthlt to clothe or feed thenu'drcji, were 
completely cured tbruu^h thi# womkTlul 
remedy. This in not mere idle talk nur 
deception, hut# fact wh ; fil j ran prove 
by reference* from fl,uoo nermeia It 
recently cured a jtentlei.au of 74 who 
had Iteen a sufferer for yu yaars, and 
whom seven iihyadrlaiL# fid Let I to enre, 
Gloria Tonic cobtiini no poimnn eiuh 
as i ipuiLo*, SaJlcylate, Calomel, i.or any 
olher prerwimtimi of Mercury or Jiar- 
cotiw, and w ill not harm your ntomanh. 
heart, or liver. 

Send your turns to-day, for I am 
■axkhm that everybody should have n 
test hmr of thin wonderful remedy. 
Send no itampi nor money. 




SEND FOR .... 


Pearce’s Pictorial List 

OF 

ED CHRISTMAS 

IKER 


NOVELTIES 

in Solid Silver, &c. 


ALL HIGH-CLASS. * . . 

THE BEST VALUE FOR CASH. 

Choice and Cheapness, 
Worth and Wear. 


“King Edward” 
Souvenir Spoons, 

etc* 

The most strikingly beautiful, 
useful, and appropriate Xmas 
Gift for igoj. 


Pearce'S Presents 


Sent 


IN SOLID SILVER 

alt the world over post free, 


at their cost and risk (where regis¬ 
tered post Is possible). 

guarantee satisfaction or your 
money back. 


We 


Cigarette 

Case, 

jin. long t 12/8 

Match Box, 

i£in,, 4 0. 

Cabinet Photo 
Frames. 

from 6/- 

FulT Jar* Cut 
Class & Silver 
3 in. high, 8;- 
Sugar 
Dredger* 

4 |in. high, 15 /- 
Pepperette, 
jjim high, 7 8 

Tea Caddy* 
jtm high* 18 /- 
Flower Vase* 
jjim, 13/8 
Child's Cup, 
a|in., 18 /- 


As supplied to Royalty. 

Size 44in, (In ease) 7s, 5d. 
Spoon only fls. 6d. 

Catalogue of Sizes and 
Prices Free, 


PEARCE & SONS, 

HUDDERSFIELD. 


Telegrams: 
" SILVER," 
HUDDERSFIELD. 




























xl 


AD VERTISEMENTS. 






MACIC FORTUNE TELLER. 

Amwpra Ouini Ion* ReTca.1i I he Future. 
A UeVer--foiling Hurts o t Amusement. 
In vultuthl* fur in KvenitUt Party. 
great Merriment. J ntenSDU Young ilid 
01<L i-leut. l\wt Fn“: n»r 1 t in British 
lale*! i/tf iNut fr^ British tokudea. 
No foreign stumps mirept**! 

THE C. TELLER CO-, 

4B. Borland HimiL iVn-khum Rye, 
London, s.ti. 




pE IGHT I^ESTORt 


RESTORES THE SIGHT 


SAVES THE EYES 


WEAK EYES MADE 
STRONG. 


DULL EYES MADE 
BRIG HT. 

Afrite for 
ILLUSTRATED 
TREATISE ON THE 
EYE, Mailed Free. 

THE IDEAL COMPANY, 
239 BROADWAY, 
NEW YORK. 


ALL EYE TROUBLES 
CURED BY 
USING THE 
RESTORER ONE 
MINUTE EACH 
NICHT 

BEFORE RETIRING. 


SPECTACLES ARE A 
NUISANCE, 
NECESSITY 
ONLY MAKES 
ONE WEAR THEM. 


STEWART'S MEDICAL 
MALT WHISKY i, liipl.lv 
recommended liy Grenville H 
ShariF.O.S., the widlknown 
RTIaJjsi .abtltlt! 1 Mistical Profit 

_. GiianuiUMid Old and Mallow. 

_ will (tend full-dfrri Iwntle, topidht-r 
with very intemtltw hoot, l^utiiiilly 
lujlmtoii ittid tamiid in cloth., and JtluO 
lusunuife Coupon, i>o*t free for P.U. i 
Sole BVnden 

A. C. Stkwakt, IS7, Perth Komi, 1 Nilidee. , 


CHAFFE'S Devon shire SERGES. 

Newest Detfghs md Wrarioff in Art and 
Fashionable Colour*, also Ladles’ Cycling 
Mixtures Fast [>yh a lwbHaliW- Wfil not 
eluinjrc colo rinwuhitm. and are not affected 
hr felt Water. Maltnlde for Ladies', 
tienlJarTien'a. and Children's Wear, 
*1 i mjejra Curripuic Paid l^iUrun tr 
warded Ptoati Free. 

WILLIAM GHAFFE, Wetcll Scr£c 
Warehouse. ftuckrastleigh, DEVON, 


PATENT 


BILUARDETTES 


Rigid sidt-Jt, solid rubber Ctufa, to fix on 
ordinary extending dining table, with 
liin, balls, two «i, ruga, chalk*, tips, 
spots. Mid wafers. intend id prarfro* 
itf idfhr, aftnolrl perfKt £NT»tf. &«■* for 
table flfu by 3ft. Gin. *2 5s- fteparata 
sliding point marker, 2d ilk loris, 5 6 
exInL For other riiAA *B(I Him!rated 
Ibt write W. MAJOR. I’ataulee, 
Dent. H. E vln^ton Street, Leicester, 


“ANOTHER Casts for K. AM, 


CYCLES. 

REPAIRS. ACCESSORIES. 

K a M ■ CyclopsediatTW f limit ru 

tiviTiix. Free Interepting to all (.'j-rliita 


EVERYTH 


KIMBALL & MORTON, ID- 

,Wrnp if H'riJwiMir Meek* as It an ft,* 

Both well Circus, GLASGOW. 

(I 8F0KE td 6 MOTOR OAR. 


•JSSf* EAR-CAP 

For Remedying Prominent Ecm, 
Preventing Disfigurement in after life. 
Keep* ilie Hair Tidy, 

/» altsitrt. Jx mi m^asu nr rva nd head 
T* J/ «An V rate' Price 3.-0. iboilag^, i cL 

S.M.CIaxton, 108, Strand, 
LONDON, w.c. 


H.R.H. The PRINCE OF WALES says: 

“WAKE UP, 
ENGLAND. 


DON’T PURCHASE FOREIGN POLISHES. 

BUY 

MATCHLESS " 

POLISH 


METAL 


PRODUCES 


AND 


QUICKLY 

A LASTING _ __ ,_ 1 ^ ^ _ m ^ m _ _ 

brilliancy - SUPPORT BRITISH TRADE 


Guaranteed Free from 

‘MATCHLESS" METAL POLISH, TF!MS, *Ni BOXES 
ARE ALL MADE AT 01R OWN WORKS IS LIVERPOOL* 


Should you have any difficult v in obtaining supplies,, two 
04d. Tins will l«= *ent Foil Free (with address of 

nearest dealer) on receipt of 1/-. 


Mine fa nr kt**? 

The “MATCHLESS" METAL POLISH CO., 

LIVERPOOL. Ltd, 


Don't Let Your Head Split 




Ac, at 1 /■ 


TRY ZOX 

Neuralgia It a IfacMe of 
Ihe Nerves, and mat 
ratunionly alUcti the 
nerves of the foce It &]» 
«ives Ylwlent splitting 
hendimbRft. Ali&uflVrfri 
firun hVurnlsia* Head 
ru tn.’, TtxwtlmcUe. 4c,, will 
In? «btd lo know of ZtkJC, 
a dm pie end Speed* 
Remedy The propria 
tori offer tneenri frrp /Yw 
^ Z<Kt SVmfrn f D 
iTnu t'fljfli r Of « n# 
>lri?itci w t"hit ux7T mrnd 
mtctmred addreiffd 
tnutitxm to 

zcx CO., 11 -- 

-J f iff**™, r 

and |«r hex. 











































































AD VERTISEMENTS. 


xli 


Cigars for Xmas. 

Your friend smokes. Give him our Cigar Outfit for 24/-, and in smoking the 
hundred Cigars it contains* he will think of you kindly on a hundred dtf.erent 
occasions, because he Cigars are good ones. 


Martins* Cigar 
Outfit, 


24 /- 


Every smoker should possess this outfit. It consists of a boat 
of Small Cigara, a box of Medium-^ixo Cigars, 
and a box of Largo Cigars, $0 that he may suit his own 
or his friends' taste at any time. The three boxes in the outfit 
are 

1 Box 23 " Aveo Vous M Liliputanoa* 

A Smalt Cigar for odd moments. 

1 Box 30 “Lord Byron," 

A Medium-size Havana Cigar for ordinary use. 

1 Box 23 "Avec Vous" Curiosld da*. 

A Large After-dinner Cigar. 

Total IOO Ciga rs at a coat of lass than 3d, each, 

The mildness of these Cigars, and their breadth, mellowness 
and aroma, ail grow upon the smoker, until he finds himself hurry¬ 
ing over his meals in order to get his smoke ! 


This is the Outfit) 
Three boxes. 



These are the Cigars (actual size) in the Outfit. 


'j»MC Bob.’* 
Lliiputano* 



Bax of 23* 

4 /- 


Goodness is concentrated in this Cigar. It is mild, with a rich, soft flavour, and is made from the finest 
Borneo leaf. Also sold apart from the outfit at 

13/- per IOO i 7.6 per box of 50 i and 4 * per box of 23- 


'XflriJ Byron 



Box of 30, 

11/9 


A reliable Imported Havana Cigar that has not yet been equalled at its puce. Also sold apart from the outfit at 

23/- per lOOt and 11/9 per box of 30, 


1 Jtvwc f/oui" Curioitdade*. 


Box of 23. 

8/3 



This Cigar pleases the fastidious Smoker. It Is perfect in shape, mild in character, even in Combustion, 
and is made from the finest Borneo leaf, ft was in great dcm.ino among officers in the South African 
Campaign. Also sold apart from the outfit at 

per lOOi 16 6 per bex of 30 i and 6 3 per box of 25> 


MARTIN BROS.* siSiters 23, CHeapside, London* E-C- 

PP ' 'll TTO 

■ . . . . . 












xlii 


AD VER TJSEME NTS. 



MEN 


In every walk of life 
should have a keen 
interest in their phy* 
sicii welfare. Par¬ 
ticularly should City 
Mia, Merchants, 
Bookkeepers. Office Men, and others of sedentary 
occupations, look after their physical being. Ten 
mlmiies each day devoted to intelligent, systematic, 
persistent exercise will actually add years to one’s 
llTe—a benefit which can hardly be measured In 
bounds and pence* We are successfully leaching 
The Stone Method of Scientific Physical Culture 
to men and women in every part of the world. It 
requires only ten minutes each day, in your own 
room, |ust before retiring* or upon arising. No 
apparatus whatever ta required*and you will be pul 
to no extra expense aside From our moderate fee* 

The Stone Method 

ertion, by which more exercise is actually obtained 
in ten minutes than by the use of apparatus two 
hours* The exercises are rational, moderate, and 
are taught by an instructor who it thoroughly versed 
In physiology. Dow nut Overtax the heart. Will 
reduce weight or increase it, Our pupils are of 
both aexei. and range in age from five to eighty-five 
years. The Stone Method embraces a thorough 
course Id deep breathing without extra expense* 
receive quite as 
much benefit from 
The Stone Me I hod 
Of Scientific Phy¬ 
sical C til lure as 


WOMEN 

men* No woman 
desires the same muscular development that she 
admires in men. This proves again the desirability 
of our individual instruction. In every case we 
tike into consideration the occupation, habits, mode 
of living, and the object which the pupil desires to 
attain, and give instructions accordingly. We can 
insure perfect health, a good complexion, and when 
desired an increased chest (or bust? development; 
we can increase the weight or reduce it; we can fill 
out those hollow places and give the form that 
beautiful contour so much desired* We can also 
reduce the abdomen as surely as day follows night, 
Mr String ' s onllf P h 3 fsInstructor 
tv*i paying special attention to women 

and children. He is ably assisted in this depart¬ 
ment by Mrs. Howard, who has had a very extensive 
experience* arid who alone opens and answers letters 
of a private nature. Confidential letlcri may be 
add'eased ’'Mrs. Howard, c o the Stone School.’ 1 

BOOKLETS FREE. *^3 

a booklet for men, and one for women* fully 
describing The Stone Method and our plan of 
postal inairuciion. These booklets contain photo 
graphs From life of those who have perfected them- 
selves physically by The Stone Method. SENT 
FREE with measurement blank and testimonials. 

The Stone School 
of Ph ysical Culture 

2, Wenham House* 4, Bloomsbury Street, 
LONDON, W.C, 

\J€SO Maicnic Tempt*, Chicago, 




Royal Enfield 

Bicycles and 
Motor Cycles 

"MADE LIKE A GUN" 
Prices: £18 I8s. £15 15s. 
£12 I2s. £10 I Os. 

AH Parts Guaranteed including Tyres, 

Cdfa/OfM* Pcutf Fret on application * ^ 

The Enfield Cycle Co., Ltd., Red ditch. 

Mention this 
Magazine y 



SO DO WE I 

QHRISTMAS 

Is hero before v*e are aware or ready, 
CONFESS 1 Shoppi ng anti Selecting 

Present* on a 

Cold, Wet Day is A NUISANCE — ISN’T IT? 


OUR CATALOGUE save* you 


all that, 
“ for It 


i* a SHOP by your FIRESIDE l 

ALSO n SA YES YOU MONEY I 


HOW i O Because you may deduct 2d in 
1 1 ^ " * the 1/- before you send 1 Thil i* 

one of the UNIQUE FEATURES of our WONDER¬ 
FUL CATALOGUE, which contain! I 000 E ngrav- 
mg* of WATCHES, JEWELLERY, CLOCKS, 
ELECTRO- PLATE, CUTLERY, ART METAL 
GOODS, LEATHER COCOS* etc,, etc. 

PERFECTLY FREE-A Postcard will bring It* 


O . LANGDON DA VIES & CO. 

121-126, Bristol Street* BIRMINGHAM. 


TYPEWRITERS 

BOUGHT, SOLD. 
REPAIRED, EXCHANGED. 
&rvd lent or, HIRE. 

M .S.S.Typcv, ritten. 
Age«vts for 
''THE CHICAGO" 
Price JilO -10-0 
«\*trx /'VV>Vj Css ^ ,1 "*’P Instalments. 

IAI LUKO Typewriter Co., Ltd. 

v 74, LONDON. 


UNIvtK,ll I 'Jh "KHtaAN 













































AD VER TISEMENTS. 


A 2lb. packet of Quaker 
Oats cooked according to 
directions, makes a larger 
quantity and better quality of 
food than an equal weight of 
any other oats or cereal. It 
represents 40 plates of porridge, 
and there are no hulls or black 
specks—none of that rancid oily 
flavour— 

BUT IT MUST BE 

Quaker 

Oats 


Digilizc:: bv v 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 








AD VER TISEMENTS. 


xtiv 



FOR, RHEUMATISM 

VITEK 


(VIGPVROFUFE) 
I’H°PEPJ!ES WITH 

g°ms™t relief 
Cased id 9-carat Gold 


EF | 

, 21p K „ 


npME success of Rings worn as 
1 an antidote to the trouble¬ 
some ailment of Rheumatism Is 
so largely known that it is un¬ 
necessary to expatiate on their 
worth, so many cases having 
derived marvellous benefits from 
their use. 

^\\N\\WV\V\\Vv' 

Site- Card and Pamphlet fm warded 
post free on application^ addressed to the 


“VI* VIT«” RINQ MANUFACTURERS, 290, Oxford Street. London, W. 

_ Or of all Prlaoipai Jewfllltn tnd Cham lata. __ 






SUPERFLUOUS HAIR 


RamArk&bla Dlacovery that will Inter*** avary WO«tn with superfluous hair. Perfacity 
■are treatment that permanently dcmLroys the root*, fully deeoribed. FREE TO ALL. 

Hairy women need no longer derodr Out of thy nun* of failures ha* comp ft irrnnine scuvokl Their 
untftKhUjr hlemfih can be ™ thoroughly destroyed, that they therasel™ will condor If they evw riuilly had 
iliftlijriirinci halt. „ t J 

The C&nilln* Mfir. Company are in role pmwejwifm ot * niarrelinus Imme cinithnl that- r*mnr» mi per 
fluotm hair fur prer It gw* to the verv nml of the Imir and destroys l*.s life, *n th%t it will never grow Kiin 
The L'emnauv want it tinilonrtond that thii method is different entirely from the many jimrilpo, louooi, 
and, mimetic* said that ml? pemru’e temporirilv and hurt a dpUeate (kin, while this new method moam 
the half for .ill time. aud h SIMPLE And harmless. 

It id a h,»rni j tmitmont that any lady eao amily jm in her priiita aparlnurntt. and will permineotlj 
remove irujwirhiimix niit withou l p-iln. _ 

B> W9i.]iogyournarii.-allil adplmwitotheCKPlima Mf*. Company, 1*. Century House. Retfe-,t 
Strict London, W . you will re <dre free a full description n( this, iimpli and remarkable method, which 
will enahlfl yon to remove! nil Diijwrdnou* hair at home fit ft vpry aEiglit eg pen**. 

The ilewerirrtiinn Ik mailed ro yn n free in a jierfertly plain and sealed envelope, and you should hare nn 
headtMoy in writing Tnu will he delighted to loam how ead ly and surely ftuporfluom hair can be jxTuumniitty 
arid ittlnletifllj removed, and tl trill par iron to wrii* to-day. Da at neglect to do m. 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















AD VERTISEMENTS. 


xlv 


STARVATION. 

White Bread starvation is the unsuspected 
cause of wide-spread weakness and debility. 
The strength of Wheat lies largely in the 
Bran Phosphates, which are, however, removed 
in making White Flour, but can be restored to 
the diet by using CEREBOS SALT at table 
and in cooking. 


LEARN 

TO WRITE 

ADVERTISEMENTS 



There la not a bueineti in the world 

w>t profitably To r know of practical 

;|sh crtiaJnff The nuirki-t jfl iilwu}» o|wni. and thf 
opT^rtunjtiftP are ulwuyu on hand for Adnt 
WriUjrs. Yon can «uii jts a week in tTii^ callinjr. 

WritB for ti-l pige pnis]pectus. 

PACE - D AVIS ADVERTISING SCHOOL, 
Dept. L. ISSt OXFORD ST., London, “ 


PIANO 
ORCHESTRION 

play* cminl to a bund of 10 nnmli kjii 
The omit Orchestrion with a hmnnfort* 
accaiupuLlment and a combination of 
Taridiin instrurncrits, Driven bj Elec¬ 
tricity. Penny in the plot attui hin-int. 

HUPFELD ELECTRIC 
PIANOS 

with (he MUst i/npKffvrmtnts. 

Piano-p ay era, tiramgph nee. 
Phonographs. Poty phone and 
all kin us of automatlo machines. 
Catalogue on application. 


GOLDMAN & CO., 


“THE MODEL ENGINEER” 

La a splendid paper tor Uinm- inteieiftcd In Me del 
Thri I *:*}■. Locomotireft, S( (nanbait*, gulling Yachli 
Tools, hyiuLrinsi, Miitop*, Electrir Light, Bells, 
IkAteriea, Gail*, Telephone*, Eleitriral Experiments. 
SklenLiflf.' Novelties. Lilul rill MiiiIh of Mecliuziii'Al umi 

Rlntrirtl Work, Full of practical artirln. mid Siller 
“ttng photofmiplifl and working drawings 8*nd for 
opecinien copy. irw. 3d. 

“THE WOODWORKER." 

\ journal of jjpirtif’jil 1 iwl ruction iii Carpentry and 
.luinety, Wood - earring. fretwork, <Cabinet’ making, 
Inlaying, Turning. Manual Training, ami all 1 mm rhea 
jT \\ nOaVrovMllf. OrilrfnHl urtbitH'dcrifrnM and ani kiiig 
Jravingn are a h^cShI tisiti re. All amatearvi urtinn*., 
uni apprtntiei?* will find it helpful in their work, iseml 
for a iTuduirii copy, pa**. fm;. 2d. 

OAWRARN & WARD, Ltd., 
sa. FARKIHODOM AVENUE, LONDON. B.C, 



UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



























AD VERT 1 SEMENTS. 


slvi 



SjjjN.jZ 


1* nectstary to tiring to your own door tha ' 

Bt fe Choicest, and most Up-to-date “Art" ® 

6 ever published. It contain* over 3,000 ® 

ona of Watches, Clocks, Jewellery, Cutlery, 
Instruments, etc. IT IS SENT POST FREE TO 
APPLICANTS, and to any part of the world- 


HEAL 

SILVER. 


Plays 

Senti¬ 

mental 

Comic, 

or 1 

Sacred 

Tunes, 


GASH 

PRICE 1 


If 0 7 ' Others 

i n Hundreds of Junes to - , . 

l9Pa,rt - SeHct from. 6 *. each. 

THE AUTOMATIC SYMPHONION MUSICAL 
BOX require* no turning with handle; plays 
when wound up $ii£, 7Jin by (Jin, fay 4Ain h 
Plays any number of tunes by simply chang¬ 
ing the disc at top, Price complete with 
six popular tunes, IS.*. 

Others at 30 -1 50K 30 to £ 2 B* 


THE " ELEGANT* 1 

HEAL SILVER KEYLESS WATCH, 

Superior Quality MorememL 
Warranted 1 Yearn 
Sliver, 35 -i Gold, 40-, 

Or oti Term*. 


LADIES' CHARMING WATCH. 

Ik 1 *! Finished Movement, pretty Op* 
Will t andim-iurly Engraved Ctoes, 

Real Silver, IS - j Real Gold, 40 - 


LEVER, 
WARRANTED 
7 YEARS. 


CHIME 

CLOCK, 


^ on 
easy 
terms 


chimes 

the 

i.I.AI 

boura. 


and 
pl&V" 
■ereral 
liars of 
‘Home, 
Sweet 
Home.' 
at the 
hours. 


with 

order, 


ao irtrr 35; 

THE “ACCURATE 19 LEVER. 

'Capfttti And ,1 (swelled/' Massive Silver 

* aCLsOu- A really reliable watch, 
ftMb Priie. 30 or. 
i/_ with E/ monthly until 35 - 


THE "TRUE BRITON" 

Real Enplhli IrfVrr, t'-apped and Jew 


Chimes J. t, noil t hours, play* Mfveml ban* of M Iloiiie, 

Sweet Home" at I he hours, 

Him] Lever Clock. Ill Nickelled Silver Case. with err 
helllthed Gilt Front and liliis* Panel Siitet. Reliable 
tuid Guarantee!I Timekeeper Ileiflbt 7 } 1 xl, width f^in. 

113 Cash with order. 


monthly 


PAIN BROTHERS. 


Ltd., 


rioom 

z d as. 


The World-Renowned Jewellers, II ASTI NCS 

PRESENTS WGUSE, Poland 

--:- 


i vurr- i TY - or i 































































AD VERT1SEMENTS. 


xlvii 



RHEUM¬ 

ATISM 


GOUT OYSPEP 

WWW! , S)A 


LIVER 

troubles! 


follows in the wake of lost nerve power, or impaired vitality produced by a variety of causes, 
and from which so many tens of thousands of men and women are suffering at the present 
time. Excess of work , excess of worry, excess of fmotion, excess of pleasure, excess of 
strqin of any sort will produce it, and it, in turn, gives rise to a scries of symptoms as 
distressing as they are often alarming, even though the sufferer is not confined to bed, but 
goes about his ordinary work* 

Among the symptoms of this nervous breakdown, which, unless taken in time, may lead 
to complete prostration and even death, are palpitation of the heart, noises in the ears, fatigue, 
mental and physical, on the least exertion, a feeling of being beaten all over on awakening, 
sleeplessness, loss of memory, dizziness, giddiness, cold hands and feet, pins and needles in 
the legs, pains in the back, which often feels as if it would break in two, a pale complexion 
due to poorness of blood, neuralgia, a feeling of pressure or cold on the top of the head, or as 
if an iron band were screwed tight round it, pain and tenderness behind the ears, floating 
spots or flashes of light before the eyes, pain in the right side or in the chest, a bitter taste 
and furred tongue (often mistaken for “ Liver M ) t flatulence, constipation, varicocele, etc. 

This list is, however, by no means complete, and is capable of being greatly added to. 
The symptoms invariably baffle the ordinary doctor, who either says there is nothing the 
matter with you, or gives you some medicine which may make you feel better for a little 
while, or may not, but it will not cure you, for drugs rarely cure these nervous diseases, 
though electricity, which the ordinary doctor doesn’t use, will. 

It seems a common-sense thing that, if one has used up too much nerve force, seeing 
that the nerves depend for their activity on electricity, the way to cure them is to supply the 
overdraft of electricity in doses, in the same way as one would supply the deficiency in one's 
overdrawn bank account. This can, however, only be done gradually, but it can be done by 
means of the Richardson Perfected Electro Galvanic Belt, which gives new tone to the 
irritated and shattered nervous system, soothing its stress and pain, improving the blood and 
circulation, and by gradually restoring the lacking elements, builds up the system to its 
original condition of health, and even makes the strong stronger. 

Electrical treatment is recognised the world over by the greatest physicians 
as the finest tonic they have t for it is Nature*s remedy, but the expense of its 
application, and the difficulty of giving to the patient for any length of time, 
makes it almost impossible for the ordinary individual to be treated by it By 
means of Richardson’s Perfected Electro-Gafvanic Belt, however, Nature’s 
great remedy is now placed within the means even of slender purses* 


Thirty Days’ Free Trial. 

We invite every sufferer to write at once in confidence, mention your most disagreeable 
symptoms, and then we can recommend the style of belt most suitable for your case. We will 
supply this Belt on Thirty Days* Free Trial, a s we are certain it will cure, and that the wearer, 
after the month’s trial, will then prefer to keep rather than return the Belt. If you are not perfectly 
satisfied, return it to us ; it costs you nothing to try it. The fact that medicines have not cured 
you proves that a remedy of a totally different character, like electricity, is required. 

Illustrated booklets with numerous testimonials will be sent po t free on application. 


AN INVITATION. 


All who tan possibly do so are invited to call and examine the Bells ami Batteries, 
Advice free by Specialists in Treatment by Electricity, Call or write to-day. 


Address letters— A. M. RICHARDSON & CO., Medical Galvanlsts, 

36, Vulcan House, Ludgate Kill. London, EX, ESTABLISHED 1882, 

Digitized by L *OOg 1C UNIVERSITY 0F MlCHIGAN 












xlviii 


AD VERT1SEMENTS. 




No other Writing Machine 
so thoroughly holds its own, 
shows less effect of wear , or 
requires so little attention. 


I 


_ 


TBSe Embodiment of 
Strength and 
Simplicity 




PARIS 




THE ** ABBOTSFORD n , . 

Handsome 8-Day Marble Striking Clock 

WARRANTED TEN YEARS. 

Our Wholesale Price to You, 

£ 2 . 12 . 6 . 

TERMS : To establish the excep¬ 
tional value Securableby purchasing 
Irom us as Direct Importer* and 
Manufacturer*, we are prepared to 
send this EL Day Marble Striking 
Clock on receipt of Postal Order 
value 6;- for 7 days' trial. If 
approved, purchase to be cou:- 
plcted by monthly instalments 
of 6/- p or one payment of £9.1.6 
only, which allows _j/. discount for 

1 1 . 

DESCRIPTION : Handsome and 

w ell-pro port ioned Black \1 a rfole 
Case, relieved with Krocatdle and 
Punipcii Marbles, Gilt Dial with 
sunk centre and visible Escape¬ 
ment. Gilt Rococo Solid Bejel, 
with Bevelled Plate-glass front, 
Superior, well tin idled B-Day 
Movement, Striking Hours and 
Hours on Cathedral-toned Gong. 

SENT SECURELY PACKED 

t} . .. iol ® m --- —CARRIAGE PAID. 

Ueioht, 13tm-; H itffA, 141 ih. 

nr up 1 t'fttiluffUB of Clock* cootaiui i?4 different (wttemi. Mid u *1 knovrlcdfed to ba 

CATALOGUE) the moot comprehensive before the Publie. Post Fate to ami Atomic*, 


> O 


■) o<< 


WATTS &. CO., Ltd., WhitmiDSter Worts Offices, BRISTOL. 


N VtK> T Uh 1V1 ILHI'.jkN 






























AD VERTISEMENTS. 


xlix 


T/IE. 


CEM 


THE correct a 
^ Home Turk 



ilimion of heat by means of 
l Bathing it a perfectly natural 
restorative of bodily powers mid the only certain 
method of curing rheumatism, blood and akin 
diseases, kidney troubles, neuralgia, influenza,etc., 
etc. This method is now being adopted by Lead¬ 
ing physicians, whn proclaim its cures tu be 
remarkable. See our testimonials. 

THE GEM 30.- BATH CABINET IS A 
PERFECT MEANS OF OBTAINING IN 
THE PRIVACY OF HOME ALL THE 
CURATIVE EFFECTS OF HEAT, AND 
IN IT CAN BE ENJOYED LUXURIOUS 
TURKISH, RUSSIAN, MEDICATED OR 
PERFUMED BATHS. 

The Great Feature of out Cabinet is the 
splendid stove supplied and its absolute freedom 
From danger. User* of other Cabinets purchase them. 

We can supply stoves lor Inside or 
outside heating. 

If dcured, we make Cabinets of special size 
and design. We have the string endorsement 
of eminent j hysicians and scientists, and thousands 
ot delighted users. Call and inspect the Cabinet, 
or send for valuable loopa&c book, post free. 

We guarantee satisfaction to clients, 

Sole British Manufacturers of Cabinets, 

THE GEM SUPPLIES CO., Lttf. 

(Dept. H), in Newgate St., London, E.C. 


TURKISH 

BflTfl 

CABINET 







O’SULLIVAN’S rubb hI r £LS . 

THE PNEUMATIC TIRE OF THE HUMAN FOOT. 

IDs comfort and economy wearing O'Sullivan Heels, Outwear leather 
twice over. Can be fitted to all bunts, new or old. black or tan. Order 
by th* NAME, Avoid cheap latitat ions made ot old rubber - 

Supplied by all Bootmakers. If not by yours, send a P.O. and outline of heel. 
MEN’S, 1. 3 per pair, LADIES , 1/- per pair. 

The B. F, GOODRICH CO„ 7, Snow Hill. London, B»C. 


yiLL MAKE 

CAT 

Laugh. 


For Cnicrtaining Xmas Gins 

THERE rs NOTHING Tn EQUAL 

NICOLE KRERES’iLtl, 

TALKING MACHINES. 

Nicolo Fr.res, Ltd,, ure offorin^ the very latest 
and heat Phonograph, and Zonopliones, which 
combine the most recent improvements. There 
is nothing so perfect an a Zonophone in clearness 
of articulation. and ft providea the happiost 
form of home entertainment. 
record* DF the FINEST & host Varied quality. 

» r*fc for J, frm to nwfa * " Th« Stm*<t Maa * 

NICOLE FftERES. Ltd * II, ELY PLACE, H04.BQRN, 

LONDON. B.C. Eiiid. l&lfl* 


Stationery 
Art ldt«* 
Colourmen, 

Weieh th« Koh.i-Noor '^* 5 ^ kee'p thorn. 

I Pencil in the scale of 

experience for all purposes—It la never found 

venting. 


AT LAST I GENUINE HOME EMPLOYMENT. 

IS/ to MV- par weak ran be easily ramed la jour *r»re time with 

The New “ Compound ” 

AUTOMATIC KNITTINC MACHINE. 

XlTTTER 9F.X- 
Mschlnt rati Fie jdt] for by 
Tash or Work Hundred* of 
Tratimoniali Write for full 
pertimlar* to 

Sadin Dept,. 

THE AUTOMATIC 
KNITTING MACHINE 
CO., LTD., 

flMrf fifltf *— 

...--St., London. S,E, 

Bram-heii Lesnuw-W. Orford St. W. iim, UpperFt. TiUrwk*. X. 

on Tt^i—AS. Clayton St BiHMMUiMtw—fl. fild Square. 
Bmjjtol—* t Btokaa Croft Glasgow—K t Ptilon flt Em* nciton— 
10*, FIgoIkd St. Dyiu?- $Sfc fti Ofctpbvii'l firesn 

■ w 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











































1 


AD VERTISEMENTS. 



I>r M iX&rr'i ‘Guide to Health " 
{■ iliepljr LTHmirrtui wit* t*|h 
aMe ihfurmftU'.in for ihoee who 
wlita to be atrimc. healthy, eud 
rtgomiL 

itfld damp fvr podvgv of <xrpu 
is— 

DR. M AXON 

i Dealt ll + l, Bjitiiukst M \ ss kw 
Hollow KDiD f LUMK>N, 


trMtanl retie* 
, I* gained in 
all case* ol 

^ Asthma, Bronchitis Croup, and Whooping Cough, 
by the use ol Potter s Asthma Cure, bold 
Wall ChemiMs and HrrthtLI&Ls in Tins at 1 *, 
Tc^t It free of charge. Send postcard to 
1 POTTiH Pr ruitKi, W holesale Dm** MS, 
f Artillery Lane, London E foe Free 5*mjple. 
I ■ KJndlj mem lop this paper. 


A PERFECT 
TYPEWRITER. 

I 72 Characlera K^ual to IS* 
1 Mio'hitie, Writes t ]«ir and 
lUsMLlifnlly. Fully eatable of 
earning out all Canny ■ 
’ diciice. Learn at right- 
> Guaranteed (or 3 Yeara 
Two daji on Approval 
25 Q&niplH* in lover, 
SfMi fur JKwifmfel fuwdtfel 
dealer*. or SIMPLEX TYPEWRITER CO.. 
Wary BL. BlRHIKfaHAHi, V.m- W 



FREE 



We guarantee these teapots to be Real Silver Electro¬ 
plated on pure white metal, holding ij pint*. If yW want 
h ti , wrjre IO ui without deiaj, and tend us la, |P,0, or 
stamps 1 for one ol our finunml Presentation Real Silver- 
Haled Tea*|WMjns- Lhir Pre* * Gift TupPtl are eata- 
loKOfil at 30a- each, hut in order to «t ymtr custom and 
circulate our Price Lists we will lend you one PULE H 
yuu take ad«in.r,ige qi nut ttUtVt-U'WIt offer, which we Mini. 
After yflv teceivu our Beautiful Teapot—a eeritatile work 
nl the silrtrtmith t art—»<i tlull expect yon to show it to 
your friend* and call their attention 10 tnis admrtisedt*ftC 
Colonial, order* H* eiinc 

(Dept. 43 ), THE SILVER PLATE CO.* 

3ap DELAMEKE CRESCENT, LONDON. W. 



EVERT HOME IS 

Beautified by 

Photographs and 
ROTOGRAVURES 


Anro 

iBRATC_ 

PICTURES 


iLTOTRATeO 

Catjw-oo 


♦ * 

^run Photo C®^ 

■33 Nm Batco S’ 
LONDON . 

W 


«K\ MENE 

y cvV) > 


$?■ 


SANITARY 


TOWELS 


niptnoT to ait outer m i tec fnj clsa.nlineaa, 
pom fort, and aoonomy. May be obtained frum 
all I’oderulnthltig Houms and ChamLita, or 3 do* 
No. 1,1/-: 1 dot Nn. 3 1-; 1 dot No ». ±M: 
peat free A Frt* Sampk of So f **f pmtt 
any Ifttljr Djenfhoimp thil 

mam O YHf l. S3. F»nn ta*». Ltmdon. 1,C 


fi 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 






















































AD VERT1SEMENTS. 


li 


BENSONS 


PRESENTATION WATCHES 
and GEM RINGS . 

NO BETTER CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 



filiitfa. from £2 5*. PRICES BrillHuitj. £8 6 a. 




Brilliancy £J5- 


Ofxl’U and RriIlijtntii H 

£e as. 


always In 
Stock, 
tho 

Largest 

and 

Cheapest 

In 

London. 




Buhlea of rtwihinjj arul 

Brilliant h , £ 2 15s. 


RrHllanU, £4 83. 


OR OS “ HIX' CilUCS ” PLAN OK 


MONTHLY PAYMENTS 


AT SAME CASH PRICES , 


AIHHM I>K BOOK fur Inivcn of 

UllTC u l-t m-KS i ‘ F l A T \ s. UIMK 

111 I I I V iwith aj» earth, IMPERIAL PLATE, 
ll|| | |hI und FJiTKlt HAtirt <nhlch <aji Ihj had 
ufl "Tile Tiiivea ' Popular *vst<<m of 
Purchase by 31 onthly l*ayn icii la at I 'n i aldfuc Ci«li Prii eai. mil 
Order Fnmi Pont Free. 



/ViMwr mention “Strand Magazine." 


Presentation Gold Lever Watch and Chain, £7 lOg* 


J. W. BENSON, Ltd., .IS. 62 & 64, Ludgate Hill, E.C. 


PHONOGRAPHS 


ACTUALLY 
GIVEN AWAY. 



AN ABSOLUTELY TREE GIFT - 


Practical Up •to- date 
Sound Reproducing In¬ 
strument, which will 
take any Standard 
Record and bring forth 
the Words, Music, or 
other Sounds in a 
Perfect Manner . 


Phun^lh™iVif™ t* TOM frnin ibe well kjmwn ivtihlkliDat of Simnudi London Start-. . W f are the 

- llpwt i l 7 l> " 'l! c ot F" 7 firm Ui tl]D Suited Kin^tmn When wo make a P rwnl» ws Leap it i»f Udl y™ tW 

4 of the celebrated SynwiuK Premier Fhon *ra| >hs You can vanity our itaaertlon by 

anttorerlng this advertisement- But do not wall and be too Utc 


THf REASOff FOB OtfR FREE OFFER . 


w* muantltvol our- Svmondi' Pfim|*i Phonograph* to b« dlatrihutad for advert* sin* jhutom-. 

* r J sll '^ l l h :p li " , f' 1 tint whr-ner r fHcnd*: a,k wW tom obtained tt yon will mention that it c«ue W 
4 ' a ” leaat half a down of Dlir E*< wli according the Award whleh we w ill *rnd you 

ipliiTl rig antacutm* o band nni*k. *w, Ac i, *o that your f-iend- may trnow their nnalUy You will not be r quired to a penny for the 
^ p, .! F,rs ^ ?n 1 (l t,ie PhoiwgTiaplucarp fully lacked, and by the direction 1 ynu can learn to ope rate it quickly and esnilj 
can tupidy comic *ontimental «m*f. reljgkma h] action*. or band nawHc. What kind -In you pre'er ? flur cntaloffu* will help your choice 

Tr. (;^irt tv. rnnr T 1 ? 1 14 " *£/ m . on * f( ! r ihe Phimoynph. hut merely writ* a letter, mentioning haring k*su thU offer In 

Tea oTHJMi. Olre ua your (till addroM, being particular to >l» mention the neamit railway at** juft- Ftrtbwe .tamp 


SYMONOS LONDON STORES, 124 - 128 , 




E*C, 

































AD VER TISEMENTS. 


tii 


The . . 

GLOBE-WERNICKE 
Elastic Bookcase 


Grows with your Needs. 



Should be in every Home , 


Library, Office, and 
Institute. 

The Globe-Wernicke Patent Elastic 
Bookcase System Is the only perfect 
System Invented* You can commence 
in one corner of the room with a case 
large enough for ten books, and this 
can be expanded upwards or side* 
ways to any extent; the ** Globe- 
Wernicke n is thus never too large 
nor too small. 

ADVANTAGES— 

Gradual Expense — Dust - proof and 
Self-closing Glass Doors—Any Corner 
can be fitted—Cases can be built 
square or round a Pillar - Protection 
of Books — Portability — Elegance — 
Utility—Economy- &c* 


If you wi'nitt inspect* send for handsome illustrated 
No. 5 Iko'daur*,sent post, free to readers of The Stsamj, 
which fully explains the sysiem. 

tfibc Slol?c-Vcrt)iekc(?o. 

Formerly Tho$, Turner (Lefcetter). Ltd, , LTD.* 

44* Mol born Viaduct, London, E*C. ; 
8a t Victoria Street* London, 5, W.; 
A!*0 *t BIRMINGHAM and LIVERPOOL, 



Tea Time at Christmas. 

This set of china would Rive more real enjoyment at 
the Christmas Tea Table than »/- worth of anything 
else. The housewife would be honestly proud of u ; 
its chink would revive family memories ; and its handi¬ 
ness in a house full of guests would cause the donor to 
be remembered fur choosing a gift at once pretty, 
practical* and immediately useful. 


Consisting of n pieces of exquisitely thin, transparent 
china* embelli hed w ith rich gold and floral sprays, 
Tlie painting i> by hand, and every piece is perfectly 
finished, See illustrations for pattern and painting* 

« Tea fl Hmicen, 


ti Tmi Plate*, 

1 nrvakfrrt mint, :t Htiurer*. 

] Brntltfiiat Plate*, 

£ lirwtel and liutivr ur I’aka Pint**, 

1 Hut Jiiab, 

t Tea Put with Hrtiv putatil blidluf Uti, 

3 I’nvun Rirer, 

3 Slop Huift, 

2 .lux*—tt Set* 

I lint Water Jus. 

imen cup and saucer sent post free for i/*, 
pay carriage on this set to any address in 
id or Wales, and guarantee safe delivery, 
cash with order, 


To every purchaser of above set we will give during 
Decern lie r one of our half-guinea dessert nets. 


The Ceramic Art Co*, Ltd 

Crown Pottery, Stoke-on-Trent. 

Established tS&y* 


Digitized by 



Uriginal tram 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 

























































AD VER T1SEMENTS* 


liii 





Ladies' 4l Sw*n" Pen* richly mounted, 21- each. 



‘Swan 1 ’ Pen in Plain Silver, 30/-. Rolled Gold, 32/- 


1 Swan " Pen fully covered in Chaied Silver or Rolled Gold, 40/- upwards. 


Size 1 , 11 Swan ’* Pen. 10 0 . 


y ’ —— >:win‘ptN 


Site 1, 11 Swan " Pen with Rolled Gold Bands, 14/0 


Size \ 11 Swan" Pen with Pocket Clip. 12/6. 

MABIE, TODD <& BARD, 

93, CHEAPSIDE, j LONDON 

95a, Recent Street, W„ J LUflUU "' 


fountain 

Pens 

FOB 

XMAS 

PRESENTS. 

Known ihe world over. 
You t an make no more 
acceptable gift than the 

"SWAN," 

Supplied in three tils- 
lincl Mie*, |Q B* 10. 6, 

26 up to £36. 

Post Free In U.K t 

5old by *11 

Stationers. 

Write for Illustrated 
Catalogue, of 
Pnt3e*itatiort Pens. 


and 3 , Exchange St poet, MANCHESTER, and PARIS. 


YOU CANNOT 
THINK 

WITHOUT FACTS. 


SHOOT A MAN Out of a Cannon 

into a prairie where he is isolated from every thing and everybody, and command him to think, 
and he will accomplish nothing. A man cannot think without something to think about: 
cannot build without something to build on; cannot construct without material with which 
to construct. As well attempt to build a ship without material as to reach a wise conclusion 
without facts. The man who can investigate a proposition that means 
health to his family and himself, and won't do if, is not honest with his 
family or himself. We have something that is worth your investigation, 
Wc claim we can offer you surer means for obtaining and preserving 
health than you have yet heard of. You cannot say that this is not ro without 
investigating facts. We are willing to put facts before you; with them 
you can form your own conclusion, without them you have no right to 
form a conclusion. The enormous sale of M Century Ft Cabinets stands fo* 
all we claim for the regufaT taking of Hot Air and Vapour Baths. 

Writ* us to-day. for (Iltittraled Catalogue Afo, ff and tmdfy 

n tntion The Strand JWagatiM. 

Century Thermal Bath Cabinet, Ltd., 

([kept, 9 X *001, Ktfut St., London, Ml 



Healed from outside or inside. 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
















liv 


AD VER TISEMENTS, 



Wc are offering two 
brands of Cigara which 
have been much ap. 
preeiatcd by thcn^c wbo 
have tried them, i.t, 

•' Lake Pi-ide.’- 

la p_r 100, 

** Flor de Horace,'’ 

16 l«ir iOO, 
Or tn £tams u/ .SO at 
fiatf /Tk». 

- - /ill buy when once they have 

tasted their exquisite flavour that we will send 0 of the 
former or 5 of the Latter post free, as samples, for 1/-, 
All orders for Jess than »/- should be accompanied 
with 3d. extra for postage. Our large cash trade enables 
ns to offer these Cigars so cheaply* They are equal in 
quality to many sold at much higher prices, as you 
will see on trial. 


“ For those who 
appreciate fine brands. 


A British King 


A British Sweeper, 


SMALLMAN & Co.* Cigar Merchants, 

MOOR STREET, BIRMINGHAM, 


REMARKABLE CURES 


FIVE 

Moving' 

Parts 

only. 


pll&ncee* h*XAUU4Eixo ovxu Fi>ti Yiaul Quamiteed b> Mad 
a current through the lurta olfuctaL in*Gmt relief in ,-. r u r - a T 
Rheumatism, Lumbago, Gout, Sciatica, and all of 

uongL'Htiiju ; for Local Weakness and General Debliltv 
[ hern in nothing to enuul thum- Worn perinntly drj oa the hods- oo 
VLiteg.Lr or lliioid ri9(|Ulred : mo*t COlnfo faille la wear p£j’™ 
from S/-. IUmuratatl Pamphlet - sent PUHT PR EE cm. mention in* 
tlds publicsLou.- i. L. PULVFRMACHER A CO., Ltd* 
rn. Kvgeiit Street, London. W 


Was the one used 
on the 

CORONATION 

CARPET 

ill 

Westminster Abbey# 


DO NOT BE 
PUT OFF 
WITH ANY 
OTHER. 


ONLY BRITISH 
SWEEPER 
MADE. 


F Insist on the 

F “EWEANK" and 

you will get it —or 
write us far address 
of nearest Dealer. 


from ID tins, 
including 
Vm Whepj, 


Tm flwTTT Ovcts Os., Ud., Oofwtrr. 

OTl n«i*^iAp - 14 jfc I it II I Law. Hfl-d ' i 


Dr, Grey's PAT REDUCING Pill 

will lately reduce, cither sc*. 3 to 7 lbs weekly, and I 
Health. Skin, and Breathing without irYuimp 
ABDOMINAL OBESITY A SPBCIAUTI 

as Ptr hot, plain wrapper post free to am 0 f t 

lLu.r«cr sw, ter Cfiav* which hare restated other trestmen 


ENTWISLE & KENYON, Lo., accrincton 


DEVELOPED 


IN 

Reservoir 

Pens 

IS BflAHEJEO , 


"tlNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













































AD VER T1SEMENTS. 


lv 


USEFUL XMAS GIFTS. 


PEACH'S LACE CURTAINS 


V, nU UMktj fur Illlstim ran Cat jtiwti. Esncjitiutud Value i>inst;t 
fjniiiiUi*: Loonw. POPULAR PARCELll Lot Ka 71^£C3oikbLkU«: 
I isHr Kid] i Iran itig-Room (Jurtains, iydu-. lane, ift'dii. wide. 5 J imi Tv u1 1 kv 
JjjiiilI w>m<! hniiim-KtMini Curtain*, Si yd*. byStiu*. 1 Laanj^t lkdfWin 
Onrtuln*, »}-as, b> (Witm i [*iir Sub CurUina l Table Centre. U*t 0 
IntM Oofera, Bern if desired. Carriage Paid, BL-. 


PEACH'S LOOM HOSIERY 


of \Vwm l 1 ndcttdothi tig LADIES' OUTFIT 

l*. Lnt No. 712 OontHin*; ] pair WixiUen (.kmbinatiiHis, 
perfectly abutted mi*x cjtmlity. I Divided Skin, huttona at knee, 
UEWUJpUMd lor Jit ami comfort, 1 Italic*, to button down front. L! Iftire 
( asimmre Haw, Full Fashioned (Jarring* paid IB.-, 2 L'arwlB 33 /- 


Send for List 

PARCEL. 13. 


PEACHS HOUSEHOLD LINENS 


Send for HtmwhyLd Linen Ldrt, SPECIAL OFFER, LINEN 
PARCEL 21 0 . Lot No. 713 Contain! : ] Double iMouok Tahlc (.'loth 
llonl dcwEeii. a by 2 ijdn fl Napkin* to match. l Jtarawk Table tlotlu 
■UilalEO.1 Kitoneo Table LUalh, 1 Trey <*> W. i Linen Boiler Towel 
l trla«i Cloth 1 Buff Uhamoi* Cloth. l KRdien Cloth. Cama** Paid 
3 jJ 3 ;_jiLj>EACri & HQN8 , Listek Clarr. Nurruru tu«. Fat lsey. 



DONT SNEEZE 

> ou. can at one* Cure jour Gold by uibig 

DR. MACKENZIE’S 

CA TARRH-CURE 

Smelling Bottle 

It instantly Relieves and quickly 
Cures Cold In the Bead and Head¬ 
ache; Arrests Influenza U the 

best remedy for Faintness and 

Dizziness, Heriralgria In the Head, 
Hay Fever, etc. 

Sold by a,]] Chemists and Stores. 
Price SL/- ; or if you cannot obtain it at 

your Chemists (refuse worthless Iml 
tat Ions) send 14 Stamps and it will be 
sent Post Free from 

MACKE HUE'S CUBE DEPOT, READING. 


A CHARMING CHRISTMAS GIFT. 

THE! machine; that talks. 

CAMPBELL’S graphophone 


A Fascinating and Unrivalled Entertainer for the Home Circle, 

Pirn eau mute 
j/qut mrt t 



The I km TnlkiugELtid Singing 
Machine In tJj* jlliokrl at 
th« price, II |» the new 
A 1 iierium aot h c 'entury Talk 
1 1 Mi M'u-’l , H 1 *hebtAwuiido 
,.i tlielWis Exhibition, 1B0(J. 
T-ilta. Sinifu, ITHy™ Dtoitr 
Music, Skcitd Munir, Violin 
13 ilim, Bmijcs Solos. and Stiig* 
1 Nearer, my Grid, to Thee. 

■ MfcJtti, Lover of My Seal." 
’Tile Diamond Ring*bj Uwt 
Lej a. SiU’Cinliirii-e torriurUTf 
of *trawl Mag. £3 1 S«,, car- 


IJjragbjfll illluBitwted Price Lin „f Sl%i!di!e'r Mu-SireUnKtrl^ 
m*ntg for Bffceon Iftmjpuet tree. The finest Mimic Lht teufed 
bold uidybj CAMPBELL A CO.. Inutrumuht Makers, 

„ nJRgate, GLASGOW, ipist iWished over SO Veare h 

N. 11 , - Itc w are of w urt blew flenuan im.ii a q. n is ad % e rtined wo ex teiml v elv 


NO LANCING OR CUTTING 

Brnulred if yn« use the world-renowned 
BURGESS’ LION OINTMENT. 

IL hnA env&d mm it a limb from the knife 
Ill red attain After ln.i UK gi r«a u|> by I LuenitnlB. 
pie Ussr Kevruv for Wo Enron ami *ll fig in 
PlSEiSEl ,4 Ohtai* Chian for Ubccu, 
Tt'MuErnji, Aiwe-ffipais, Etim. Ac, 
Thoummixvf Teatimonittlt frmn all pariw. 
Sold by aM Obemlrte, TJdy 1 /li, tc., per bo*, or poet free for atAinpi from 
Proprietor, E- KPHOESs, i!®, GfHJ - 1 inn ltd., Loodw,— fjralit, 



CONGREVE'S 

BALSAMIC 

LIXIR 

FOR ASTHMA, 
.CHRONIC BRONCHITIS, 
COUCHS. COLDS, 
CONSUMPTION. 


or «I1 fiiU-iil Mt.liriu.' Twdon. 11 [. 7/B. 4 8 s 11/. ,*r lx.ttle. 

CONGREVE’S NEW BOOK ON CONSUMPTION. 

J’rict frj,, pnsi ]rcL,irori] louinbe Lodge, Peek hum, Lundoit,S.E. 



LADIES AVOID CHILLS 

]ly wearing our Ohimnlng 

KNITTED WOOL CAPLS, 

from a fl each. 

They do not BUpofnike Shawls, 
nor do they hinder the luuvo 
input#, WriUi to-day for Hlujk 
trilled List Men Hon Stw a * n 
Mao. — Kkittru Oohact awp 
Cloth iso Co., ua, HandU ld 
Hoa h Nottingham. 


• f*qualft , B issell Sweeping 

for FJa/te. Silence, topeeti. and Sanitary C&neeQuenceM. 

It h the dirt ,fTT W ^ nrp il * TlCt ”™<™ St in* «lo*w* reerttwel*. 

™*™" deeply tbftn a broom-with lew wf*r and tvltr, and Knnlm rot hall the effort. 

mce 13 3 A J4 8 fat Cash at alt Storesandire/itnongart. Other Valves at 9 9, W B A 77 3, 

Gi akaNtze n n T TH E E.JSSELL. CARPET SWEEPER COMPANY. HN 8 BURY, E.C. 




TFlROE mark 


WORLD-RENOWNED ^ 

Glycerine & Honey Jelly 


&fymief Jetty. 


ARTISTIC 

PRIVATE 


a FOR CHAPS f ROUGHNESS OF SHIN, FTC. 

Occasioned by Cmu or Heat. It Softens and 
Improves the Hands, Face, and Skin Fcntrally, 

FOUTY TEAK'S INCItBASJNOF TElfAIfD 
6 c*d by all i'hemlnts and Ktoreo In MitiaitSr Tni'#a 6-[ fa, 
or sent poctwre free fer ibmpt by Proprletnot, 

OSBORNE. BAUER d CHEESEMAN# 

Prr/umtrt to Her Late JTnyesttf Ffcfo^ ' 

ie, Gold tw aouawg, ffcotNT It., Lean n fl ' 


FROM 2/* 



INEXPENSIVE 

GREETING 


MB 


PER DOZ. 


iTiEfh clftaa up-to-date designs neatly printed with 
» aeanonahla greeting ami vour name arnl aililrm 
Write for SAMPLES POST FREE (returnable.) 

WM. COLEMAN, ARDWICK, MANCHESTER. 

Band Xmas. Cards from 6d. per do*. List Ires. 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 







































AD VERT1SEMENTS. 


Mti 


A NEW GAME! 

For the Winter Evening ARTISTIC A A,WISING I 

. . ADD-A-BIT . . 

Har butt’s Plasticine 

MODELLING GAME 

PtamwniALLT Protected. 

Poj? St to & 

VWV wv^ 

HltfLBY'St Oxford St. »nd Rotfont St-, LONDOli 
FAUDSL PHILLIPS, 81 ; 

or fey poiL 5,4, from 

WM. HARBUTT, A.R.CiA., fixthampton, BATH. 


TO 

THE 


DEAF 


If you Ruffor from deafness or heiu] noitea and desire r 
complete and per nmn cn Leu re, write ait o nee U) Professor 
G. K aith- 11 ary ov *49, Fin Bbury -pa vement, London ,ELC., 
for pftmphleL fully describing an enLirely new self' 
applied method, which he will send yon grati" and post 
free on men lipping this Paper, Magnifleent TetUmonutU. 


GUARANTEED 18-ot. SOLID GOLD 
RI MGS 


No. 16 



■Srfuui /or SiM ('aril 


“ d *S JEWELLERY 

can now bo haul of much bettor 
q.imh(j r Iwjiuie full Yulue for 
money ii obtainable by purclituiiiig 
direct from th-e iduu producer. 
Instead of pftyiuR the enornimis 
profit* rctuil ihope are known n> 
oLuu^e to cover risk, interest, 
uii#&l Sable Stock, etc. 

WEDDING RINGS. 

32-qL GUINEA-GOLD. 

Any 0QO<tM wtf ffpproiAed nwy h* 
exakanfftd, vr tht money paid uiff 
be rrfwmrri if dtiinad. 

IUumI niLeJ Cutuloffna and SilC 
run I Prat Free on siiplU uLiou. 

MANUFACTURING 
JEWELLERS’ CO., 
BIRMINGHAM. 

iFmMehed Isa I 1 


GREY HAIR 


A 7 -fi BHArtEINE, r 

jB * wa*tuible r aim abudulAly btrmletl. 

W _■ jflbf fflHl ’Will not hu.ru the hair or product UJ1 
a h niliir.il tint. Lion ilulxniiU'e. 

Jf.. \wfJEW^ i'oiLl Jin» ih> lead, ^ilTtr. mlrltur, mtc. 

-wir ± ii-ui Brittle, Tit i^nta botU*. it, 

V Mg j-jjt i ■ .toft free iSent lecreily pmcked.) 

jl tT m a^tnle colour required. 

tfHOimM IS. T. ALIXAHDKI lEiL 1 UH, 
tO, ^estboum* Grove, tad 35 . Great PorCl*nd Btr«L London, W r 


Pipe Connoisseurs 

Always Smoke 

The “MASTA” 


f This n Lust rat ton showi its perfect 
slruction. by which all nHJ«tu« is ellec- 
, tualily prevented from entering tilt 
L pipe trawl or futokartl month, A 
k trial will pruvu wiuUt a luxurious 
smoke it enyui es. 

' A\ lllftSAL 


Even |f ] 

The 

** M ASTA M 


would be ch 
where A nuttier \ 
ef perttnul fU& 
Sure and health Is 1 

PhSCNK\T concerned, but Isv : t 

1 at i*. a/6, sfa vti, and i 

upwards. Writ* for ettjr 

XT “GUIDE TO SMOKING, 1 ' I 
! ' full of Hints and Iuitruc- 
tioLg to all Smokers, post 
Free, The ’MAST a" Pip* 
can (w obtained at Tobic con rets. 

Or fiom The "MaSTA" ¥. P, Col 
R eel SL« London, E_C 




ART METAL 
GOODS. 

f Besides Gas Seif* 
Lighting Fittings* / 

ALL kinds 

TO SUIT 

All Places 
All Tastes 
All Pockets 


Beauty. 

Harmony. 

T aste. 
Durability. 

Write for Booklet. 


DON'T SHUT YOUR DOORS AGAINST 
BEAUTY. 



THE GAS SELF-LIGHTING CO., LTD., 
130, Queen Victoria St., London, E.C. 


*€osume. 


Contains 93 per cent, Proteld. 

PROTEID IS THE SECRET OF LIFE. 

Without it we die. CASUMEN is the essence 
of En^lLsh milk rendered into a light, dry 
white powder; it can be mixed with Cocoa, 
Coffee, Flour, and all farinaceous foods. In¬ 
creasing their nourishing properties ten times over. May be sprinkled over 
vegetables, bread and butter, toast, etc*, with the same beneficial results* 
4 -Ib, sample, post free, ■/-, with general directions and Medical Testimonials, 
from Prideaux’s Pure Casein and Life Food Co., Ltd., Motcombe, Dorset. Or 

from Chemists, Stores, etc. 


umvtK.MiT ui- .v.iini'j^.N 






























AD V3RTISRMENT2L 


tf* 



The One It will most certainly interest you if you are inclined to be stout, or 

Certain Cure - if, for any length of time, you have borne a burden of superabundant 

fat of which nothing you have tried has permanently relieved you. 
For, indeed* there is only one radical and permanent cure for Corpulency, viz* ; the 
famous “ Russell n treatment; and if you are still stout it is a sure proof that you have 
not tried it. It is the certainty of a permanent return to health, grace, and beauty which 
has caused the immense success of the treatment discovered by Mr. F, Cecil Russell some 
twenty years ago. 


The Pleasant The “ Russell ,J treatment involves nothing disagreeable — no 
** Russell** nauseous drugs, no sweating or purging, and no irksome dietary. 

Treatment The P^ nc ^P a ^ curative agent used is a harmless vegetable liquid com¬ 
pound to be taken at stated intervals until the desired reduction has 
been attained, when the treatment may be discontinued without any fear of a re-develop¬ 
ment of adipose, provided the patient has ordinary prudence. In “Corpulency and the 
Cure** (see foot-note), Mr* Russell gives the recipe of this mixture as proof of its entire 
harm I ess ness, as of its purely herbal nature* 


Its Tonic The mixture in question is neither aperient nor constipating, but 

Value *. is an excellent tonic which promotes a healthy appetite and stimulates 

the digestive organs, with the result that, while the decrease of fatty 
matter is going on steadily, the subject, by taking a larger quantity of wholesome food, is 
enriching the blood and thus increasing muscular development, nerve and brain vigour, 
and generally gaining in health, strength, energy, and good spirits. Herein lies the all- 
important difference between the ** Russell” treatment and other methods; the former is 
a builder-up of muscle, brain, and nerve ; the latter are debilitating in every sense. 


Rate of Twenty-four hours after commencing the “Russell” treatment the 

Fat Reduction, weighing-machine will prove that a reduction of fat has taken place, 
varying from Jib* to 2lb. (in severe cases of obesity sometimes more)* 
This welcome decrease continues daily until the normal dimensions are regained, when, as 
before stated, the treatment may be dropped. This is not the case with other methods, 
for, as soon as the latter are abandoned, the fat deposits begin to form again. It cannot 
be too frequently urged that the “ Russell a * treatment is permanently strengthening as 
well as permanently fat-reducing. 

Grateful Stout persons who peruse “ Corpulency and the Cure/ 1 Mr* RusselPs 

Patients, standard work, will be struck by the convincing evidence as to the 

permanent value of the “Russell” treatment, supplied in writing by 
hundreds of the author’s grateful patients. For obvious reasons Mr* Russell omits the 
names of his patients, but every original letter is carefully died for reference at Woburn 
House as proof of bonafides. Medical men, to whom Mr. Russell owes the introduction 
of many patients, frequently verify for themselves, by reference to the original letters, the 
extraordinary cures effected by the “Russell” treatment and recorded by patients in 
“Corpulency and the Cure.” 



On receipt of three penny tt&mpa to defray pntaga under plain sealed 
envelope, etc., Mr. F* Cecil Russell, Woburn Haute, 27, Stare Street, Bedford 
Square, London, w.©*, will be pleased to forward to all readers of M The Strand 
Magazine' 1 a gratis copy of his authoritative work, “Corpulency and the Cure" 
(206 pa^C9 five). It contains the most exhaustive information on the causes 
and cure of obesity, besides a thousand testimonials from the author s 
patients, and as many extracts from the Press. 

All communications treated as strictly private* 






_ . ___ 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













be 


AD VERT1SEMENTS. 



. . MARROWFAT . . 

GREEN PEAS 

(IN PACKETS} 

are "imply drlMotu. They hare & ildicnlf and 
delight ml flavour all thiir (urn, and a™ quits 
dirtmet from uny others obtainable A pint mi ket 
dj<ikv» ii tureenful of Ixautirul i^wn peas,. sufficient 
for ten person* Aiik yuur jmtr for 

BEAU LAH S GREEN PEAS. 


FUFF lb an ^ r th*U JOU trnij flute till* 

rfltt deijdoa* nirpecist-r we will sand 

PARK FT 3011 Tree fit receipt 

r nun l i a of ataxup for i^ui^e. Auunks*; 

J, & J, BEAULAH fUwfc « , BOSTON, ENGLAND. 


GREEN PEAS 



The Chimney can bfi Swept, or a Choked Omla 
Cleared by any Man employed about the piaffe 


BE STRONG !!! 



Dumb Bella. jm and all the 

Bar Bells. leading 

Uni* Hcj^Iks, M ■ Amnitur and 

Pruitsalortal 

Expanders, birong Men. 

Sc., Uutnt* 

ah made for $AND 0 W, Price List I Stamp. 

ScrikJW* Dewteper, 12 0. Sandotf* (trip Dumb EftOt, 19/e, pvH .rw 

CHARLES HEAP & CO„ Leicester SL, London, W.C. 


=T 0 SMOKERS.il 


[1 you wtoh to spend a happy Smaa you MUST bAte tv OECENT 
smoke- Thi* i* not alwayu va*y to get. ™t a reasonable prii’e l** 111 
rely upon reocunniciulutionn. but send i - for our Special jema* 
Bam pie Bo*, coatdinins; b H#»nt uml SO I’ypmtki mil dJlfwvntK 
Try t&M and make * dioiiu for yourself. WgM frwi B - jut box 
of 60. Uig&reUee from 2 0 p* r tOQ. Price JUrt free. 


I on/trUCTT 2 pfl 1*1. BinlPlfs buildJtigfi, 

UKALrKtf I Of. LU-, tiuitiera Circus. London* E.G, 



Btalnl Oroy Hair, 
TVh lakeis. *jid Eye¬ 
brow! any itod* 
desired. Does not 
stain the skin, ti 
applied in s. few 
minutes. Itfihum- 
le». Washable. IjwU 
Inf. and Baftoret 
IliH Colour to the 
Root. making detec¬ 
tion impossible, arid 
is undoubtedly the 
Gleanert and best 
FLiir Stainer 
in the World. 


t 


Ne.l.TJsht Rrowtij 
No. b. Golden: 
No.S. Dark Rrnwli; 
No i. Rlurk. 

Sent. reeretty 

parked* by po«t. 

fnf In. 3d., *P- 3d., 

Si Si . St, tod 
10*. 

Medical Cert! 

float* sent 
with each 
bottle. 


WRITE FOR UNSOLICITED TESTIMONIALS, 




CALS* f& 

mm 


FRILLED BUTTER MUSLIN. 



CURTAINS, frilled two Hide* and bottom 
Serb, long (tfin wide. <19 per pair: hy Die yard 
1 ltd. per yd. Sample Book of Fhin and. I- lytirw 
M niLi ns eent on appnrral Bnydre Curtain Tape, 
S'lj r^r IvtT ROLLER hLINDB, ffvrai lfl. 
CARPETS. Cretonnes. Tappet tie-. Art Unui, 
Art Silk*, Flush el tea, Art Bewa Fatten™ on. 
approval Pfctun Rook of t*« curtains. Kollsf 
CLinds Carpet!*, Linoleum.CorkCarpet, Hatting. 
Red-line. Prut Free. 

CORRIRCE A CO.. 3Jn 0*t>L. Ho -t Ingham. 


"S T IVEL 


DOUBLE CREAM 

CHEDDAR FLAVOUR 


CHEESE 




■To APLfN * BARRETT. 

“ VeoviL 


ir {n»di _„ _ ... . 

ST 1VH L-' CHEESE. I have never Listed any- 

Lh-Lii*: so delicious in *h my ei|M>neni:e. 

William C Hart. 
Afasttr CanJt to fftrlaft MAjtstp Qurtn Vitim 
for JOytan m iitr Alafuif f ATiAAM* 




SOLD AT ALL PROVISION STORES 


Smoky Chimneys Cured 

|1t nsing ,1 nhn Cochrane's world renowtw^l 

trim irmviic imrcriKL 

An Inetaut ami permanent Cwa The Uriest 
Rile in the world Over ICO.l Oo in use 
Ivlivrml, oam*(te paid. b> any acldrses in the 
rtrited Kinptltun, on rei’eipt of poeta.1 Orfar foe 
13 e. Frlntrd directiooi sent with each- Any 
jrrwn <an fii them. Plate inside dtametet *f 
ebitnney pot Particular! and Testimonials of 
the Soli Mm*— * fsfnfjlwAeii fSM./ 

JOHN COCHRANE, Sheet Iron Works* Klrfcgate, LEITH, H.B, 




HI n Why Buy NSW Shirts when von cm have 
” ^ ^ your old ones made New a^ain for a quarter 

of the costT Refined with best quality 
Irish Linen Fronts, Cuffs, and Neckbands 
For ftl. Send us your 
old Shirts and they will 
be returned Carriage 
Paid in a few days. Cash with Order* 

J r & 5- Samuels, Shirt Manufacturers, 

04*06,48 & 100, London Rd M Liverpool. 
*^piww!i*auniBH*itlVMIII 



UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 










































■•VVVVLVVVVi.VVVV^VVV^VhVi 


AD VER TISEMENTS. 


Ixi 




SIMPLE, CHEAP, HANDY. 

TV 8 tol gillie rff Filing 8 y*t*m In miito on like any other. 
It Im 0» Simplsi* Hasdkflt, and moet Perfect 

8 y«Wlu Inyeult^l. It L» nui table fco the private or nr'ifct- 
bjuiipJ F*r>on with few (N-HTeByoDdmi a, and mm tJ t«I r 
in cl is-p-eiinaIk to htrgis concern*, 

a* /ulfrru * -ft wUtvn. lj ; 3 octavo and a mi-rtf 
l/S i 3 uuu tojmd a foolscap, jy . * rsir FI L fc. Ti t b " EUilaen- 

berg Alarch Militate, 1 ;- templet*; will bind ill picron of 
piti mo »t a nit of ed. I's plftfiatnry cai al> gut for the jiakioff. 
U you mention Tn« St hash. 

The '■ Stanly' File will bind a light periodical at a 
coot of 4|d. 

Cablnela oh tbs Building-up Plan frozn If)/, 
upwards. 

t wdrfirfori to B.M. fifaperntiumf. 

The “ST0L2ENBERG” FILE CO., 

Leonard House, 60 . Bfshopsgate St. Without, 
London, E.C, 


SAVES TIME, MONEY, 
TEMPER. AND SPACE. 


Clk 

Stolzcnbcrg 
Spstem 
or filing. 


WATERMAN'S IDEAL 
FOUNTAIN PEN. 

None writes ho easily, so fluently, or so 
surely. No other pen is SC clean Or so 
simple in use. It writes whenever 
wanted and nevet stops suddenly. The 
most reliable pen made, 

From lo s stalinns.rw t 

etc. ewr^ir/nTj*. in Silver ami G^d /or 

piYJkMifu flr.HlS. 

L» A C, HflRDTMUTH, 12, Golden 
LanA, London. EX- 


*w« i S, , io*Th"iL vmi b'lii 


"i/i iF'l.'bi 'li V iip'lt■ 11,'li i 1 h»u%< Vh 'i i 'li.'bi'I. Viiflli r ii-*Wp , V , lto ,, i I J |, **'iL H S -'l 1 *WV VU' V* 1 VVV'b’VM 11 



Does 

A TYPEWRITER 

doing all the ordinary work of the best 
machines, and that also 

WRITES IN BOUND BOOKS 

interest you? 

Send for Catalogue “ G M to— 

The American Typewriter Co., 

$7, tiracechurch Street, 

London, EX. 

5yJVWWlr% ip \ f >i. 'If 1 ).y w *)■ %'b/lir’l11 -yin "h^ty i,-ii,% , T h ‘y | H *y lj "l/i^V i|.«y i,*y yVVSVVl^ I ft|,% 


The Elliott Book Typewriter. 



Exquisite Musical Botes, the Very Best of everything In this class 

of goods, are to be obtained at this AmTs establishment, which has 
occupied the leading pla« in (he trade since 1815. The Regina, 
Polyphons, and Harmonia self-players are world famous for purity of 
tone, delicacy of expression, and correct interpretation. Write for 
Catalogue 3, fra* to readers of The Stuakd Magazine. 

NICOLE FRERES, Ltd.,21, Ely Place, Holborn, London, E.C. 


SI, Ely ! 

Jrigin. 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


**%'!•'H.VWh'% V% W | 






































lxii 


AD VEXTJSEMENTS . 



The Oldsmobile 


Runs everywhere—snow, slush p mud, hills, valleys, rough roads, smooth tracks—the 
practical, perfected motor vehicle* 

Simple in construction, strong in driving force, economical in operation, ever reliable, 
the ideal in Automobiles. 

Flexible in gear, instant in response to the will of the operator. No vibration nor 
noise, it runs smooth as velvet, speeding from 10 to 25 miles per hour, the class of roads not 
entering into consideration. The best thing on wheels. 

The lowest price reliable Automobile made. Write for descriptive booklet to Dept. 2 , 

Olds Motor WorKs, Detroit, Michigan, U. S« A. 



5V Oxydonor 


bv 


DiqiTiz 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




Physical Culture is the cry of to-day; it was 
the cry of the old Romans in limes long past, 
and il always will be the cry. 

And why ? Because bodily health will always 
be the greatest blessing man can obtain. 
Sandow, by constructing his patent Dumb-bells 
compressible, forces you to employ your will 
power, and it is only by this concent ration of 
WILL LOWER on each muscle involved that 
complete bodily health can lie obtained- 

An illustrated Chart of carefully graduated 
Home Exercises is given away with the Dumb- 
Mb. Prices, 12/6, 10/6, 7/6, 5/- per pair. 

So d by Athletic Outfitters, etc,, and by -an- 
dow T s Grip Dumb Ml Co*, Sandow Hall, Savoy 
Corner, Victoria Embankment, London, W.G 

D«*Cr|piLva ClFflulM Sent Poet 


andoufs 


SHUT 


5pru\9<Sri*> 

£Vl fi VM M 

























AD VERT1SEMENTS. 


l»d 




MAKE YOUR OWN 
MARMALADE. 

Follow* ft Rate's Patent 
Marmalade Machine renders 
the malting of this, delicacy at 
home a pleasure. 


oranges 


Uniformly slices j 
a minute. 

Price 16 /- net caah, 

Carriage Paid. 


Saves Time A Labour. 
Mo More Cut Fingers. 


& BATE, Ltd., 8ol ? 


Sim, y. lie; Six* 1, IT.fi 

Size % 31 

Met C**h. 


Write for Addruu of neureM Jfixt. 

Avoid Cheaper mod 

Worthless Substitute:*. 

^esssaSU. gorton, MANCHESTER. 


7“HANDY” 
KNIFE CLEANER 


HAS MO EQUAL. 

It not only ckane aud 
butpoeiLUely bur 
ntiifli Cutlers, anil tl 
I guaranteed not id wear out 
blade* or injure hand It®, 

An axewllent Xmas or 
Wedding PtattiiiL 




Patented in Great Britain, Germany, and U.S.A. 

Will fold and fit Into any convenient 
COSHER of th* GARDEN, DRAWING¬ 
ROOM, or NUR1ERY. 

CAPITAL AS A FIRE-GUARD. 

The very thing to teach children to walk and 
play in perfect Rifely. Convertible at will Into a 
Tennis, Croquet, flat Stand, Bawl. or Portable Got. 

illustrated circular free. 

PRICES I No. 1. 11-1 No, % better Aniihed. W-i 
No. 1 French PoUabed, with Rubber Fwt and £[]ver- 
Flatod Mount*. 33 fit No. 4, with Vertical, Unclimbabla Side*, 30/-1 N( 
Fixing Diagonal Struts, aped ally finished, Bo/-* Haltrcu for Cot, 10-. 

to any Railway Stotfon in the United Kingdom. 


No. H, ditto, and 
t^rrine* Paid 


ABELL & CO., 30, PUFFIELO, DERBY. 


THE CHILDREN 

KNOW THE VALUE OF 

SECCOTINE 

Read the foUowiog letters received by Mnin. hr Caw. Steve nun 
and Uii, Limited; 

° When putting my Utile daughter (aged i] to 
bed to-night, we were talking of the sod fate of 
Hufflpty Dim pry, ♦Couldn't anybody put him 
1 h< 


TUBES 

6 d 

ON SALE 
EVERYWHERE. 


him 

ev that 


nply Dumptr 

together again T f ibe liked, I 
they all tried hut couldn't do it, ‘Then why 
didn't they try Sa cc otiaiI" the demanded.'' 
Another Lady write* i 
11 Seccotine i ■ one at 
little fir] wav naughty ui 

her Sadly i * you 1 ]] break my b«n. T 1 Never mind, 
marnmie,' she promptly replied, 1 I'll stick it with 
Seccotine.' Thi* is absolutely true, " 


rmn: 

bone df my household gods My 
.ughty one evening, and [ uid to 
1] break my bain.' 1 Never mind. 


* absolutely t 

A FRHE SAMPLE will At tdDt for trial on ■ppHc«tl«V to 

M'CAW, STEVENSON & ORR, Ltd., BELFAST, 

tod 31 A 12, Shoe Lane, LudgiU Circa*, London! EX* 


PROTECT 
YOUR 
FEET 


COLD, WET, Perspiring, and 
Bad Feet, Corns, Bud Ion.a, 
and Chilblain* are permanently 
cured by uuing * * * * 

Dr. H0CYES’ PATENT 

ASBESTOS SOCKS & INSOLES. 



(Adopted by the Huiigtrbui War Office.) 

Write, for IIInatrated Pamphlet. 

HO TROUBLE TO FIX , SIMPLY 
SUPPED INTO BOOT. 

Made in Three qualities:^ 
6 dU, l/- ( and 2/-, Sample pair sent 
on receipt of P.O. Addrtx 
Dr. HdOVeS (Dept. 7 \ 

IB, Quofifi Vlaioria St., London, C.O, 
AGENTS WANTED, 

T rrrru for Erpart, 


HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS ROOM ! 1 

RHAD ABOUT TH<HB BARGAINS. DIR EOT FROM 

the warehouse to your door 



Lot &5CL—Extra strong 4ft. fifn. by lift. fiin. Red shut.-1. Ulrj. 
F'fllam, Dmihle Rnria Rail, Haivv IIyks* KiioIm an*! Mwnts, Kit' 
ting* guonnitenl. a Double Woven Wire .Untl^KO im .Strong 
Adjustable Fnim* with Key, On* Bordered Wool M.dtre** in 
Striped Belgian Tide. One Mlllpuff BnlJtor. and Two good wull- 
fitled Feather Pillowa in Dint-proof TVkt. The lot carefully 
touted arid carriage raid to any part of the United Kinjaluai Dt 
S i'S. MintdouM Value. 

Lot «*1. BEDROOM SUIT!, lot OulnfiAO.-Tn Real 
Satin Walnut 3ft 6in, Wardrobe, with Large Bevel plate Gla** 
iVw, and I drawer qndtx- is reaving Chest, wllAl Large *iid 
3 Small Ihawen. aim 4 Jewel Drawers. m. Hinted with 9 Swing 
Hhfe Mirrors and Centre Mirror. W&ah stand. Marble Top, fnll 
Uuptwdbl under; Double Hew of Tiles in Hark; Towo] KaHi 
aMaHrrd ■ kI»o 9 fifed ra. Thoroughly well made and poHj»hH=d, 
S^Hid Ihrouieboiit Peaked and Carriage Paid to any i*trt of rh* 
United. Kisfda» for 1<H Gwinw. W« take all riik in Tranait. 

Send for Book of W) Bugaine, pwt free. 

RICHARDS * GOODINGS, 

WmtmMmn* ;>p» IK Rail Jti— t* BIRMINGHAM, 


IVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 
























Mv ADVERTISEMENTS. 



ITS A JEWEL 

ThiMl wtut e^ery uMr i*yt 
fcu sifniienr 

aibcr but jun 
:b* belt 
»nli m k / 

free,, 

^ r ™, wita ttoJ|] 

J kind* Ad j.'czwrtd. 
PZH CO. 1D*pi, til. 

I fT2. t-enc huTc h S i., JLondon K.C* 


STAFFORDSHIRE CHINA 


For 119 carrittjf* paid f 2 j. extra Scotland or Ireland} wt will 
forward direct from lb* factory (bit cbarmlnr and mperlor China TW 
Servii-o in Peam* k Blue and Gold I’eunid* cap ami wuctr for twelr* 
atampftK do not forget it will be carnage p ud and cmrofully 

packed, A h*iutii ul and luting present Gonccati v— 



11 

0U(M, 

IX 

8Jlup art, 
12 

Flite*,, 
X Cake 
P la tea, 

1 Slop. 

1 Cream 
Jug. 

40 

PIECES. 


For ll/A we will forward, rarriaie paid IV- extra Scotland Or Irelandl, 
this complete Pinner Seme*. Lovely new design In Pe*™* Blue¬ 
tt Plate* ui licee), E Meat lUnhee, 2 I'orered Vegetable hiahe"* | rami, 
pie to Haura Tureen with ludle and Stand, and 1 Rotter Boat If 
required* we can add a Sonp Tureen dull siuj and 13 Soup Plates for 
9/-extra Don't forgeL, currLufe paid. On gcodi for export w« par 
rarriafi to EngUnli port and ship at lowest ratea. Buy china freab 
and bright from the potteries. 

Our JVo. B Catalogue, n reof uwlr of prf, ncmtainnip niifHerou# iTIustra 
ItoiM of T>a* Coffee, Dinner, De*neri,and fhtnnber Service*, i* «otr ready, 
and will bt and to any add rent FREE to intending pureAn^rj 

Plraee mention Tw* SyniffD XaOaZI^E 
Badged and Created Ware for Schools, Otuha, Hotola. *1c. 

HASSALL & CO., 

CHARLES STREET, HANLEY (Staffordshire Potteries). 




LASCELLES PILLS 


S*le Preprietore—H] 




LiEltT 


RHEUMATISM. Lumbago. 


BRONCHITIS. Neuralgia.Ac 


The most obetliiate eases at Ritxtiiatism, Luhhaqo. NtraAnai*. 
Ac., are at once reliered by the outward application of flinpur* 
Chillis Pi»Ti, together with an c*yiibIoci* 1 don of 




FOR WINTER WEAR 

then e 7* no bout to equal 

Norris' KNOCKABOUT, 

14 6, 21/-, & 25 

1 hie boot ■ » made of our euluhruteii 
hnrwakin r 4jnd will It.-cp the fr«t dry 
and warm in the worst weather, 

We ram fit you l>y j«usL 
kaud outline of foot 
standing, or bout, with j 
I ilul tlaim*. Money 1 

hack IF you want it, 

■ 55 A 50, BUhopUtte Bt. 

' SwithLo'e Lana. 

A a. noiimni Viidllfl. 

Dent. G, l 0ffi, Klng William Street 

\ Ugk Londou Wall, London. FL f L 




I 55 A 50, Bl, 

C. NORRIS. **»■ et a* 

u- nunni 0 | J a . Hoi bon Vii 


No Smoke. No Smell. 

No Class ChimneB to Break. 
Great Heat from little Oil. 

Barter's Ideal 



(Cleanliness, Con venletice A Comfort I 

An ideal Sanitary Stove for heating Halls \ 
I and Passages, warming Bed rooms and Bath¬ 
rooms before disrobing, also for maintaining I 
an even temperature in Sick rooms, ft urger-1 
iea, Conservatories, as well as many 

| other daily uses and cases of emergency, f 
May be moved from room to mom as needed* I 
improved central draught Burner with re- 
| movable Oil Fount and Automatic Indicator- [ 
SO,000 in use. Satisfaction Guaranteed* 

| Prices from 21 /■ to 60 A Deseri pti ve Book let Fret ] 

J, FOOT A SON, 

(Dept* O.H* 3,) 

i lfl New Bond Street, London. W. j 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



























































AD YER TISEMENTS, 


Ixv 


A Novel and Useful Gift ”!£ 


For full particular**** ludit 1 



Oats 

Sift Spoon 


I ucb a-lb, puktt of h Provo as” Qata* 


The Proprietors of the world- tamed ■ Provost* 

(.►mu have for Bouaetlma toIt a desire to present 
tlwir customer* with a fcPOON which, like 
their turriu^r, would add to the efij»ynidit 
of a dieh of porridge (jrviarid from their ■ ! ■ > * 
rivalled cerettk 

THE “PROVOST” 0AT8 
GIFT SPOON 

Is HEAVILY SILVER-PLATED 
throughout 

and the stem or handle haa a beautiful original 

Aiialim tn l-i*. c_ wvk'l L a f wv■.f a Z I fe.. _ j 


acteranml eJCodlrtit*, and onriMimcris Of ;.Hnr riilsre 
would dti »r!l to hit* the Coupons Mid delight 
their young friends and children with a H 'Glf| 
Bpooa 11 an a clirittiuat FrescoL 


YOU MAY GET ONE POST FREE, either 

(n) By forwarding 3-aiii. "PnmMt ” Data Coupons and ft), in cash, or 
<b) By forwarding I5alb. Coupons ami no cash. 

JT. Jt.—The r mioHt *r# attarhri in dlt 5 to, ^ckrta of “Pr*vMt" OaH (*M nwywtertf, and if dt*ir*d 
tkea*. arnfiflu if r4* tub'd t&r riiher PorrtnQfTt or Spptmn. 

Thoiiwnd* of letters received aw pressing th* utmost d«fight and Satisfaction 
* wUh tha beauty and quality of th* Kponn. which in superior to any ef the 

aDUFiflU spooDi adwuudi wo will return both Coupons and Cash to any Customer 


If not uflifltd* 


•‘Prwut' r Oats cooked la a "Provost" Porringer and eaten with a 
" Provost" Spoon : result—Perfect Porridge / 

R. ROBINSON Sc SONS, ANNAN, SCOTLAND. 


COUGHS, 

BRONCHITIS, 

ASTHMA, 

INFLUENZA & CHILDREN’S COUCHS, 

THEIR COMMON SENSE TREATMENT BY 

Veno’s Lightning Cough Cure 

Venq's Lightning Cough Curb slops 
an ordinary cuugh in one night. It does nul 
merely smother a cough as the old-fashioned 
mixtures do, hut cuts (he phlegm, brings it 
away easily, clears the air passages, and 
protects the lungs * the cough then stops 
naturally. It is a scientific remedy endorsed 
by Medical Men, vastly superior to ordinary 
cough mixtures or any of the emulsions. 
Thousands of sufferers in Great Britain have 
been cured after having been turned out of 
hospitals. It has an enormous sale because 
of its superior virtue in all cases of Chronic 
coughs, bronchitis, asthma, catarrh, 
influenza, and especially children's 
COUgh$. Ask for VENG'S LIGHTNING 
Cough Cure, l/lj and 2/9, at chemists and 
medicine vendors everywhere, or post free on 
receipt of pnee from The Veno Drug Co*, 
ttulme, Manchester, A valuable book 
on chest diseases xwilh each bottle. 

— -- 


Tour Fire 

YES, 

Lit in 

BY 

“ at ■■ 0 % 1% i» 

Five 

Seconds. 

NEGO 

FIRELIGHTERS. 

No paper required No waste of chidem One of th«e Fire- 
lighten. 11 quite sufficient to boil a kell le in a few minutea 

Bold everywhere in packet* of 10 . prl<-« md.; or (went/ ticket# 
will b# tent post r™ on receipt of a». P.0, 

A Sample of th **r Firtiwhier* will bn atnt poatfrm tm applfrtUtan. 

Boi-k IVn dlesali Ar.avn ron tn* Uvttitn Rwcmw- 

GENDALL A CO-, M, 

NORFOLK STREET. W.C+ 


Now Ready, the third ( 1902 ) edition ot the 

UNIVERSAL STANDARD CATALOGUE OF 
THE POSTAGE STAMPS 
OF THE WORLD. 

Rewritten and re-arranged through 
out, and brought right up to da». 
Give* the market price of every postage 
stamp issued to October, 1901 . Wiih 
*iSS4 Illustrations Latest, Cheapest, 
and most Reliable. 



Frio* V* poet fr»a. 

BtftUon, Cloth Gilt, 3 0 post fro#. 

Price List of t,joo different packets and seta of Stamps, Stamp 
Albums {new tijoa Edition) and every requisite for Stamp 
Collect or*, sent gratis On receipt of penny Stamp for postage. 
Monthly List of Philatelic Novelties, 64. per annum, post free, 

wfln M;iW slfelN nw!e ’- 





















lxvi 


A D VER TENEMENTS, 



The 


'Soot 

For Men and Women. 

Made by the GEORGE E. KEITH CO., 
CAMPELLO, MASS., U.S.A. 


OUR BUSINESS IS TO BUILD COMFORTABLE 
HOMES FOR YOUR FEET. 

Walk-Overs are the best made t best fitting, most comfortable, durable, and 
satisfactory boots that modern machinery and skilled labour can produce. 

ITS A LONG STEP BACKWARD TO THE NEXT BEST 
The best advertisement of Walk-Over boots Is the thousands of satisfied wearers. 


Onlp 

One price, 


16J6 


For 

flnp stple. 


When you pay less you get less; If you pay more you merely Increase 

somebody’s profits. 


The boot shown is 
suitable for any season 
of the year, but espe- 
dally for the present. 



Made of Calf, with 
leather lining through¬ 
out and double sole. 
Will keep the foot dry 
and warm and still 
look dressy. 



Walk-Overs are made In 200 styles and 141 different sizes and fittings. 
No foot too difficult to fit » 

MAIL ORDERS RECEIVE PROMPT ATTENTION. , 

Trace outline of foot 011 paper and measure with tape (as shown), * 

.\. .. ‘K\ J ' 

If boots are not satisfactory we wilt exchange or refund the money. 

iWTj 


Illustrated Catalogue D Post Paid on application ( 


WITH SBLP-MEASURB 
INSTRUCTIONS 


WALK=OVER SHOE CO., 


Mall Order Department: 227, OXFORD STREET, W., LONDON 

Shops | 


LONDON—117, Oxford Street, W.; 140, CheapAide, E.C. ; So, Strand (under Hotel Cedi). 
GLASGOW 131, Buchanan Street (National Bank BuilijEng). 

MANCHESTER— {Mi, Market Street. LIVERPOOL'S* Lord Street, 























AD VERTISEMENTS. 


ijL ¥11 


A DAILY 
LUXURY. 


BIRD’S 

CUSTARD 

POWDER 


Apples 

are pronounced by doctors to 
be the most wholesome and 
nutritious of fruits. When 
stewed, the on0 thing 
ne&ti&ti to make a delicious 
and an ideal food is a dish of 

BIRD’S Custard. 


BIRD’S Custard is 

Pure, Creamy, Nutritious, and 
easily digested. It is a delicious 
article of diet for every-day use. 
Eggs often disagree; BIRD'S 
Custard never. 


NO EGGS! NO RISK! NO TROUBLE! 


JEWELLERY SALE 


XMAS PRESENTS. 

You may Jive a good maity years in the world wiih^ 
out again meeting with such a chance to buy OOOD 
JEWELLERY CHEAP as now presents itself in 

GRENFELL FRAZIER & CO.’S GREAT SALE. 

The pulling down of our premises makes it absolute I y 
necessary that every article mid he sold, and the 
fact that everything in our catalogue haps been reduced 
from per cent, to 10 per cent, proves beyond doubt 
the genuineness of this sale. 

This is the first sale arranged by us t and we want 
you to take Full advantage of it. 

Write to-day for our CATALOOUE, sent FREE. 

GRENFELL FRAZIER 4 C0„ “■SBRSSfV®' 


ALL ABOUT. 

TYBURN TREE 




Tyburn 
Tree ft> 




FHEE TO OUR CUSTOMERS. 

The demolition of out preiuiM* 
nuiuTaH one of the ia»<it hlHturicail an J 
i ntereitlnR pi ee*i u# old L hi don. They 
originally nn itm. th* IhIcotiy 
I nfill* need for dlir 100 yearn hy tin- 
SKiriffn of Loudon, to witnm the 
exerutimu at Tfbure, the fa mens 
rhIIow*. where .lack Sheppwnl. Turpin, 
ami other ertnitukli were riwutcd. 

We Are therefore toe nine the only 
history of Tybura ever pu blight'd., fu 
\ Lh# form of a beautiful irmTratr, a 
fj of which we will present free to 




purchMere. —Q. r d Co. 


FIRESIDE 

READINGS 


are always pleasant if you 
have pleasant books. Why 
not add to your pleasure 
by reading our illustrated 
booklets relating tocycles? 

A POSTCARD only is required. 


mm 


mm 


mm 

mm 


The EADIE 

Manufacturing 
Co. Ltd- Red ditch 


STAMP BARGAINS 

READ THROUGH. 

SET* — Queen's Head*, fiO different without English, l* . 10 
Ireland. 9A. ■ Si Norway, Is. ; « M tmbenercro, *1. ; Uul.1 
B*.; is British Gubwa. U-; 12 Mauritius, is.; IS rtuiii. BrL: d 
Sarawak. 9d- : & Barbaiioi*. *1- j 7 Ecuador Jubilee. i*l. ; L'ubp 
la. ;kl ; 15 I'enihi, Oil.; W ftinwi. yd ; ti Egypt, ad. ; i Wt- ' lucent, 
4 d.: M Turkey, &1-; 31 ftmuninJiL. 7d, ; BO Sweden, Is. ; in (i-ivore, 
6 d. ; 3 J KulfOifi.iL. fliL ; 3 Curume,. 3d. ; 5 Trinidad. Bl. ; 4 Cromida. 
Sd ; M A ust rail mi. in. ; ,nd CkdonUU, mi. ; I0u IVdDnlalit, its. fid. ; H J 
Ht. Helena, Si.; & Bcriuyda, id. ; $ Jamah it, 3d ; 20 Finliud, Md; 
■^5 l^inTinrk, Ml. 

Pfcokc |*:-100 varieties, rompridng Argent] nr. lhirtkuJnfl. 

Tiiuidad, Turkey, R 011171 :min, Hnkuriil, PiTsiii, Hydera¬ 
bad, AuNtmlisLii, Gold l'oe,st. Rnudl. Mexico, aud "thors. :kf. L1KJ 
diHi-rmit Foreign end Coin Dial iLimji!. nil guaranteed eksin unii 

genuine, lOd ; 3&& ditto, is 6d ; iwi, an. ; l.Owi, 17*. 6d. 1 

offer to I.H^imiei e. A cloth bound, British anode AI hum and J .L«J 
aborted Humps, li, &d All kiud* or ponutse «tiuni» bought, 
■old, end exchanged, Lists free. All portage tiictra, 

Cov^ntry^ 


THE MIDLAI T tTAilf Cft. ^ r r ■ylwinor*, 


11 v tK'.l I f ■' 1 F .■■-'J'.HhAN 







































twin 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 








(Rtgi *t#re4) 


► s* ios."ss: 

Ik the Standard Brltiih Hmtkeepar, uid tl worn 
by more prop I e than ailly outoc watab- 


It Enfllili Lt^tf Uovatnent, Ctpped 
Dj>DEcii«r litkLince. mid all the Latest 


VS- &*nd 5/» ai.d th« wulch will b* forwarded to 
““— YOU- If tacLlfted, eompUte the purchase in 

mama or the um« smounl : or Has NtiuUK Pit Kri.lt AT riJH 
If the watch fail a to meet with your outlie approval, 
sit will h* promptly refunded in full 
rue of WsichM, I Cood Aflenta Wanted In upara 
[ Plata, Jfancj time. Persona In regular employ. 

J men I should write tor teems 

. *5, Division Street, SHEFFIELD. 


Rupture 


Afid a Qtnuint Cure for Rupture, 
World renowned, SJTimprovetnXB. 
If ruptumi, send a stamp, {any 

__ iorth for our “Booklist No. L” 

MAGNETIC E. TRUSS CO*. 10 City Road, London, E.G* 

■lao, New York, Sbd i nnclKQ and £jv ducj - Mention lilt i^ipm 


CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. 

USEFUL. GRNAMBNTaL. 

ELECTRIC TORCHES, CLOCKS, CANDLES, NIC HI LIGHTS Etc, 


Ifffntloa 
ttil* 

Paper. 

London, E. 0. (ako 


EVENING STAR, 

No. La*. woirr. rnKm. Rimu. 
fl ,, Sin,, likw,, !<*., ]/ . 

S „ Win,, |8oe., IS h. VK 

i2 ..nan,, sem,, iv-, V-. 

Peaqfifi]|ly finished in hesiTj 
nickel plate or oxidised copper. 
LIGHT OF ARIA. 
LutiicH S|*Hul in Luther 
No. lbi, won. Fhtcx. ktmii. 
1 ,, Kin_. (In a,, i/a 

a .. »l ,, fcn. i<v v vio 


i/’, i nr-, wo TUflU' i/-, 

m . I mounted 

it*. 10 / f in US et, 

utfcw, 10,fL } Fold plat* 


K*, l«', 30/-, 

CjtVDLH, 12, r ‘, 

N hiJrTI hUit*. 

WiTdtirAWia, ] 

.Hi poods pot* frm- 
Send for Catalogue. 
TRADE SUPPLIED 

HOPPER BROS-, 

f8-I9* IroamQnger L*ae r 
LONDON t B.C. 


RATTERlFB ARE THE FINEST WADE. NO LIQUIDS. 


Are the best In the World, and the 

“HOOKON” HOSE SUPPORTERS 

are an indispensable aid to the perfect figure. 

To be obtained of all drapers. If you have any 
difficulty in getting tbern T write to the i, B. Klainekt 
Rubber Co., 63 , tiasinghall Street, London, E,C- t 
Tor name of nearest Stock-holder. 


“Tlfttq OUT,* LADIES 


ann is 


GENT.’S 


Ease and Economy. 
Silent Tread. 

Boots Wear Longer. 


HEEL PADS. 

If your bootmaker doe* mat stock 
them, send us his addresa and P,tX* 
stating dimmeun required. 

tbmmikiip!* WiSirtra ca 

UNi^'fr^-;" »hi 
































AD VER TISEMENTS. 


IXIX 



patenTWP 


JSISHW FOOTS 

'ADJUSTABLE CHAIR. ^ 

THE ** MARLBOROUGH/* 

RECLINES, ROCKS, OR REMAINS RIGID 


A combined Chair and Couch that conforms to every position of comfort and ease. 
Can be adjusted by the occupant to fit the body. The turn of a knob does it. Back, 
.Seat and Leg Rest incline independently to any angle. New Patent Fit-tbe-Fteck 
adjustment. L“g Rest can be detached. Ideal Chair for reading„ resting„ smoking or study. 

In health a luxury ; in sickness a necessity. 

SEND FOR BOOKLET-"CHAIR COMFORT," POST FREE. 


a. FOOT & BON, Dept. R.C. 3 , 
171, NEW BOND STREET, LONDON, W. 


On 4 nmraf de*cTi&M 
Wwm— 

‘PERFECT.’ 


BRITISH 

STYLO 

PENS 


3 r *, 7 .K B/- * 13 0, 

Poet Ff«l Write 
frr Jllanlmted t Jata- 
loftm, Of all Sta 
tlonem. or send P.O. 

in the mAhom 
BURGE. WARREN 
& RiOGLEY> Ltd., 

y| k fit Saffron 

Um. LONDON. Edl. 


Try one and see E 

Money Back 
If not 

Satisfactory. 



Trial BoUtc, 


Trial Bottlor 


7 Seeger'ol 


prepared lit the Setter Labora- 
fcwj, Iter tin. in an aWlutely wd* 
and reliable m^ins nf reetorlrif 
G**J<*r fadcl Hidrto ft* eridnul 
bcmity orid colour. It ivmbdna 
noload. no mercury. no Bulphur. 
It lina elm ply to I # <™nbd 
into the fwir and irmiJn* per- 
tmnwd and washable The 
testimony of hniniroiL of lament 
cwiftntktt the fart that it in 
atMolnlely innor-nmi*. Medioml 
fiiun-Hiiitoo TTith each Iwttie. 
fitate shade required, 

Hattie*, 3% parked plain v*raj> 
ptr, poet fret, 3> fi¬ 
ll Bot' 


Trial Bottle, poet ftm, J& 


LOW, SON, & CO„ 83a, CroatQuaen St, LONDON, ¥f,C* 



iiy machine, four ynm? 
ilitre. To ensure kutlafaetlcm 


f-'liial fn ail* and qualify 
to 

goannti _ _ _ _ 

nmi"bin* sent on imipt of 5*_ P L) 
h Jr ON* MONTH'S TRIAL, If 
desired to pay 5i. MONTHLY, 
writ* for Term*. Derfjcni, and 
Siunp^v Of Work, — Atlfci Sew¬ 
ing Machine Ocn, imc, IHirh 
Street, Camden Town. London ; or 
ffil, frteven H{frtcn RthiJ, and 14, 
Hilda Rftnl. Kdlxim 


HoLUm.UHB 

KALS 

3/11 

po*t free, a * 
the cheapest 
Knirkerboct*' 


well far qwJt* 

"•^aSiY 



The nntCKt and muni- perfect fi urine 
Knjnkerbjckcn. well nliijK-d to fit the 
fifnare, yet retain InR freedom in etery 
movement, are McOalll-mb Patent 

Kallets 

Over mrh a mrcmrat the new am! jarnac* 
fa] skirt »i* with idTinfaBce, while the 
pememal comfort Aurpuatra ih-n of any 
knickerboofeeca ohtainahl*. Price* fanp 

Sip Uhetif!*.*,. lOduciuiRiKeriftori'dstipe, 
Li it A patt* tut fn* trmn tfae on lj maker*- 

y opmeincftii*—' 





































AD VER TISEMENTS. 


THE MAN . . 

WHO GETS THINGS DONE 

Is the title of a most absorbing article appearing in 
the DECEMBER NUMBER of 

PEARSON’S MAGAZINE. 

It is the first 
Authentic Paper ever 
published on the Pri¬ 
vate Life and Personal 
Characteristics of the 
Rt. Hon. JOSEPH 
CHAMBERLAIN, 
and should be read 
by everyone, whether 
an admirer or not of 
the man who is un¬ 
doubtedly the most 
prominent figure in 
English politics to¬ 
day. 

In addition, the 
Christmas Number 
of “ Pearson’s ” con¬ 
tains another of the 
famous “Kettle” Stories, by CUTCLIFFE HYNE, also 
a Full-Page Portrait of the Captain in Colours. 

Also a number of Sensational Stories and Articles by 
such well-known Writers as ROBERT BARR, L. T. MEADE 
and ROBERT EUSTACE, O. S. LAYARD, and others. 

ON SALE NOVEMBER 29th. GET IT! 


■v 

'I l 












AD VERT 1 SBMRNTS. 


Ixxi 


DELIGHTFUL CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


The H* WHITE MANUFACTURING COMPANY’S special(ties find inoxaiiiig favour aiHangtt qfcpejiqfiocd pur- 
chakra, who appreciate the combination of elegance in design, txtiwne durability, with extreme modgfatjoo m pride 
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As manulacturers possessed of immense resources, the Company secure the first choice that the best markets offer, 
whilst (heir immense business, drawn from all parts of (he Empire, naturally enables (he Company to supply (heir clients 
with goads of (he Ingh^^poc&ibje^^ijalh^ at prices (hat ordinary firms eannot^o^ldj^jsgraaah^ 

Sterling Silver preset] is for Ladies and Gentlcwen. The Company issue a 1ST of Novelties in Toilet Silverware 
which will be mailed to every +l Strand" reader upon applioaiion ; also Booklets on Watches and Jewellery. Write to¬ 
night ! Delay may mean disappointment. 



SELECTED GEMS 

Heavy 18-ct* Mounts, 


LOUIS 

REPEATER 


A splendid 1-plate Karl pm Lever, with 
OhrbaatUflter rnLiuce, fitted inloBtrcrttft 
BoJld 14 *t_ Gold Ouhl Built Ukt ind 
lenpp time likr a £* 2 Q witch. HeJ,r 
Hunting or Full Huntiiw Itow* The 
^'flnjpuuy r H price 

£ 4 - 17 - 6 , 

In Solid, Heavy 18ct. Gold Due*, 

£ 7 - 15 - 0 , 

Th4 M Lndy'e County,” with H«¥f 
lftet. Gold Hall or Full Hunting Cluei 
plain or richly chafed. 


L«ule XIY. Repeater. £ 3 . 

A Magnificent l Repeater, built upon th* 
old antique Louis XIV. Model. A nujwrb 
Review (-Plate Lever of exceptional finish, 
with fine Chronometer Balance, Jtwelled 
in Ruble*. Fine Gun-Metal (kusa. Very 
tit E el No uecless bulk. Gold Slide and 
Moiuiti. Rcimitii huum and i|iurlertua 
fine M UMl-cul uui ijr. A Perfect, (leptleniaii'l 
Watch. Very highly recommended in the 
vary best built, moderata-priccd Repealer 
yet produced Free from com fleeted 
mrdumisKL 

S penial I y auitabls for the wear oi 
Havel and Military Officer-*. 


Mo. 1,—Sapphires or Rubles and Diamonds, HI. 

„ l-Muiive ia-ot Snake* Sapphire and 
Diamond set head. Diamond Eyes. £3 He, 
„ £— Diamondi. £7 10a-; larger*£10; with 

Ruby orHappblru Centre Hums*, £0 10a* 
„ A—DIumniuL and opals, £5 Ida* 
lt A—Diamond* itRublrtor Sapphiiw, 1B*» 

,, a,— Kn if raids or Rubles A Df email di, £4 10a. 

,* 7.—Ledie*' Solid IB-ct . Signet, a la, 

„ a_—Fin* Diamond b, A10 lOa, 

A— Superb Dpala and Diamonds, £7 13*.; 
smaller Orels, £S* 

, t 10.-Diamonds* £5 fia 



Very Handsome ateriing Hiivsr brush and comb, in Rest 
c^se, ae h 

Two Elegant brushes and Omnk 40,'-, 

Or With Massive Silver Mirror, in Best Onm, AS HO, 
and cnsnpleie with $ <'lollies Brushes, £4-3-0. 


COLONIAL ORDERS 

reouire special attention. Insured postage British 
FMUBwions, a/# cjUra, Elsewhere, s/-. Sant At 
the Company's own risk 


14-cL Gold Watch and (ioM 
Expanding braiwtot. Knel 
Lent timekeeper, £3 15a. 

Tfflndenil Value. 


frBki Silver Ugarelte Uses, ID. 

RLihlgr CCHurt, aw eJrte*, 
Solid Slyer f Imr O-iw. £3 a 0. 
M onsKdiu, a 6 


StZE CARD FREE. 


IS-et. .. 3 &!- 
H-I't, IBB 

Any 1 B 


H. WHITE 


jvifg. 

Co., 


,# 4 -.^S.f. 1 u RtET - MANCHESTER. 











































Ixxil 


AD fER TISEMENTS. 





CUTLERY BARGAINS. 


REAL SILVA tl , SOUD WHITE BONE 

mole SPOONS (Forks BEAUTIFUL IVORY FINISH 

DESSERT DITTO J/6 00Z lit TABLE KNIVES 6j. MI. 
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MEVERYARTICLE 

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oQpercent 

OR 

half: 


SEND FOR 

ILLUSTRATED 

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TREE. 


ALL 

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SENT 

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PAID 

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REPAIRS AREPLATING 


T.C.WIL »0 

Manufacturers 


1 LION WORKS. g|gg 

1 S 1 EFF 1 EID, mi 


PLATE BARGAINS. 

The illustrations shown are all Ai quality Klecuo- 
sn,ei pu,t , , — 




o 



Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 























A D VERT 1 SEMENTS. 


Ixxiii 






WELL THAT 5 FJNE"W**V 

/ IfaJltw Gem pays fer itself m 0 fyrfmtifil \ 

/ it saves more than money; ft avoids \ 
/ infections, and saves ftme, patience, and^ 
f /ifjt annoying fomorinf form of blackmail-tips 


I$(ew Gen Safety Razorj 

■ Impossible K* cuE the Kick' 


SHAVES 

Easy. 

Quick 

AND 

Clean 


Seif - Shaving 
a Luxury. 

Ths 11 Naw* Gem ,F Safety 
Riaer ihav«a the Strong! 
as well ai th« miJdi'At 
benrda without the &lighrt*t 
danger »f cutting (In: fate. 
It ii tlic tlmpleit, Mfttt 

and most perfect shaving 
device ever im era ted. Nu 
practice required to gel die 
best shaves, and with the 
Automatic Stropping 
Machine the blades are 
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order. 

You may be miles from a 
barber shop when on your 

* >. Tj 


vacation. 


Iry one, 


Retail Prices, Post Paid. 

Razor in Tin !!ox . „ .. 7/6 

Razor, with Two Blade*, 
iti Handsome Morocco 

Case ..15/. 

Razor, will] Three Blades, 1 
in Handsome Morocco 

Case .. ■ l 20 /' 

Automatic Stropping Marl¬ 
ine with Strop .. ,, 8/- 

Catalogue of Complete 
Se^s Mailed f ree. 

When making vour pur¬ 
chase at the Cutlery Store 
take none without thb 
Trade Mark. 

The GEM CUTLERY Co,, 

Makers, 34, Readn St.* 
N.Y. 

Bri/hA Ajrcnt -R. Fcm'rt, 

Q t /.ami,in S/\, f\.C . 


The Dr. McLaughlin Co.’s Electro-Vigour 

is no longer an experiment. It is hailed by thousand* with loud praise 
because it. cured them. Do not be in error - . This gram] appliance is 
like no other. It is now. It has all the good points that are known in 
electricity. It gives a powerful current, out dk^es not burn nor blister, 
because our special cushion electrodes make the current a warm, gentle 
glow* which exhilarates and relieves at once. 


IT WILL CURE YOU. 

Are you sick or in pain ? Have you any trouble? If so, come to us. 
Let us help you. Our twenty-five yenrs of Hliuly are at your service. 
Our advice free. Gall at our office and test our treatment free. See 
how wonderfully anti how quickly it relieved pain and gives strength. 
It will surprise you. 

Jpf /lili) REWARD will he piid /or The Dr ; MeLAUQHLIN CQ.'S 
mELECTRO-VIGOUR which does not give a current which 
can he felt and regulated by the wearer 

Craa Tact 1f y° u cannot call we will be glad to Croa Da/vIt 
■I I CM Rend ymi out beautifully illustrated book* aFCC DUl/fl 

id ling you about our method — how it cures—and giving names :ind letters of 
hin dreds cured. It is free. Call or address. 


The Dr. C. McLAUGHLIN CO., 164, Strand, London, W.C. 


Weak Kidneys, 

Pains in Your Back, Nervous Debility, Weak Stomach and 
Liver, All Pains and Weakness, 

Are cured quickly ami forever by our wonder-working Electro-Vigour. 
How quickly it soothes the aching nerves and drives the [win from the 
body ’ How gently it warms and invigorates the weak stomach and helps 
it to do its duty ! No remedy on earth is one-half so effective, gives 
one-hall as much joy and pleasure to those who use it It never fails. 































Isofiv 


AD YER TISEMENTS. 



CITIZENS 
. ATIAS . 


* The Mias consists of 156 Maps (Mounted on Cuards), with Introductory Text, Statistical $ 
J Tables, Descriptive Gazetteer, and General Index. $ 

NEWNES ’ Ud * 7—**. Southampton Sireeft, Strand, London, W.C. 1 


r 

I BEST XMAS PRESENT 


A Two-Guinea Atlas for One Guinea. 


You Want a Good Atlas. 

You Want the very Latest Adas. 


You Want the Best Atlas. 
Therefore you Want 


The Twentieth Century 

Citizen’s Atlas at the World. 

By J. G. BARTHOLOMEW, F.R.G.S. 

# . JUST OUT. . . 


Reduced 
Fac-Simile 
of the 

Cover of the 


* Guinea Edition, 

| Bound 

S in 
> 

* Art Canvas. 

* 

* 

2 

# 

j 
> 

i 

! 

* 


Extra Crown ? 

<r- 

Folio. ? 

Art Canvas, I 

21!“ Net. ? 

% 

Also to be had t 

i. % 

Half-Morocco, I 
€ 

r 
€ 
cr 

c 


25/- net. 





































AD VERT1SEMENTS. 


Jxxv 




me your name. 


17-18, Basinghall SI., London, E.C, 

_ Original from j 


EUGEN SANDOW 

SAYS 

I Cannot Explain 


within the limits of this page all the manifold advantages of my 
system of CURATIVE PHYSICAL CULTURE ; but, I have at 
considerable trouble and expense published a short but comprehen¬ 
sive and thoroughly practical treatise, setting out how the system can 
be applied to the cure of a great number of disorders* This I will 
send on application, WITHOUT CHARGE. The system is equally 
beneficial to MEN, WOMEN, and CHILDREN* I do not profess 
to cure all ailments; indeed I will only undertake such cases where 
the patients* own Medical Men Would Recommend My System. 

Do you suffer from Indigestion ? « Write lo me 

From Constipation? Write to me 

From Insomnia? . .Write to me 

From Weak Lungs? . Write to me 

From Lassitude and Nervous Depression? . , Write to me 

From Obesity and its train of attendant evils?. Write to me 

From the results of a Sedentary life? , . . Write to me 

From Over Indulgence ...... Write to me 

From a Sluggish Liver?. Write to me 

in short, are you feeling in any way dissatisfied with your bodily condition, uneasy 
about the future, conscious that you no longer feet the joy in mere living that ought 
to be your birthright? If so, WRITE TO ME AT ONCE* and 1 will send you 
WITHOUT CHARGE the treatise referred to above, a handsome volume of 
fifty pages, on Curative Physical Culture as it it may he practised in your 
own home Read what I say therein. 

L___ .. 

(Signed) EUGEN SANDOW, 








UOiVi 


AI? VERT1SEMENT, 5. 



THE LATEST . 
*. GREATEST? 
AChlEVEHEHT 


This instrument, similar in 
size to a small table stereo¬ 
scope, presents to the eye 
photographic views of objects 
m motion in a manner so 
life-like as to border on the 
marvellous. The pictures are 
reproduced with perfect steadi¬ 
ness and clearness, showing 
every motion exactly as in life, 
and can be viewed day or 
night without any special 
illuminating apparatus. 


Prices from £3 3s, 


Full Particulars and Catalogue will 
be sent on application to - 

Ttin TH# 

British Muioscope Warwick Trading 
& Biograph Co., Co., Ltd., 

■t f rY?- r. , 4-5, Warwick Ct„, 

l S Windmill Sl.,j H $ h HoJborn^ 
London, W. 1 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US! 


Visible Writing 


The 

KDO$t 
r Itrgart 
Type. 

»rttei\ 

WeijeiiS 

laibt. 


IS THE ESSENTIAL FEATURE OF 
THE UP - TO * DATE TYPEWRITER. 

The COMMERCIAL VISIBLE . 

has it in the only fcatisfaeiory way* Every wntien \ F/ITK 
IS IN SIGHT FROM BEGINNING TO END O 
PAGE. S ives immense labour and jjme in learning *r 
operating the machine. 

SOME OTHER PQtNTS , . t , 

not Iv\in > ’Ojj-ether in other Writing Machines : Horizontal asi 
Vertical Ruling Device Vertical Column Writing. Six widil 
cif Line Spacing. Writing in Colours, Marginal -Slops an 
Release Key-. Ball-Bearing Carriage* Light, Elastic ToucI 
UNIVERSAL KEY BOARD. 

CuH and inspect it, or send for il/uttrafed Circular (post free}, 

THE OEM SUPPLIES CO., Ltd-, Dept. H., ] 


London, E.Q. 


HOS. EDWARDS & CO,, Knott Mill 

7 ept M.\ DEANgCATE, MANCHESTER. 

iloldfWA jwj filialratif>ru. Fruity Poet. 
OP UF TIIK NEWEST hRKdd an 

TREE DRAPERY 

CHEVIOT FABRICS. 

SERGE TV rito for lk>x of 

Pattern a. last 
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It BO.—Sac I'fiftt, 
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I Grey Hemcu 
I bone Tweed, J 
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PETfert in ration, 1/3, |>n*t ftw. MIDGET BANK, opena 
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THE E UREK * CO. 7. Cioucaatai* St.. BZRIffTNCH AH. 


arrlnjja I ■aid. 
Win wide, 
a k & i 'el ora 
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B 63.-W cat 
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Oth Hktrt, J 
Frill A 
rimmed, M 
IkOalna, M 

■kateh. ill 


DIARY FOR 1903 


together with some old Nursery Rhymes, Illustrated in 
Colours, 


to anyone who tends a Postcard, givi 
and mentioning Tkg Strat 

FRAME-FOOD DO., iLTlW, ftifWf 


ang name and ad draw, 
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:r**r.n London, «.*. 


/ IAaN ILa DiASim Af. M Awcii ermt^ 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


I SELF-STRIKING MATCH BDXf 

jUI 

V**Y Stromq ano 
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A//. 





































AD VERTISEMENTS. 


Ixxvit 




^ 1 1 1 

r 1 i ■ | 1 r '= 

'1 | 1 


1 t 

T 

P 

-1- 1 - 

L 8 


The Great Rule of the 

I AQP FURNISHING 
VJI LUDu COMPANY 


Is to give complete SATISFACTION, and the Firm allows no customer 
to retain any goods unless they are perfectly satisfied with them* Thoroughly 
up-to-date, substantial and artistic Furniture at manufacturer’s prices, 
and on your own terms. Simply tell us what you want, and it is sent. 
Carriage Paid, direct to your nearest Railway Station, Here are one or 

two specimens of value. 




Our Par! vur And. Dining-room Suita cim- 

ilhta of Oxiiwh, Ijtdyii iunl Gent.X s.riu Four SrnnU rhuim 
In solid Dak, Walnut, ut Mahogany throughout. 
Luk nrii-uLsii' rphnlstnml in b»t ^Lni11leimw*. Richly 
End* Figured Velvet, or Oroekrt'* Rent uuality 
Etlftlifth Lrtltlicr floth, the luring Padded with 

the same Illatvrkl. Til rirlpring, please Hate I he Wood 
and colour of covering* preferred. 


Our SPECIAL PARLOUR SUITE, 

CASH, £10 10s., or CREDIT- 

£1 la, down, ami 10 monthly payment# of £1 Ili or £1 is. down, 
and 11 innuihly pwjmveat* uf 10s. Bd. 


THE 

“MALVERN” 

SIDEBOARD, 

CASH, £5 5s., 

or CREDIT 

COl- 0d, down, slid 10 monthly 
iniyuienti of 1 Ow. Bd.i nr 31 
payment* of 5 *. Sd. 

Thi“ MhI v«rn" Sldabcmrd, 

| ift. Ain wiile, roiiuioa l«<i w|s 
rate cU|>liOU.rda olid two draw ern 
n( eomeliieht (line and more than 
i UHmjil dflpilh. iSriti^h erv*Lil Ih- 
I i el It* I redei-tin# mirmr. Win. lay 
18(n, tarred in relief, L*>rn- *|hij 
die*, and full h-unth ilielf for 
dM'luv of chins. Top heavily 
moulded. Slid the dniven and 
tk*tTa are also nicely njnuhltal 
Soundly made in Walnut. Osk, 
and Mahcttuty. and lined with 
| Whits PopUr. solid throngo 
out, no venecn nr Cwing* uwwi 
liniahnnl with good [|Uahty lock:- 
, and Tunianwork. 



THE “ DULVERTON " BEDROOM SUITE, 

CASH, £15 15s., or CREDIT— 

ca 3s. down, and 14 monthly payments of £1 is. each; or 30 
puj inmiit of 10s. 6d. 

Wardrobe, qft. 6in. wide, over ?fi. high. Both doors 
contain full-length Reflecting Mirror of British Crystal Bevelled 
Plate Gla^s. Two sejrarnte Hanging Compartments, Dressing 
C heat, jit. 6in, wide; Dressing Mirror, 34 in. by i6in., and ^.tiadisd 
the twin tally useful and fashionable Keflex Swing Mirrors. 
1 lie Washstand, 9 Iso rft, bin. wide, is j ruvided wiih a double 
back and eminently useful Shavinc l*la^. The whole Suhe is 
made iso Lid throughout in thoroughly seasoned Walnut, 
Oak, Satin Walnut, or Mahogany— no veneer of any kind being 
used. Two Chairs are included in the Suite, 


Money returned in fufi if not perfectly 
oafimfactor. y. AH Good* carriage paid. 


FREE 


Whether you are furnishing or 
not, it will pay you io write for 
our fully Illustrated Descriptive 
Catalogue, Price Lists, etc. It 

costs you nothing, and will 
save you pounds- 


GLOBE 

FURNISHING COMPANY 

iDspt. B.h Pembroke Place, LIVERPOOL, 


S*tith African , Cal&nial^ and Foreign Orders recar* special attention. 

BANKERS: London City 6t Midland Bank, Ltd*, Jijk . riyftoci Itr«n«h, Liverpool 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





















































IXXTlil 


AV VEKT1SEMENTS. 



THfTlHEN menial work becomes mental worry it tells tU own tale of lack of training, of an unorganised 
V\tl brain am! a defective memory. A properly-trained brain works naturally aud easily* and without 
effort or pause—making thought a pleasure. Hut the ill trained brain will not work without big effort 
and much Loss of time. 

MEMORY IS THE BASIS OF ALL BRAIN WORK, 

Thus a man's success or failure depends largely upon the quality of his memory* A man may have know¬ 
ledge and great natural ability, hut unless his memory enables him to profit by the treasures of his brain he is 
in no beLter position than the uneducated man. In a word. Brains are everything— Memory is the key 10 the 
Bra n. Do not let a poor memory hinder your success in life* 

ORGANISE YOUR MEMORY BY A COURSE OF 

Pelman’s System of memory Graining, 

which will temh you how to use your brains systematically and turn failure into success, 

The Telman System aims at the Scientific Development of the NATURAL, Memory* and is therefore 

INVALUABLE TO STUDENTS, CIVIL SERVICE CANDIDATES* BUSINESS MEN* 

A course of lemons will enable anyone to master a book in one reading 1 to coach himself for any examination ; 
to remember lecture*, speeches, dates, names, facts, places, etc., etc., no learn Anatomy, Chemistry, Physiology, 
Mathematics, History, Geology, Physic^ Navigation, Languages, Electrical Engineering, etc,, etc* 

A course of lessons makes every minute spent in study profitable. Subjects learned twice as easily, and 
retained permanently by the memory. No matt-r how lad your memory Is—Pel man's System will make it 
good* No matter how good your memory |s—Pelman l s System will make it better. The System is no mere 
theory, but a pr&cthni course, the success of which ha* been 


BY 


PROVED 

WRITE 


PELMAN STUDENTS ALL OVER THE WORLD. 

to day for a Free Copy of Mr. Telman's explanatory booklet, 

** Memory Train ng : Its Laws and their application to Practical 
dfe*" Sopp, Sent post free on application to the Secretary, 


FREE 


PELMAN’S SCHOOL of MEMORY TRAINING (Box 70), 4, Bloomsbury St., London, W. 

Melbourne : 6.P0,B*x 402. Munich: Mozarts* r. U Putt; H, Aitnuv. <te Neutity. 


iiiii 





















AD VEH2 l&EMKjy 1X 


Ixxix 


HIGHLY RECOMMENDED BY MEDICAL MEM. 


I 


MOC-MAINl 


ARTIFICIAL 


Patent LEVER 


SS 






* if Ate Staff in Band.) ^ 
Effective Jt Light, Ki|iinlji 

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lemr <x rt ahmf §ffn uiur. _ 

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Knn>iv waurnu* Ttn* MjiLIAIISE, 


L'tumullattnn^ Tleseriptive Clr^ 
tular. Price List. **. m.*e. 

J, WHITE & Co .144 . London. 
Ii28, llauJiLly ifirst ffoorl. 
Two doofi f rt >iT( M u.yii mr Icet 
Fjt W Ve r*. Female Attendant 


WIDOW’S SUITE, 

TWO GUINEAS, < onsixtliif of BON¬ 
NET, MANTLE, SKIRT, anil ample 
BODICE MATERIAL If supennr 
"fUjility 2* Gti*. Complete or ir sold 
teparntelj the Skirt of various specially 
made M miming Fabrics anil Bod in 
Material. is Omni 26 9, 

The MANTLE, trimmed Silk Ct»|jo, 
linttil IhhML^i, 19 11 and Si 9 . 

The Stuart Marie Stuart flOKvET, 
All and 5 11 . 

Vo matter hnw remotely you mar be 
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out latest Mourning Catalogues, ana too 
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In LtOkToii. N A—Na 1 Catalogue i» for 

geode op to 3 l ■ TkH, ;.rt’r liamiciit, Vo, % 

ratalog c Ik for more eiinjiiflivegoodii 


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Note correct address ; 

m, 117, 219, 221, BOROUGH HIGH ST., LONDON, RE., 
and also at 34, 40, UPPER ST,, ISLINGTON, H. 


MOURNING 


OF TO-OAT 


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BARKER’S. 


Write for particular* at H^Tey’t Patent 

“Library” Pneumatic Dustings Brush. 


For removing dust from 
hooks. Shelve*. Ac., by 
means ot air-suction. Price* from 1 Is 

ARVBY. 11 » Chnrch Street. Klddermlneter. 


tJ 


THOMPSON 

3 , Oxford St,, W* 

fetmer Charing Crt/ts Rd I. 


SPECIALITIES, 

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GROSSMITH’S 


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ARTIFICIAL LEGS 

have obtained a world-wide reputation for 
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Prize Medals e 

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rzz< - 

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A remarkable treat¬ 
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the ntr’Lif TIIjl a week, It 1* a 
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one i'll ei easily follow, luid l« guar ■ 
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ndmif weight a (hjuihI a dny with¬ 
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wife, ii natnril, inn.l glri^ xm-h », 
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thi* wonderful home treatment. 

By eemliiif your name and 
mfdn^ui io the Fall Formula 
Association. 15 . Century 
Houss, Hagant Itrawt. Lon 
dan, W.,yoil Will reenu-f FAKE, 
bit! deeorlptlon of thU rimple 
methoJ which will enable you to 
redueeymirpvlf to nonnal w eight 
at home at a very flight expense. 

THE DESCRIPTION IS 
POSTED TO YOU FREE 
In a perfectly plain and sealed envelope. You will be 
delighted to learn how easily anil surely all &uperiluouj 
tit cun be removed. 













































lxxx 


AD VERT1SEMENTS 


A Fortune May Await You. 

Opportunity Knocks at yonr Door. Will yon Answer? Read carefully the following facts. 

the rut sums that ar« t not claimed; and Messrs. 


On December si, 1871, a lady named Brown died at SB. Hertford 
Street. Lon-> 00 , lwrlni an enormous fortune, exceeding £900,000, and 
as she had not made a will, nor appeared to hare any near relative* to 
claim her great wealth, her estate was administered by the Treasury, 
and then paid into the Court of Chancery to await a claimant. There 
it would have probably remained, as no one knew a here the rightful 
heir was to be found. Advertisements were inserted in newspapers 
inviting relatives to make application fer the money: and years after¬ 
wards, quits by chance, one 01 these was see by the heir—s poor man 
—living in complete ignorance of the great wealth due to him. He 
accordingly made application as directed, and on June 21,1880, duly 
received this vast fortune. 

Similar information to that which proved of such extraordinary 
value to this fortunate man is contained in a roost valuable register 
published by Messrs. A. W. FOSTER A CO., 19. VULCAN HOUSE. 

LUDQATE HILL, LONDON. EX’ celled “FOSTER’S LIST OF 
H EIRS," price, post free, la 6d., by Postal Order. Nearly £100,000,000 
lisa buried in the Court of Chancery awaiting claimants, and 80,000 
persons have been advertised for by the Court of Chancery and 
Trustees to claim this and other money. Yet this fact is known to but 

18 YOUR NAME HERE? 

Tbe following List coat ml dm a small selection from Foster 9 a New and Revised Llat of Heirs, If yonr name la noi 
Aero. It Is probably In the foil List, wblcb also contains fuller particulars about all the names bere reprinted : 


_ CO. have collected all this vsluable information together 

into a Register which will undoubtedly be the means oi enabling large 
numbers of people in all parts of the country to claim what rightly 
belongs to them. 

Eveiy page of this book, as it was formerly published, has been 
carefully revised, and many thousands of new names have been 
Added. In its present enlarged form it contains invaluable 
information about unclaimed money and estates which cannot be 
obtained from any other source. New names hare been added 
right up to the present time, and “Foster's New List of Heirs'* 
is now the most complete, correct, and up-to-date book on the 
subject published. 

It would almost seem as if people were too busy to notice the chances 
of life—opportunities are being continually mimed for tbe went of a 
little trouble end inquiry. Do not be amongst this numbm. We 
earnestly recommend our readers to get a copy of “ FOSTER'S LIST 
OF HEIRS" at once. It may easily prove the great opportanity of 
their lives. A fortune may await them u it did many other people 
who lived in ignorance of money being due to them. 


Bryan 

Bryant 

Brydgee 

Burke 

Burns 

Burrell 

Baddeley 

Baker 

Baldwin 

Ball 

Ballard 

Banks 

Barnard 

Barrett 

Barnett 

Barry 

Baskett 

Bath 

Baxter 

Baylfffe 

Bayiey 

Bayne 

Bedford 


Cartwright 

Chambers 

Chattertoa 

Child 

Chttty 

Clark 



Belsey 

Bannet 

Bentley 

1 on ton 

Betrow 

Bicklay 

Biddles 

Biggs 

Bignell 

Bird 

Bishop 

Blackburn 

Blackett 

Blades 

Blair 

Blake 

Bloomer 

Bolden 

Bolton 

Bouirhley 

Bowden 

Bowers 

Bowler 

Bow ley 

Bowles 

Bowman 

Boyd 

Bradshaw 

Brain 

Brook# 

Briee 

Briggs 

Bright 

Bullock 

Burges 

Burn 

Burt 

Barton 

Bush 

Boswell 

Butcher 

Butler 

Buxton 

Cameron 

Campbell 

Canning 

Capper 

Carpenter 

Carr 

Carter 


Dun ton 

DanieU 

Darling 

Davidson 

Davys 

Dawson 

Dean 

JSJ& 

Dixon 
Dod 
Dodd 
Douglas 
Draper 
Driver 
Duke 
Ecelcs 
Elliot 
Elliott 
Elvin 
Emley 
Evans 
Everson 
Ewen 


Cocker 
Oockerlll 
Colburn 
Cole 

Collington 
Collins 
Combe 
Cooper 
Cornish 
Court 
Cousens 
Cowley 
Oowper 
Cox 
Craig 
Crash 
Creasy 

Crichton _ 

Croft Edu_ 

Cros s co m be Ellis 
Cummings Ewans 
Cunningham Falconer 
Curry 
Chapmen 
Chadwick 
Champion 
Christie 
Chubb 
Clare 
Clark 
Clarke 
Clayton 
Clough 
Coleman 
Collett 
Oolaell 
Cook 
Cooke 
Coote 
Crane 
Crawford 
Crawley 
CriPPe 
Crisps 
Cross 
Crouch 
Cull 
Cuthell 
Davey 
Davies 
Davis 
Day 
Dear 
Deeming 
Dent* 

Dexter 
Diok 
Dickens 
Dickson 
Dodsworth 
Douglas 
Dove 
Drake 
Drayton 
Dunbar 
Duncalf 
Dunn 


Gold 

Goode 

Goodwin 

Goodyer 

Gordon 

Gough 

Graham 

Greenwood 

Griffiths 

Groom 


Hutcheson 

Hutchins 

Hutton 


Hyde 

IbboU 


Finch 
Findlay 
Fisher 
Fitsroy 
Fletcher 
Flynn 
Fowler 
Franks 
p Forrest 
Foster 
Fowkea 
Frampton 
French 

Jnr 

Fairer 

Fell 

Fleming 

Flemming 

Forster 

Foster 

Fox 

Fronds 

Fuller 

Garrett 

George 

Gibbons 

Gibson 

Gifford 

Ginnett 

Gooch 

Goodaham 

Grafton 

Grant 

Gray 

Green 

Grey 

Griffith 

Gale 

Gardner 

Gee 

Giles 

Gilpin 

Glover 


Hacker 

Hall 

Hancock 

Hardy 

Harrington 

Harris 

Harrison 

Harvey 

Haatie 

Hayward 

Hawarth 

Heaney 

Henderson 

Hendry 

Heslop 

Hill 

Hicks 

Hockley 

Hodgkins 

Hodgklnson 

Holmes 

Hooper 

Hopkins 

Horns 

Howes 

Hughs# 

Hum# 

Hunt 

Hunter 

Hussey 

Hutchinson 

Hamilton 

Haro 

Harper 

Hart 

Hartley 

Hawkins 

Hawkslay 

Hayes 

Haynes 

Heath 

Hemsley 

Hanley 

Hlckea 

Hilton 

Hind 

Hinton 

Hocken 

Sifts 

Holland 

Hollow 

Holme 

Holt 

Horton 

How 

Howell 

Hudson 

flulmo 

Humble 

Hurst 

CT 1 TE T 3 


Irving 

Innea 

Irby 

Ires 

Jackson 

James 

Jefferies 

Jeffrey 

Jenkins 

Jephson 

Jessup 

Johnson 

Jennings 

Jobson 

John 

Jones 

Keedwell 

Kelly 

Ksmpson 

Kenny 

Kennstt 

King 

Kay 

Kershaw 

Kllb 
Knii 
hnfl_ 
Knott 


Marshall 

Martin 

Mason 

Massey 

Mathews 

Matthews 

Me Donald 

M'Far lane 

McKewan 

Med burst 

Melbourne 

Miller 

Miasett 

Mitchell 

Moore 

Morrta 

Moriarty 

Mount 

Moyle 

Murphy 

Macdonald 


Lawler 

Lawson 


AgZtfoot 

Lloyd 

AK&ett 

aongburst 

x»ws 

iOWth 

Aural 

joyde 

aambten 


Law ford 

Layton 

Leech 

Lees 

Leigh 

Lewis 

Little 

Llewellyn 


Maepberson 

Manning 

Martin 

Maw 

Mclver 

Metcalfe 

Mi lii eld 

Morgan 

Mountain 

Murray 

Muagravo 

Nasmith 

Naylor 

Negus 

Nelson 

Newbold 

Nicholas 

Niahett 

Noble 

Norris 

Neals 

Newman 

Nicholson 

Nutt 

Oakley 

O’Brian 

Oddi# 

oldflSd 

Oliver 

O'Neil] 

Owen 

Osborn 

Osborne 

RE. 

Palmer 

Parker 


Lord 

Loveday 

Low 

Lucas 

Luka 

Lynch 

Lyon 

Malony 

Mantle 

Mardon 

Mark 


Perrin 

Phillips 

t&BL 

Pike 

Pipe 

Pirie 

Pitkin 

Plumb# 

Pooley 

Porter 


Potter 

Powell 

Preston 

Prerost 

Priest 

Pulfoid 

Parkin 

Patterson 

Payne 

Pearson 

J*enny 

Penton 

Perks 

Peters 

Peterson 

Phillips 

Pickering 

Pole 

Poole 

Pope 

Pratt 

Price 

Prior 

Pritchard 

Praseer 

Proctor 

Quartet-man 

Quick 

Ramsey 

Reader 

Reed 

Reeder 

Ronnie 

Bidley 

Rigbton 

Robertson 

Robinson 

Korn 

Rosier 

Russell 

Baiicliffs 

Rawliags 

Read 

Boeva 

Reynolds 

Rice 

Richards 

Ridxway 

&§ 

Roberts 

Robins 

Robson 

Roebuck 

Roarers 

Rolfs 

Roe# 

Rowland 

Sanderson 

Sargent 

Saunders 

Saw den 

Scott 

Beabrook 

8ellara 

Sewards 

Seymour 

Sband 

Sharp 

Shaw 

Sheldon 

Shepherd 

Sheppard 


Shicker 

Shipman 

Short 

Shotter 

Simpson 

Sims 

Singleton 

Skinner 

Skipper 

Sletgn 

Smith 

Bmither 

Somers 

8oper 

Spry 

tsar 

Bullion 

Steers 

Stevens 

Stevenson 

Stewart 

Stock 


Tyrell 
Tilley 
Towns# 
Travers 
Troy 

Twfcg 

Unwin 

U nham 

Underhill 

Upton 

Vernon 

Vaughan 

Wadee 

WaUna 

Males 

Walker 

Walklsy 

Walter 

Welkin 


Storey 

Story* 

Sutton 

Sumners 

BummeragiU 

Sward 

Swindell 

Byrnes 

Symons 


Selby 
Shefford 
Shelton 
Sherwood 
Show 
Shewen 
Shore 
Simpkin 
Skelton 
Slark 


Smart 

Sparrow 

Spence 

Spicer 

Staines 

Stalker 


Steer 
Stephens 
Stephenson 
Stickney 
Stock dale 


Street 

Sutherland 

Tanner 

Taylor 

Tennant 


Thompson 

Thomson 

Todd 

Tomlins 

Turk 

Turner 


In addition to the nemos in tbs Chancery Court Register. ** Foster’s 
New List of Heirs" contains particulars of thousands of heirs who 
have been advertised for in the leading newspapers by Solicitors and 
trustees, who would only bo too pleased to band over the money to the 
rightful owners if they could ns found. Yet the heirs to this un¬ 
claimed property and money are actually in complete ignorance of 
their good fortune, otherwise there would he no need to advert as for 
them. The money may be sorely needed, yet tbe heir, knewlng nothing 
about it. dees not claim his own. 

A leading newspaper reports the following dfs, which we qnote in 

PI “Tngie l* jUnaaTaaied Benjamin Walter Finer has died in tbe 
qRgeet poverty, agd lo oaf of thp lowest and most squalid dams of 


Nottingham. At Wakefield, only a few hours* Journey away, a legacy 
of £2,000 and an annnity of £900 had been awaiting him for some ume, 
but hie whereabouts were not known " Could Fate be onkinder lban 
this? Yet s similar lnm may be sustained by anyone who neglects to 
make sure that they have not boon inquired for. 

No reader of this paper should mlas the opportunity of sending for 
“ Foster's New List of Heirs." which coats so little, and contains such 
a quantity of valuable information about tens of thousands of Hein. 
Instructions are given in this book how to proceed (if poor, true of 
coot) until the ameji.** claimed is r ecovered 
Send to-day a FocU. jr Air fee la £4. A. W. FOSTER ft CO.. 11 
VULCAN HOUSE, LUPGATE HILL, LONDON, RO. and yew 

1 Gf 


repfive tfte 









AD VER TISEMENTS. 


Ixxxi 



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TODAY 



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MORE THAN 


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ORIENTAL PILLS 

The Unfailing Remedy 

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Tbe$e Household Remedies have been in use 
fur more than SIXTY YEAKS by the Lnglish- 
speaking race, and ought to be in every home, 
TO EVERY APPLICANT 
during the nest ya days, in addition to the 
sample bottle of Dr. Kike's SOLAR ELIXIR 
and taxor Ur. Hike's ORIENTAL TILLS, 
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a book of So pages, showing 
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Ixxxii ADVERTISEMENTS. 


8BM0 CHRISTMAS DOUBLE HUMBER. 

I I I I I I 

The DECEMBER Issue of 

W SUNDAY STRAND 

Contains 200 Padres and about 200 Illustrations. 


Complete Stories by 

JOHN OXENHAM. JOSEPH LINCOLN. FRED M. WHITE. 

WILLIAM LE QUEUX. O. E. FARROW. E. NESBIT. 

AGNES GIBERNE. ORME AONUS. MARY STEWART CUTTING. 

E. BURROWES. 

Also a Complete Novel by 

JOHN K. LEYS: 

“THE MISSING DIAMONDS.” 

WILL ANY MAGAZINE SURPASS THIS LIST? 


Articles by 

THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON. 

“CHRISTMAS WITHIN AND WITHOUT.” 

REV. J. H. JOWETT, M.A. 

A CHRISTMAS “BIBLE TALK.” 

THE CHILDREN’S CHRISTMAS. By A. B. COOPER. Illustrated by some 

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. S. Begg, A. Forestier, Fred Barnard, Frank Craig, Frank Dadd, 
Lucien Davis, Max Cowpbr, etc. 

OUR GREATEST LIVING ORGANI8T8. 

By Dr. J. LANCE TOMLINSON. With Original Music and Autographs. 

“THE ANGEL’S MES8AGE.” In Deaf and Dumb Language. By PAUL 
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THE PHANTOM AT JOHN BULL’8 FEAST. By Dr. GREENWOOD 

Amazing Statistics of Crime, Insanity, and Pauperism attributable to Alcohol. 

11 CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS.” Numerous Illustrations by a Famous Artist, 

showing how to Decorate Churches, Halls, and Homes. 

CHRISTMAS ME88AGE. By the EDITOR. 

PUZZLE COMPETITION. By UNCLE GEORGE. 

Etc. Etc. Etc. 

THE SUMO AY STRAND'S BHRISTMA* HUMBER Is one of the greatest efforts la mogaakte 
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ON 8ALE AT ALL BOOK8ELLER3 AND RAILWAY BOOK8TALL8. 

4HXTM | CH | GAN 














AD VEXT1SEMENTS. 


Ixxxiii 




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lxxxiv 


AD VEKT1SEMENTS. 




neuraline cures 


A alnglt 

ACTS LIKE MAQIO. 

otmlt Ohianiiti 1 14 , aifrAIfl rport ii**(ms 
LEITH A ROSS, 

B« f Duk a St., Qroavenor Sqr.* London, W, 


.TOOTHACHE & NEURALGIA 


CURED 


From tha flnt duM Dtarttia Atm rfut. It hu eared HTanwlb 
th* fBW WMICIKI of RpLlf MF when wrerr Other remwriy had f&llfd. 
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i«rt ]f ttoi Nv»4w le maatlonaxi Twit it 
I, 0. lflCHOLL, KmvsueaUml M. ZDcb it, B*ifkat 


i 7 bT:'llr or.VJi:. HI-.jAN 


llio Ducheis tH here shown, conrietlur 
of :~rt TeaCure am I Saucer*. fi Tm Flw i-n 
fnh-L 6 nrt'&kfiUiC rint^ irtln. | k G Break 
ft Efflj 0™ 1 Tm- 
|"tJHPM. l Milk JLLgilptj, lErmkFaAt 
l>lnh IM ri.,, 2 take Pin,** 1 Cvirered 
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[Cabinet 


























AD VER TISEMENTS. 


IXAXV 



For the preparation of delicious 
soups & light nourishing entrees, 


there is nothing so useful and 
economical as Lemco. 


Out ounce of Lemco nwi as far in l he 
kitchen as two pounds of lean gravy beef. 

The Liebfs Om^mfn Initials LEMOO are planed an every Trapper and jar to protect you from imWItntei 




^ .. JkJ/ 1 ^ 


f m&m ' m 

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' ■ v *- wm Btv jLflg~ 


HEALTH 

STRENGTH 


ACTIVITY 


CARRIAGE 


PHYSIQUE 


Mr. E. C. BRFDIN, Champion 
Athlete and Record Holder, Auihor 
of *' Running and Training/' has, in 
conjunction with Mr. H. SMEED, 
tale manager of Sandow's Postal 
Instruction Depart¬ 
ment* devised a 
very much improved 
system of Physical 
Training, and they will 
be ^Leaned lo forward 
particulars 10 ladies 
and gemtemen in 
search of vigorous 
health. H'riie 

BREDIN 4 SMEED, 

49, Rupert St, 

London,W, 



ALCOHOL 


AND 


DRUG HABITS 

A NEW HOME CURE. 

Warranted purely vegetable, free (ram narcotics, containing 
no Quinine, (.Inchon* (bark), or similar drug*, but a high .■claw 
up-to-date I hjidcal Home Treatment which neeeFxilutea no 
hypodermic injerttoil*, and no Inns of time from buHinomrt. It 
can V- taken privately with an 

ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY 

OF A PERMANENT CURE, 

Immediate effect of thl* treatment is calm, restful sleep, 
steadj nerves, clear brain, and removal of all desire or nerd fear 
aloohplic drink or drugs of any kind. I^rtiouLuro and testa- 
monlals signed by well*known people may be obtained from 

A. HUTTON-01X0N, II, mrfcdafe, Sydenham, S.E* 

All rorrespandejiot awimUy caubdcntuil. 


Iff 


MY OWN” TOBACCO. 

SAMPLE FREE on receipt of PENNY STAMP. 

6/8 per lb.; 3/4 per i-lb.; Post Free. 


Qioite as tke Choicest* but No Fancy Price. 

Another speciality of really marvellous value is tfie Flor da KylOB Indian Cigar, 14/6 per loo, Post Free. 
Connoisseurs are invited to send for my list of specialities in Rare Tobaccos, Cigars, and any Smokers 1 
Requisites. Post free on application. Choicest Goods, but No Fkncy Prices, 


Wholesale and retail of— 

FREDK. WRIGHT, The S mokers' Caterer, 6, CUlONHAPti, CHELT ENHAM. 









































lxxxvi 


AJD VERTISEMENTS. 


VINOLIA SOAP acts 
on the skin like a 
little ray of sunshine, 
while many soaps cause 
blemishes, face - spots, 
and mucous patches. 


The Hew Kodak 
Developing Ma¬ 
chine Dispenses 
with the Dark 
Room. 

Films developed in 
daylight — gaslight — 
any light—anywhere. 
No handling the films. 
N o stained fingers. 
A child can use * it, 
Prices from 10/- each. 


KODAKS 

FOR ALL PUR8E8. FOR ALL PURPOSES. 

No need for a dark room for changing the films. 

No need for any previous experience of photography, 
ho need for any technical knowledge whatever. 

Of all loading Photographic Dealers, or of — 

KODAK, Ltd., 

43» Clerkcnwell Road, London, E.C. 

JErtuZ Bmdm: 80. Browi-tor Roan, S.W.; SO. Oheawdb. H.O. : 
llB Orrow, Street, W.; 171-173, Reoewt Street, W. : and 
St MS®* Jf 3 ™ 0 *' w.a Alao at 9ft. Bou» Street, Liverpool. 
_and 72—74, Bcchak ar Street, Glasoow. 


PRICES FROM 


TO 


EACH. 








THE STRAND MAGAZINE 


Contents for December, 1902. 

Frontispiece : "RIGHT IN FRONT OF US WAS DRAWN UP A TRIPLE LINE 

OF RUSSIAN GRENADIERS.” 

PA4&. 

603 THE ADVENTURES OF ETIENNE GERARD. By A, Conan Doyle. 

1 IL—How THE BRIGADIER Rode TO Minsk, Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.L 
615 THE PANELS IN SIR LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA’S HALL, By Rudolph pe Cordova, 
Illustrations from Pictures by Eminent Artists. 

631 THE SNOW MAN* By Alfred B* Cooper, Illustrations by Paul Hardy. 

636 THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR.—DECEMBER, By E* D* Cuming* 

Illustrations by J, A. Shepherd, 

644 THE SORCERESS OF THE STRAND. By L. T, Meade and ROBERT EUSTACE, 

III.—The Face of the Abbot. lUuitratiom by Gordon Browne, R. B.A. 

658 DARKEST SIBERIA AND ITS POLITICAL EXILES, An Appeal to Civilization, 

By Harry DR Wjndt, Illustrations from Photographs by the Author, 

671 BREAKING A SPELL, By W, W. Jacobs, idustroivms by Will Owen* 

677 FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER’S CHAIR.-LXXIX, By H, W. Lucy, 

Illustrations by F* 0 , GOULD. 

681 THE NINE*FIFTEEN, By Florence Warden, Illustrations by Howard Somerville* 

695 TO MEET CHARLES DICKENS, Written and It lust rated by Harry Furniss, With a 

Portrait from a Photograph. 

702 CHRISTMAS FOR THREE, By Winifred Graham. Illustrations by James Duedrn, 

709 RUSKIN AND HIS BOOKS. An Interview with his Publisher, By E. T, Cook. 

I dust rated by Portraits and Reproductions of Letters and Sketches, 

720 THE GREAT SIRIUS DIAMOND, By Gilbert H* Page, 

1 dust rations by W* D* Almond, R,I. 

730 A HUNDRED YEARS AGO— 1S02, By Alfred Whitman. Illustrations from Old Prints. 

737 CHRISTMAS. By Leonard Larkin. Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.B.A, 

742 MISS WREN’S DEVICE* By Mrs. Newman, Illustrations by A, Wallis Mills* 

754 SENSATIONAL MAGICAL ILLUSIONS.—I. Illustrations by A. J. Johnson. 

763 WHAT CAME TO THE MAN WHO WAITED. Being the Story of a Strange 
Patient. By Geo. Manville Fenn. Illustrations by Rex Osborne. 

771 THE HUMOUR OF CHRISTMAS. By James Walter Smith, 

Illustrations reproduced from Punchy Life t f*uck, etc* 

777 SOME WONDERS FROM THE WEST, Illustratwns from Photographs. 

XLVI.—A Wooden Menagerie, XLVIIL—A Whistling Choir* 

XLVII.— Goats as Land Clearers. XLIX*— A Rope Slide from a Balloon. 

786 THE MAN WHO DROVE THE “ROCKET*” Illustrations i rom Photographs and an OJd Print, 
788 THE PS AM MEAD j OR, THE GIFTS, By E* Nesbit. IX,-Thk Last Wish. 

Illustrations by II. R, Millar. 

796 CURIOSITIES, Illustrations from Photographs, 


MSS. and Drawings muit be submitted at the owner's rieh, and the Editor will not guarantee their safety i though when stamps 
are enclosed he will endeavour to return them. MSS. should be typewritten. 


Tub Stb and Magazine, including Christmas Double Number t wilt be forwarded direct from the Offices#/George JVewnes Ltd 
io any part of the world post free , for one year, on receipt of 10s. Cases _frr binding any volume of Tub Strand Magazine 
may be obtained to order from Booheefrm fbr m., or part free for m. 3d., direct from the Office. 


Mothers who value their infant’s health and well being, sad their 

own comfort, would be well advised to give these Foods s trial. 


Allcnburgs Foods. 


Jl pamphlet on " lafaat Feeding 
end Management " (« popes) free. 

Allen it Hanburya, Ltd., London, E.C. 


Mile Food^ No. i from 
birth to J montnt 

Mile Food, Ho. *, from 
3 I* 6 ibod thi, 
Maltid Food, Not t, 
from 6 mt hi, and upw-aroi 


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


















Ixxxviii 


ADVER TJSEMENTS. 


THE KEELEY TREATMENT 

FOR ALCOHOL AND DRUG INEBRIETY. 


Can Inebriety be cured ? Here are some facts from 
prominent men regarding the Keeley Cure for the 
Drink and Drug Habit, 

“ It really cures* It does what it professes to do.” 
Such is the emphatic testimony of Mr. Eardley 
Wilmot, the well-known secretary of the Church of 
England Temperance Society* who for some ten 
years has had the Keeley method under close obser¬ 
vation in this country* He adds; '* 1 do not wish to 
use high-flown language* but really and truly 1 look 
upon the Keeley Cure as a modern miracle.” Ami 
then he tells how case after case that had been 
considered hopeless has yielded speedily to the 
Keeley Cure, the patients returning to their work 
full of vigour and happy in the restoration of all that 
makes life worth living* 

He has sent had cases which his society were 
unable to deal with. These 
cases numleered in all forty* 
and Mr. Wilmot says Lhat 
out of these only (our have 
Lapsed* while the remaining 
thirty-six recovered and have 
been total abstainers ever 
since. 

Furthermore, Mr. W, Hind 
Smith, of the National Coun¬ 
cil of Young Men*s Christian 
Associations* declares lhat in 
his opinion* after ten years of 
constant service on the In¬ 
vestigating Commiuee ol the 
Keeley Cure* it is the only 
effective cure for chronic 
alcoholism and drug addiction 
of which he is aware. 

The principles of it are 
easily explained. The man 
or woman upon whom has 
fallen the disease of intem¬ 
perance goes to ihe Keeley 
Institute as he or she would 
go to any hospital or nursing 
home. They go of their own 
free will* or they are not admitted. If they do 
not wish to hi cured, the administrators of the 
Institute will have none of them. Even when 
they consent to come, they are left a free agent 
to go in and out at will* so long as they are there 
at stated hours of the day when the treatment is 
ad ministered. 

The tollmen! takes four weeks* and is carried out 
in England only at the Keeley Institute, at S and 9* 
West Bolton Gardens, London, S-W. It consists 
of injections o: the Curative Solution four times 
a day, and a tonic which is taken every two hours 
during the dav. 

At the beginning of the treatment the patient is 
provided a liberal amount of the best whisky* if he 
desires it ; or, if the addiction l>e in the category of 
drugs* the accustomed dose is allowed* hut after tw f o 
or three days the old craving for alcohol disappears 
for good and all ; for drugs it takes longer. 


As a matter of fact, both these conditions are 
diseases* and have to he treated as such. Dean 
Farrar has truly said : “ Alcohol is one of a number 
of lethal drugs which have the fatal property of 
creating for themselves a crave which in many 
people becomes an appetite ; an appetite w hich 
strengthens into a vice ; a vice which ends in disease ; 
a disease which constitutes a crushing and degrading 
slavery.” 

The Keeley treatment here steps in* braces the will* 
strengthens the physical basis of the patient* and 
destroys all craving for alcohol. 

As has been already observed, the Keeley treat¬ 
ment has twen employed m this country for 
many years under the auspices of a committee of 
broad-minded men of affairs who have satisfied 
themselves by personal investigation, not only of 
the efficacy of ihe Cure* but 
of its permanency in nearly 
every case. During the 
whole of this period the 
Chairman of Committee has 
l>een the Rev. James Fleming* 
G.D., Cuion of York, Chap¬ 
lain in Ordinary to His 
Majesty the King. Canon 
Fleming keeps in constant 
touch with the operations of 
the Keeley Institute, espousing 
both in public and in 
private the cause of this 
practical Cure with all the 
forceful eloquence which so 
distinguishes him. 

It sounds almost too good 
to be true* but the years have 
proved that it is an aljsolulc 
fact, Scores of thousands of 
drunkards, all the world over, 
have Wen cured by I>r. 
Keeley*s method, and are 
still Iteing cured, and it 
has justified its existence 
by the incontestable fact 
lhat an increasing number of patients are received 
year after year* and are sent away cured, 

A discerning British public appreciates hard facts. 
The published Annual Reports of Canon Fleming^ 
Committee can be had for the asking. 

These reports are highly interesting* containing* as 
they do* authentic information as to the cures effected, 
w hether the trouble had been alcoholism, morphinism* 
or nervous prostration. 

Some of the patients had been victims to the drink 
or drug habit for very many years. Cures are the 
rule* and, what is more* they are permanent. Among 
the patients are physicians, lawyers* clergymen* 
journalists* and men generally who do the brain work 
of the world. 

After ten years at 6, Grenville Place, Cromwell 
Road, the Keeley Institute has removed to new 
and more commodious quart era at 8 and 9. West 
Bolton Gardens* Old Bromplon Road, London* S-W, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 















A D VER TTSEMENTS. 


Ixxxix 





Bxfuldh ■o^a, Fartaal nt. oaxfaaiiid vaar, 

theY&N“ 

CORSETS 

Wilt not split I Nor tear In 
In the Seams I the Fabric. 

Mad* In Black, Whit*. French Grey, 

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ail. fill, fill. Til jut pair mn4 

up in rdf. 

TfiRBB GOLD MEDALS . 

"Till h«t nutka of Oor»tl If th* 

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CAUTION. 

He» tfiat th* Registered Trad* Mark. 

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if imprinted on * T «p mrwt and bot 
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Mil by Ifrapen *M IjuIIci Outfitter* 
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butter-scotch 

(The Celebrated Sweet for Children}, 

^ . . A 


Meuin’s Food 


In infancy or sickness the food must be in a form suited to the 
state of the digestive functions. Children and Invalids cannot 
digest and absorb many substances which prove nutritious to those 
with vigorous digestive organs. Mellins Food contains everything 
tending to rapid nutrition in infancy or sickness. It Is ready for 
almost immediate digestion. It Is speedily taken up by the blood 
and carried to every part of the body, contributing to Its nutrition. 


For Infants and Invalids. 

Sample Botik on Application. Mention this Magazine. 

MELLIIM’S FOOD WORKS, PECK HAM, S.E. 








































xc 


AD VER TISEMENTS* 


FINE FEATHERS MAY 

MAKE FINE BIRDS, 

but all the specious promises and high-flown testimonials in the 
world won’t prevent your hair falling off unless you use ^ume 
preparation which really fulfils its promises. If you use 

ROWLAND’S 
MACASSAR OIL 

you have the satisfaction of knowing that you are not making an experiment, but are using an article 
which your grandfathers and grandmothers used many years ago with the happiest results; if it 

had not always proved itself to be the 

BEST PRESERVER AND BEAUTIFIED 
OF THE HAIR 

obtainable, it would long ago have died an ignominious death, hut it still lives and still has the same 
good effect on the hair as it had I to years ago. We advise you to buy a 3s. 6d., 7s., or los. 6d, 
bottle from any store or chemist, hut lie sure it is Rowlands'. 



A PHENOMENAL SUCCESS. 


pLOR DE DINDIGUL CIGARS 
have the Largest Sale of any 
brand in the World. Nine Gold 
Medals. Our latest shipments 
are remarkably fine both in the 
manufacture and choice flavour 
of the tobacco. 3d. each, five 
for Is.; or in boxes of 50 post free 
9s. 6d. FLOR DE DINDIGUL 
CIGARETTES, all tobacco leaf, 
no paper. An exquisite whiff 
and delightful change from the 
paper cigarette. Samples Id. 
each, 8s. per 100, post free. On 
sale everywhere, or at BEWLAY’S, 
49, Strand, W.C. 


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AD VERT1SEMENTS. 


xoi 




'&Aevc\t\jeofexperf'Op/jt\iojr\ 


Jsfje Pianola masters 
any Piano. 

E xpressions of opinion emanat¬ 
ing from specialists have a value 
far surpassing any general opinion 
that may be given on a particular 
invention or work of art. Expert 
opinion exceeds in its scope and in its 
character all other opinion, hence the 
testimonial of the expert has become 
the guiding influence in appraising the 
value of the special object to which it 
applies. 

The testimonials to which we shall 
here refer are not mere abstract ex¬ 
pressions of opinion limited in their 
statements to the average generalities, 
but are concrete and definite in their 
endorsement, and beyond this it is 
impossible for a specialist to express 
himself. Let us take, for example, a 
pianist and artist like Paderewski, 

Paderewski, in a testimonial dated 
the 24th of March, 1900, in reference to 
the Pianola, makes this statement: “ It 
is perfection," He means thereby that 


Mnyone can master 
tfie Pianola. 

nothing can excel it, nothing can exceed 
it in its scope as an artistic expounder 
of piano music ; and on November 7, 
1900, he orders a second one. He 
states particularly that he wishes It for 
his own use. 

When a great artist like Paderewski 
states that an instrument is perfection, 
and when he orders another one for his 
Switzerland chateau, having one already 
in his Parts residence, it signifies that to 
him it has become an artistic necessity, 
Paderewski is a specialist on every¬ 
thing that pertains to the piano. The 
PIANOLA is a division of the piano 
art, and he necessarily requires it for 
his artistic collaboration. This in itself 
is an indication to the public of what 
enormous value is attached to the PIA¬ 
NOLA as an adjunct to the piano art. 
Of what great advantage, then, must 
the PIANOLA be to all pianists, when 
to a virtuoso like Paderewski it has 
this value? 


















xcai 


AD VER T1SEME NTS, 




but 


Rosonfhal 

** Nothing has more 
closely approached hand- 
playing*" 

Sauer 

44 The Pianola gives me 
mere pleasure than thou¬ 
sands of so called pianistic 
efforts to which I have 
listened*" 


Josef Hofmann is known, not only 
as a great student of music and the piano art, 
also as a most remarkable and gifted pianist- This expert 
says : ** I unhesitatingly pronounce it the best of all piano- 
playing devices*” 

Hofmann has investigated all piano-playing devices, not only 
from the musical and artistic point of view, but also from the methods 
and appliances utilised for the purpose of bringing about these 
results, and without hesitation he pronounces the PIANOLA the 
best- His is a testimonial that has analytical forces applied to it and 
the experience of investigation behind it. 

Among the most intellectual and even scientific players of the present 
day, a man of great force of mind and a ceaseless student of the arts 
and sciences, is Mom Rosenthal. Moriz Rosenthal, referring to the 
PIANOLA, says: “Nothing has more closely approached hand¬ 
playing/ 

The particular relation of the hand to the pi a no-key board and its 
most refined and subtle association with the piano have been subjects to 
which he has given the deepest thought. He has investigated the 
construction of pianos, and knows the anatomy of the hand and arm 
and the psychical relation between the operations of the fingers and hand 
and the action of the human mind. 

Another great artist, Emil Sauer, the head of the Vienna Conservatory 
of Music, and the special head of its piano department, says : 
“The PIANOLA gives me more pleasure than 1 have had from 
thousands of so-called treats of pianistic effort.” 

This expert tells us that he, who certainly has been ac¬ 
customed during his life to listening to the most advanced piano 
performances, derives more pleasure from the PIANOLA than 
from thousands of human piano-players. He gives it a position 
of competition with refined pianists, men and women w ho have 
played for him. This expert testimonial is again, therefore, 
tar beyond the nature of the average testimonial. 

Among those men in Europe who are considered poetic 
musicians— that is to say, musicians who are not merely great 
pianists, but composers and men of particularly subtle ami delicate 
gifts — is Maurice Moszkowski. 


UNIVERSITY OF MICF 


(LQfiyright.) 


























AD VER T1SEMENTS. 


xcxii 



# * Anyone hidden in a 

not knowing who is play- V jM glfTTfl/ Jf 0 ® W J*° w L m t he " the 
ing, “ who will hear the \JHKf Pianola *° r ,h * 
PIANOLA for the first Y» P* WKgV wil1 sore,y tMnk tU t U 

time, will surely think WKf * * | rMt v ‘ rtU0S ° that 

that it is a great virtuoso plays, 

that plays/* 

Here is direct testimony on the effect of the Pianola's playing upon a 
musical artist of the highest culture, a man who has made piano-playing 
a subject of profound investigation, who has written many standard works 
and compositions for the piano, and who possesses an original piano talent 
of a high order. This expert opinion is of such immense value that it can 
hardly be overestimated. 

This article treats of the expert specialist and confines itself to the 
opinions of those who have made a special study of the piano, with the 
result of making them authorities upon the instrument and upcn piano¬ 
playing. In the wider field, among musicians in general, the PIANOLA 
has met with equally universal appreciation. It is endorsed by almost 
every musician of note. 

All testimonials have their intrinsic value, but rarely has there been 
such remarkable unanimity of opinion so definitely and unequivocally 
expressed as is found in this set of testimonials from the foremost 
specialists and experts in artistic and icsthetic piano-playing, all of whom, 
without reservation, attribute to the PIANOLA qualities which place that 
instrument in a position that very nearly assumes a character competitive 
to themselves. There have been many testimonials published on many 
other important inventions and on many artistic products ; there has been 
considerable unanimity on many of these subjects, but never before has 
there been such transcendental testimonials issued on the part of rival 
experts as the above testimonials centred on the PIANOLA. 

Although perfectly artistic and wholly individual in each player's hands, 
the Pianola can be played by anyone, even those utterly ignorant of the 
art of music, and is thus practically available to every man, woman, and 
child in the whole wide world. 

The Pianola may be had on the hire system. It costs ^.65. 

The Pianola will gladly be demonstrated to anyone who cares to call. 
When writing for full particulars, please ask for Catalogue F. 


The Orchestrelle Company, 


225 Regent Street, London, W. 



City Showrooms: 67, 69, 71 FARRINGDON ROAD, E.C. 


U NIV ERSITY 0 F Ml C H IGA N 


















XC1V 


AD VER T1SEMEJVTS. 


W CAPTAIN' 

CHRISTMAS NUMBER. 

Now Ready. Price 6d. Fully Illustrated. 


Some of the Contents 

DICKENS THE BOY. By WALTER DEXTER Containing 

anecdotes of the great novelist^ boyhood* and |jietures of his various residences* 



DICK TURPIN AND CO. By A R 

COOPER* An absorbing article on the highwaymen of 
old limes and (heir ways, with some remarkable full page 
i 1 lust rat ions* 

TO AMUSE THE LADIES. Short 

Story tiy R. S. WARREN BELL. Illustrated by 
Alf. PearSel 

A QUEER CLUE. A Strange Railway Yarn* 
By S. A, PARKES. illustrated l>y Paul Hardy. 

“ CAPTAIN ” ARTISTS IN THEIR 

STUDIOS. An interesting series of photo¬ 
graphs specially taken for this number. First Series. 

AN ADVENTURE WITH MAN- 
MONKEYS IN A DESERTED 
JUNGLE CITY. By E. C. REYNOLDS. 

A FOOTBALL ARTICLE. By C. B. FRY. 

Fully Illustrated. 

A Paper on 

THE ROMANCE OF STAMP- 

COLLECTING. By E. J. NANKIVELL. 


More “LIFE AT ZOO VILLA/’ By HALL THORPE. 
THE RISING OF THE RED MAN. A Powerful Serial. 

B.- JOHN MACK IK. Illustrated by E. F. Skinnkr. 


pictures by TOM BROWNE, LOUIS WAIN, A. PEARSE, PRANK 
DADD, the late FRANK BARNARD, A. FORESTIER, WAL PAOET, 
S. E. WALLER. E. F. SKINNER, T. M. R. WHITWELL, and 

GEOROE HAWLEY. 


Sold by every Bookseller, Newsagent, and at the 
Railway Bookstalls. 


Georoe Nf.wnes, Ltd., 7—12, Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C. 


— 




■ aa 


- 


Tinr 


Jriginal from 

> 1 - ■"l 1 . Ml- T - - 
























AD VEX TISEKENTS. 


xcv 


CARTERS, 6a, New Cavendish St., 



Illustrated 


Cataluftie* 


Post Frte- 


CARRYING 
CHAIRS, from £1 Is. 


SPINAL CARRIAGES. 

Bed R«it* . 7 6 

Lag Rests .. 10 - 

Crutches .. .. 10 6 

Bed Baths 12 § 

Coinrnddas . 1*5 - 




the " LITERARY MACHINE , ” 


For holding a book or writing dealt lo any portion over an ea*y 
chair, bed, or sofa, obviating fatigue and atooping, Invaluable le 
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INVALID COMFORTS. 


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from £l IQs. 


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Bed Lifts . «4 4«, 

Reclining Boards .... 1 IQs, 


Walking Machines, Portable 
W.C.'s. Electric Bell*. Urlneii. 
Air and Water Beds, 



EYES AND EARS. 

Ndw Treatment Without Operation. 

For Cataract and all IHbmm* of the Eye, 
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Jfo “ Ear-Drums."' ’■ Kar-fnrnt'ts," nr painful 
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T. ISDN, racing Eye and Ear Dispensary 


NEW CENTURY 
PHONOGRAPH 



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Rupture 

Free Cure. 

Wonderful Home Treatment That Cures Without 
Pain or Loss of Time, 

Dr, \Y. S. Rice (Dept. 200), 8 k 9, Stonecutter 
St., London, E.C., lias invented a method that cures 
rupture without pain, danger, operation, or an hour’s 
losa of time from the day's work. To avoid all 


>1 

MR* JOHN WESLEY, 


questions of doubt, he Rends free to every sufferer a 
free trial of Ilia method, and there can be no earthly 
reason why anyone, rich or poor, should not avail 
themselves of this generous offer. Am an mstanoe of 
thin remarkable method, the care of Mr, John Wesley, 
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of intelligence. Mr. Wesley is a well preserved and 
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short use of the Rice method the rupture healed entirely. 
To day Wa aound a bell If you know anyone rup¬ 
tured jou should tell them of this wonderful method, 
which will bo sent for trial free of all costs. 



GIVES A PERFECT BUST 

Remarkable Treatment that Develops the Bust and Rounds Out 
the Figure. Perfectly Safe and Harmless Treatment, 

Fully Described Free to All. 

FI very woman who through sickness or worry or aiiy other tniiar lacks the imiural develop¬ 
ment of bust nui fully rtiftdaui perfect figure by ft tirw ftiitl raixiirkahta treatment thwt 
quirkly rtikiwr* the bu»i to full [m»[MJTtlon. Miss Mnrvtnn writer, ’"Idanonc-ting 
SuleD'HldlT; itlnwly developed two liuliw ' Mrit GHrtk YrrltttHiailo hah IullI won¬ 
derful effect ; IhhAH are tout in? qui|c foil " Miss, lioulil vrlltfii: " Sly figure ip jef- 

fcedydevelojMsdhy liiu.no. shall not require any mon ." Mr*. Blake writer: "smtuflug 
i usluo my cheat nieaaur«mvnt inert mm^I si ^ inche* " The#e Indies have intimated tJieir 

plraiurv u\ give their experience to others if nil iddrent will Ik; given tu Iwnrt Mt appli 
runts), H ra n Aonir freerfmewf that any bolv am easily use in her lurivut* ajarUiients. jiihI 
in auamntw! Purhe the Jerirod re-nit without the riightr^t inromcidimer fsv Kcnditur 
jour liuine uml .uhl!■■•-■- !„ 1. k 11V >| iNAGKIt. M L KSPANOLA )IKIi|l 'l\K OU. 
llJwpt. aai HMENT -TKKKT LOMKIM, \\ . you will receive HIKE full dwo 
crliitlwi of this reumj-kiddc method, width w 11 enable you to ul lain iterfert bust 
development ul lumie at a very' slilht eXfienpe The ilqcripifnn {s Tradled to you free in 
u ;>erfertly plain and sealed envelope. mid you should have no heritsncj in wriLing. You. 
will lie rfelightmi to learn how ensily and "jirely th« bust xan be developed, aud it will 
jmy you to trite to-dfty Don t tUtfW U) \ H 3 I TTQ ITl 

' mire to possess beauty la^^ene 


fun >* nt ll> : r 

** The desin 


















xcvi 


AD VER TISEMENTS. 



.will i k . ■* 

The spirit of Winter is upon you. 
Cold Winds, Cold Rain, and Damp 
Fog^ will be your lot for months. 
Protect yourselves, take care, and 
nullify the effect of this changeable 
climate* 

IF YOU COUGH, 

USE 

GERAU DEL’S 

pastilles. 

Let your lungs be filled with the 
vapour of Norwegian Pine Tar, which 
they give off whilst dissolving in the 
mouth. The efficacy of Pine Tar in all 
affections of the Throat and Lungs is 
well known, the best mode of applying 
it is by inhalation, and the mouth makes 
the best inhaler. 

All CHEMiSTS SEll THEM 
72 in a Tnbe for 1/1^. 


"GAME. 

GAMES 

BECAUSE—unttka alt athmrm, 

IT CAN BE PLAYED ANYWHERE. 

IN OR OUTDOORS. ALL THE YEAR ROUND. 
BY DAY OR NIGHT. ON LAND OR REA. 

BY EVERYONE, OLD OR YOUNG. 


ANDBRS ON'S’ 

pSSSt 11 VARSITY * 



HOME 1 1 

GOLFER 


mum Of Which REAL 
' F itha fame right 

through! 
can be 
played 
A en 
Joyed 
any 
wham 


S&E 


" The Best Game Father ever brought home!'* 


PRICE 8 - 

BcSt quality, 44 - : second grade, SO - Complete Ruin, containing 
all requisite* The "SI, Andrew*” 100% inw-LinimemltHif The 
" Hoykke," 78 The “ WeHivsnl Ho,“ U 


The '* Varsity * JI tune Golfer hlw unit* recently born supplied to 
Hi* following nmong others: —Lady Bmarti , Hr West Hitlgwar, 
Lord A it«A> M unlit La uf A ng lew* : the Officers of MM S. AlWJfrattJl. 
/fepeniM and rutdicfii'e ; Frederick I]n|e|n Co., Ltd.; 

Crieff Hydro; Wells Hons* Hydro. Lllclej ; the AGifonari tW/e, 
and many other welhknown Ft^amahii*, 


“OoLriao” says: It id really a marvellous eonLrirjmce, and 
quite urtrsIlAilbwi all iitttidbii I iolt Inventions." 

JX’iNaLufK lIviJK"! write?: "Good sport can be got out of it; it 
fills in a wot forenoon 1 beautifully,'" 

C*pt. Scott, R.N., of the ■’ J liftt^reTTp*’ writes: “The llmne 
Uiilfer has proved a considerable add! lion to our menu of 
obtaining nenatien," 

II. MA. Of}hir: “A itiefisl complete set of the hilcnl Home 
Golfer wne supplied for the ums of T- ILH, the Ihince and 
PrifioeM of \V>l«i, M 

CoUKA*tU*T H|l*?fT t £.8. *■ UkA,” Write? 1 “Uurinif ltd* S***Jtt 
we hare had man? golfing mllnmiuit* aruumz our paaBengrre, and 
they hare one and all been delighted to find their favourite gun* 
represented in AU.i'li all apparently piposijble pltuv an the 
promenade deck of a steamer. 

ilraii 1 nnd Taylor (late open champions] played an ls-hole 
match, using nur Map of Wimbledon Golf Course by Stanford*, 
on the “ Varsity * Home Golfer. Braid won by & up amt 3 to play, 

ANDERSON, AMRSOK&TNDERSOK, LW 

India rubber A Waterproof Manufacturers r 

37 , QUISH VICTORIA ST,, LONDON, LC. 


































AD VERTI SEME NTS, 


xevn 


TH E 


LOVE OF MUSIC 


is one of the best and highest instincts of Human Nature, yet it is a Tact that there are thousands of people who are 
intensely musical but cannot play, or at least cannot play sufficiently well tu satisfy their own musical aspirations. 
This drawback to one of the greatest joys in life is now a thing; of the past, anti it is 
- possible to cn|oy at tiume„ and an any piano, the most beautiful music ever written 

m \ without its being necessary for the performer to have any musical knowledge. 

( 



THE ‘ 


CECILIAN’ 
PIANO PLAYER 

Is the MOST PERFECT 

PIANO PLAYER IN THE WORLD. 

FOR EASE OF OPERA TION. CAPACITY FOR MUSICAL EXPRESSION, DELICACY OF 
CONTROL f ACCURACY OF ** TECHNIQUE ," It stand* atone in its ctasa. 

pnPP DCniTAI G ^iven every day at our Salon in Qt, Marl borough St. The public are 
PllPr KFlil | llLQf cordially invited to call in order that they may hear what the CECILIAN 

can do. We wish it to be distinctly understood that no one will be asked 
to buy. We only ask you to come and listen. Ad mission by visituw<auii 

FULL DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE post free to all who mention The Strand Magazine. 

THE FARRAND ORGAN CO, ( GT. MARLBOROUGH ST, LONDON, W. 

The GREAT COMPOSERS in EVERY HOME 





ABSOLUTELY INDISPENSABLE IN EVERY 
HOME AND SECOND TO NONE. 


CONSOLIDATED ELECTRICAL 
MEDICAL APPARATUS. 


Complete with Dry Battery and Accessories, as shown Ln 
Illustration. 

rt * _ _ fif Delivered Free in the United 

“rICG ^ Kingdom. Colonies, 40 - 

Highly Recommended for 

NERVOUS DISEASES, RHEUMATISM, GOUT, 

and General Strengthening of all Vital 
Parts of the Body* 


An Up-to-date Medical Apparatus In every particular, built on the latest Scientific Frlncip ea. 

W* frnnixh a rwmplet,- hu of electrodes. Much a* abould accompany etery first dut hhuiptxIur, of two oft-foot ooffUand 

tip*. twn sponge electrode*, two tube electrodes, two rublterukl 1 l;uuIIi-h fur hud*. Mirt one foot plntn. 

The Hj^xtrUun most convenient i»r the feti-vot to um without any Miiiittuti. the two (pnnp electrude«raui3'Ki umd, <me in either 
hand, or one pnrfwwd against uny part of the while the other. attached to the rubherotd handle, can he ruppUed where (inrired 

Another advantage I. the foot plate, which give* the |ulient the uw of both hand*. The patient c*n *tiply tilii upturn u* fti the 
mb. and Uiuj jrivc liirusdl in electric bath, Other Combinations ukj nu nu-nms to mention can Iwa m:sk, which the intjcKtuvill 
Wm u they become fAioilUr with n\ iparatkis. 


S&It European and Colonial Agents: J. W. ROWE A CO*, Successors, 15-16, Aid Or man bury, London, 1*0* 




ILMS DEVELOPED. 

KODAK\ SANOEIL WELLINGTON, 

or other makes, 

PR I M TIM C i n any Style. Am atgug e^ 

XMAS A HEW YEAR CARDS £1^ NrM JSsSeS 
CHUMIHC ENLARGEMENTS •;>«. £ 

Thejnfls&L Uaeflii Presents. Alcntiduiui^nieiklrvi 

Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













xcvin 


AD VE R TJSE MENTS. 


The BEST GIFT BOOKS of the YEAR. 

THE “COUNTRY LIFE" LIBRARY. 


GARDENS OLD AND NEW. VOL. II SSi, 

(The Country House and its Garden Environment.) The Second Volume of this superb 
publication is now on Sale. Unquestionably The Gift Book of the Season. It 

contains nearly 400 Superb Illustrations, is printed on treble thick Art Paper, ard every Photo¬ 
graph used has been specially taken for the purposes of the Volume. It illustrates over 60 
of the most beautiful of our English and Scottish Gardens, and is, in every way, a worthy 
companion to the First Volume. Price £2 as. Net. A 3rd Edition of the First Volume is now 
ready, price £2 2s. Net. 

PRESS NOTICES OF VOL. I. 

Glasgow Herald.— “The obiect of this magnificently-illustrated volume is to depict the many-sided 
character of old and of modern gardcnage, and to indicate the possibilities that lie before possessors of 
gardens. As is set forth, * the system of the book is one of example more than of precept.’ There is no 
attempt to advocate the claims of any particular style. On the contrary, examples have been chosen from 
the most divergent systems, with a view to showing how the appropriateness of eacn depends on the particular 
kind of house for which it is intended, and also on the site which the designer has at his disposal. As a 
consequence of this the beautiful volume illustrates not only the garden, but the house as well; and we know of none 
that deals so exhaustively with the finest examples of English domestic architecture. It show's the dwelling- 
places of Englishmen belonging to almost every petiod. Some of them are mansions famous in history; 
others are houses rescued from decay and restored to their olden state, but all alike are striking as examples 
of the beauty of the country homes of England. The whole equipment of the volume is in keeping with the 
subject.” 

Dally Chronicle.— “This beautiful book—for very properly the book itself is beautiful, apart from its 
contents—owes its charm to the wonderful collection of photographs of gardens and garden-architecture which 
pitch a paper as Country Life has had a unique opportunity of making. The principle conveyed in the 
letterpress of the book itself is that held by all great gardeners and architects— 4 that house and garden are, or 
should be, intimately associated,* and that the character of the possessors should be reflected in both. The 
accounts of lovely garden after lovely garden are most agreeable reading. There is no country in the world 
where man-created sylvan beauty can be found comparable to this in England, and as an album of charming 
pictures for the garden-lover, and a mine of elegant suggestion to the garden-maker, this volume is the best 
thing of its kind we have ever seen.” 

Pall Mall Gazette.— 14 Without photography such a book would have been impossible. Gardens Old 
and New consists of a collection of admirable photographic prints, issued by the proprietors of Country Life, 
of what may be considered England’s richest artistic treasures—her country homes. They form an imposing 
collection, deeply interesting from an architectural point of view, and most instructive from the point of view 
of the landscape gardener. To those about to build, or lay out a garden, we can offer no stronger recommenda¬ 
tion than that they should buy this book and study it. It will give them an ideal of what a house and garden 
ought to be. The descriptive essays that accompany the prints are excellent reading, particularly the introduction.” 


NORTH, SOUTH, AND OVER THE SEA. 

By M. E. FRANCIS, Author of 14 Pastorals of Dorset,” “ Fiander’s Widow,” etc., with Illustrations by 

Mr. C. E. BROCK. 

PRESS NOTICES. Prioee.. 

Times.— 14 In certain moods there is no one with whom we would more contentedly settle down to a quiet 
tale of country life and character than Mrs. Francis Blundell. She knows and sympathizes with the people she 
describes, and is always abundantly conscious of their humour.” 

Pilot.— 44 This is a collection of small masterpieces. Mrs. Blundell has studied shrewdly and affectionately 
the peasant of the North and the South and the Emerald Island, and reproduced their characteristics in a series 
of idylls in which sentiment and humour, the real and the ideal, are delightfully and convincingly blended.” 

Spectator.— “ These fifteen short stories maybe supposed to represent the manners of Lancashire 
0 North Ireland ( 4 Over the Sea ’), and some less refined region south of the Trent. The gem of the 
collection, 4 The Girl he left behind him,’ as far as the local colour is concerned, is neutral. It is not a love 
story; the 4 Girl ’ is a child of three, about whom a soldier, newly returned from the front, mystifies his mother 
in a very delightful way. It is as sweet and tender a little bit of life as we have ever seen.” 

Scotsman. — 44 The stories have all a taste of the natural sweetness of their subjects, and they are written 
with a pleasant sympathy for the men and women whose ways they do so subtly observe. They make a book 
whioh should be read with interest by everyone who takes it up." 


THE CENTURY BOOK OF GARDENING. 

Edited by E. T. COOK. 

A comprehensive Work for every Lover of the Garden. 624 pages, with about 600 Illustrations. 


PRESS NOTICE. 


Prlos 21s. Net. 


Times. — 44 No department of gardening is neglected, and the illustrations of famous and beautiful 
gardens and of the many winsome achievements of tne gardener’s art are so numerous and attractive as to 
make the veriest cockney yearn to turn gardener.” 


Published at tha Offloee of COUNTRY LIFK, SO, Tavlatook St., Covant Carden, W.O. 
and by OBORQS NEWNES, Ltd., 7—IS, Southampton St., Strand. W.C. 


Google 

o 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 













XCIX 


AD VER T1SEMENTS. 



YEARS’ SUCCESS 


inW UNIVERSAL REMEDY W 

■ yjy wh 

FOK Tg 

f Coughs, Colds, * 

Asthma, Bronchitis, 
Influenza, Whooping- 
Cough, Hoarseness, dC< 

HAS MADE 


£ung Tonic 


AN ABSOLUTE NECESSITY TO EVERYBODY, 


Important Notice 

SUBSTITUTION. —There 


are so many imitations of 
this successful, and therefore popular, remedy that it is 
of the utmost importance you should me the word 
“ OWBRIDQB ” when buying Lung Tonic, and k 
\ TAKE NO SUBSTITUTE. M 


Prepared by 

V. T. 0KBRIDGE, M.P.S., Chemist, Hull, 

Sold everywhere 
in bottles, at Is. 2s. 9t£., 

gw 4s. 6t2., and 11s. 


COPTRIGOT, 


Original from 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











c 


AD VER TISEMEN1E 


CONSUMPTION 

GAN BE CURED. 


Marvellous Discovery by the famous American, Dr. Derk P. 
Yonkerman—State Officials and Great Medical Men 
Pronounce it the Only Cure for Consumption 
and all Throat and Lung Troubles. 

^vvvv^vvvv w ^ ww vvvwcvvvvvvwvv 


Consumptives Given Up to Die and Sent 
Back from Health Resorts Hopeless 
and Helpless are Now Alive and Well 
Through this Wonderful Cure for 
Consumption. 


Positive Proof From People Cured That 
Will Convince the Most Sceptical is 
Sent Free to All Who Write. 


CONSUMPTION can at l;:<t be cured. Marvellous as it 
may seem after the many failures, a sure* {tositive, 
and certain cure for th < deadly consumption has at 
East lieeti discovered by Dr. Derk I\ Youkerimifi, the 
great American doctor scientist, who hai made a life 
study of this fatal disease. His wonderful remedy 
hits been fully tested and rigidly proven a sure cure 
by State officials, and noted medical men all over 
the world testify to it* power to kill the dread germ 
that causes oonsumption. The doctor makes no secret 
of the ingredients of his wonderful cure, believing 
that the people'*Are entitled to such a production of 
science* and he is Bending treatments all over the 
world, bringing joy of knowledge of certain cure from 
this awful, fatal disease. Such eminent scientists as 
Koch, Luton* Pasteur, and all the great mud ion 1 and 
germ £]>ecia lists and chemists have already repeatedly 
declared that the consumptive germ cannot live a 
minute in the presence of the ingredients of this 
wonderful discovery that has already revolutionised 
the treatment of consumption, and Inis taken it from 
the catalogue of deadly fatal diseases and placed 
it in the positively curable list. Proof of tests 
akeady made aml letters from grateful people—former 
consumptives rescued from the very jaws of death — 
arc sent free to nil who write to Dr. Derk P. 
Yonkerman* ffUi, Shakes]scare Building, Kalamazoo, 
Mich,, U.S.A. Dr. Yonkerman has organized hie own 
company and conducts his own laboratory, despite 
rich offers from corporation*. He doe* this so he can 
he sure that all consumptives on the bice of the earth 
can have this marvellous and only genuine cure for 
consumption at a price within the reach of the poorest 
person. Write to day. It ia a sure cure; the first 
week's treatment will' do you more good than all the . 

Diaitized by viOOQ 1C 



Dr* DERK P. YONKERMAN, 

Discoverer of Tubereulozyne* the Only 
Cure for Consumption. 


medicines, cod-liver oils* stimulants, or changes of 
climate, and it will convince you that at last there 
has been discovered the true cute for consumption. 
Don't delay—there is not an hour to Iwe when you 
have consumption or any throat or lung trouble. Send 
today for Free information and advice from the 
world's greatest and most successful apecialist in the 
cure of consumption. It is free. Remember a letter 
to America requires 2 S4d. portage. Write your name 
very plain and be sure to give your full address *hj 
there can be nr rcmtaka delivery, 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 











A D VEHTJSEMENTS. 


ci 





WHO SAY SO. 

Commander T. WOLFE MURRAY, R.H. i The Hori. Mrs. GORDON writes - 


hair,'" 


'■ Trobridge, Crediton, iflth June, 190a. 

( I have found 4 Ta(cbo' 01 distinct benefit to my 


3, Northumberland Street, Edinburgh, 

“ aSth August, 190a. 

JC The Hon, Mrs* Gordon has derived much benefit from 
1 Tatcho*' ” 

LADY SYKES — 

“ Mayfair, W. 

" 1 Tateho' has entirely renovated my hair/' 

Major-General KCATE— 

High Croft, Winchester. 

,+ I find “Tatcho' excel lent, and better than anything 1 
have ever tried in the course of a long life. 1 could not 
have believed that any preparation Could do so much 
good in so short a lime. 1 ' 

PRINCESS EUGENIE CRISTO- 


FOROS PALCELOGUE - 

(fl Talcho' is invaluable. I would not be without 
ii on any account.—Helvedere Hotel, Kensington.'' 

Colonel BAGQT-CHESTER - 

41 Zetland House, Maidenhead. 

" + 1 well know how valuable 1 Tatcho ' is.' 4 

Colonel PERRY - 


lt Royal Hibernian Hotel, Dawson Street, 

“ Dublin. 

“‘Tatcho' is wonderful, and all to whom 1 recom¬ 
mend it praise it* I hope others have advised the use 
of + Tatcho' as I have. 4 ' 

“TATCHO* 1 is n delightful Preparation, the colour of whisky, free from all smell, neither greasy nor sticky* 
‘ 4 TATCmr' will entirely banish that dead and dingy look of the hair* 

“TATCHO 1 " will ward off the approach of grey ness* ^ * 

“TATCHO' 1 is Invaluable to those suffering from actual loss of hair and who need a powerful stimulant 
to force fresh growth* 

“TATCHO* 1 is tint a dye. and contains no harmful ingredient, 

MXATCHO" is si>ld by alt Chemists and Stores throughout the world, in bottles at i/-* Z/f>, and 6/-- 
Australian Dep&tj 76, Pitt Street, Sydney, N.S.W 

FULL 


SIZE 


TRIAL BOTTLE 1/ 


carr. paid. 





































ADVERTISEMENTS. 




from 

Earliest Infancy. 


Reared on 

FRAME-FOOD 

from Birth . 




A LADY writes : She considers 
Frame. Food most thoroughly satisfac¬ 
tory ; her little boy never having suffered 
in the least from sickness. She hopes 
her second child will thrive equally 
well on it. 


“ Frame - Food " Motto 


NOURISH & FLOURISH! 


Jib, Sample Tin of FRAME-FOOD, ot 50 Z. Sample Jar of “FRAME-FOOD * 1 

JELLY, sent free on receipt of 3d. to pay postage ; Mh samples sent for qd. postage, 

( A fen/ton this Magazine.) 

FRAME-FOOD CO., Ltd., BATTERSEA, LONDON, S.W. 




UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 









































AD VER TJSEMEMTS. 


ciii 


-\ 

POMEROY 

Toilet Preparations 


POMEROY SKIN FOOD. 

Tup. most pfpfkct emollient wade, feed's 
the skiti, materially assists in eradicating 
wrinkles, removes all foie p i matter from the 
pores h and restores the tenure of the skin to 
its youthfu ness. Prevents chapping, and re¬ 
moves inflammation caused by wind and sunburn. 
Is beneficial to every complexion, invaluable 
alike to those who engage in outdxjr sports and 
those who arc much at home, preserves the ski s 
from the evil effects of hard water, sun, wind, 
frost, and fo !. Excellent foT the hands, and a 
perfect emollient for children. It will not 
promote the growth of superfluous hair. Price 
3ft. 6d., post free. 

POMEROY LIQUID POWDER 

la a fill EAT rstPHOVEMENT ON ALL f>THRH 
powders. It adheres readily to the skin t con¬ 
ceals facial blemishes. Imparts a youthful 
appearance, is absolutely beneficial, cooling, and 
becoming, and a great protection from sunburn. 
3e k 6d<, [>osi free, lbysh, 6d. extra, 

POMEROY EYELASH CREAM 

Perfectly harmless antj non-irritating 
T o THE eyes. A little rublied into the edges 
of the eyelids will strengthen and greatly 
promote the growth of the lashes ; also in' 
creases the eyebiows. Price 1*« Gd. per box, 
post free. 

POMEROY OATMEAL POWDER. 

As excellent substitute foh soar, and 
specially suited to greasy skins. Price t®. 0d* 
per box and 1/- per bag, post free. 


MRS. POMEROY 

Givca consultation And advice free 
(personally or by correspondence), and 
will send her “ Beauty RULES, m 
gratis and post free, on request, to any 
part of the world. 

Superfluous Hairs 




Portable Com¬ 
bination Table 


ci e * £_ aa 


4 Guineas to Guineas. 


For fMtiardii Poof, BaiipftOy Tenpin** etc—21 Carnet. 
Recently Improved. Place on dining or library table* or 
on our folding stand; set away In nhritot or behind door. 
Rich mahogany frame with bed c»f patent Laminated wood, 
steel braced’ the only IhriI that will remain perfectly level 
under all crmellMous ■ green broadcloth cover, befit rubber 
and steel cushions, regular pockets with pocket covers, 16 
finest halls, a cues; 4ft implements gratis. Sent on trial. 
Write fur booklet, free. 


AMERICAN TRADING ASSOCIATION 
Shaftesbury Ave. f LONDON, W. 



FREE 


THIS MACKINTOSH 

or n pair of iO/S LuIJ«h' 
i^r Ciflut*’ H™i* or HIhjts 
during December only, to every pur 
dlAMT uf imr of odr WpXt-Bud Suit* it 
37 6. 3u . 32 ■«, or higher 
ifrier, nr every purchufter of a 
25 , 30 tirhipbnr pri«3 Went' 

Kti< 1 Warm Winter dr llahi- 
E .™»f Overcoat. A II to M eoisiiriL 
l ihei];iIi> Mftrkinbiidi w»L ati 

K M rarelnt of PMtfti Uider for j 

_ / 10:0, 1-a.TTiriijro jNlifl. It nflfcf 

approved, y"u rfln return Cwh ^ 
will hf refunded and carrEJiga 
jniid Wb wxyn If kr|il, amt 
Huit or Overcoat la ordered, the 
to a will }«(iMiuotedfmmcuat 
rnf mint-, 

I'attrrnit. Pelf-Measure Chart, 
and Full Particulars Free 



S. THOMPSON BROS., ltd., 

3, Oxford Street, W , and 
B4, Blehops^ute St. Without, E.C. 


Removed permanently, safely, and with- 
out pain or scar by Electrolysis only. 

No Chemical preparation cmn possibly give 
— the same satisfactory results as 
Mrs. Pomeroy's method. 


Cons*itation and Advice FREE, to to 5 - Saturday 
to i. Or by (omspottHi nee to — 



f"L£ fiO ffUIM-AE 

SHIP‘CONWAY 

LIVER POOL. 


FOft TRAINING 

YOUNG GENTLEMEN 

« etcong OFFICERS 

thx MERCANTILE NAVY. 

PROSPECTUS APPLY TO 
THE CAPI.* A T MHlLEN. R.H. 


29, OLD BOND ST., 

LONDON. 

ALSO AT 



39, Qrafton Street, DUBLIN. 
■ 8, Strand Street, Cape Town 
SOUTH AFRICA. 



30,ON Already Cured. 

blindness vanquished, 

eyesight restored, 

By MKLl-ow** New System of Treatment. Cases of so 
years ^landing havtlten cured. Pamphlet free on menticn- 
ing The Strand Magazine. 

MCL LOR, Eye Specialist, 16$, Oxford >L, MarrohBftter, 

^^^^^^"cjngmalT 

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



















































AD VERT1SEMENTS. 


c.v 

NOW! IS THE WATCHWORD OF THE WISE I i 

NOW! IS THE CONSTANT SWING OF THE 
PENDULUM OF TIME! 

You can change the course of the trickling stream, but not the rolling river. It 

will deiy all your tiny efforts. 

The Pilot can so steer and direct as to bring the ship into safety, but he cannot 

quell the raging storm. 

The common idea when not feeling well is f I will wait and see^perhaps I shall feel 
heller to-morrowf whereas had a supply of ENO'S 1 FRUIT SALT* been at hand\ 
and use made of it at the onset f all calamitous results might have been avoided. 

Every Household and Travelling Trunk ought to contain a Bottle of 

ENO’S ‘FRUIT SALT.’ 

It allays Nervous Excitement, Sleep 
lessness, Depression, and restores the 
Nervous System to its proper condition. 

It is Pleasant, Cooling, Health-giving, 
Refreshing, and Invigorating. You cannot 
overstate its great value in keeping the 
Blood Pure and free from Disease. It 
should be in every bedroom and travellers 
bag ( for any emergency). It acts as simply, 
yet just as powerfully, on the animal 
system, as sunshine does on the vegetable 
world, and removes ail foetid or poisonous 
matter (the groundwork of disease) from 
the Blood by Natural Means. Always does 
good—never any harm. 

It is not too much to say the merits of 
ENCTS 1 FRUIT SALT' have been pub¬ 
lished, tested, and approved literally from 
Pole to Pole, and that its cosmopolitan 
popularity to-day presents one of the most 
signal illustrations of commercial enter* 
prise to be found in our trade records, 

I HAVE served for more than a quarter of a century with my regiment in the West Indies ami 
on the West Const of Africa, and have constantly used ENO J S ‘FRUIT SALT/ I have 
always found it of the utmost use, especially during the Ashantee War, under Sir Garnet WoLscley, 

I have been through several epidemics of Yellow Fever during my military career, hut have never 
had an attack. This I attribute to the use of ‘FRUIT SALT,’which I strongly recommend, more 

especially to those living or travelling in tropical countries/*—(Signed)- p Captain, Retired 

Ray, West Indian Regiment, Spanish Town, Jamaica* 9th April, 1900* 

There is no doubt that where Eno’s 'Fruit Salt* has been taken in 
the earliest stages of a disease, it has in innumerable instances 

prevented a serious illness. Its effect on a Disordered i 

or Feverish Condition is simply Marvellous. j 

It is, in fact, Nature’s Own Remedy, and an Unsurpassed One. 

CAUTION.—Examine the bottle And Capsule and see that they ape marked ENO'S 
* FRUIT SALT/ otherwise you have been Imposed upon by a WORTHLESS imitation. 

Prepared only by J. C. ENO, Ltd., ‘FRUIT SALT’ WORKS, London, S.E., by J. C. ENO’S Patent. 



qk 


Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 





































■■ 


AD VEitnsEMENTS. 



THE WISE it I 


WON BACK TO HEALTH. 
Indigestion and Constipation banished. 


A LONDON MOTHER’S GRATEFUL TESTIMONY. 


HAPPY the home that* is woman's delight., the busy husband's haven ot 







refuge, the children's paradise! But. how many homes are darkened by 
the cloud of disease? They exist, in every city, town, and village, and 
are countless in number. As health is essential to happiness in the home 
it. should be sought, after, preserved, and treasured before anything else 
of this world. 

Never, perhaps, in the history of the world’s greatest city, ha* recovered health been the 
so much genuine happiness as in the home of Mrs. Julia Mary Bing, of Nelson Villas, 

Road, Heston, Middlesex, 

Heston, which lies midway between 
Southall and Hounslow, is greatly 
interested in the occurrence. 

Mrs. Bing, a typical British mother, 
told her remarkable story to a rep¬ 
resentative. She spoke plainly, but 
with nil the enthusiasm or a grateful 
heart : li I am only too grateful to be 
abb* to give you details,” said Mrs. 
Ring. Lk f hatf been a martyr to 
excruciating’ pains for 
twenty years, and after spen ” 
pounds upon pounds in doctor's 
medicines, and so on, without getting 
better—but growing worse^I was at 
I fist cured by taking Bile Beans for 
Biliousness. It happened this way. 

Throughout those twenty years, I 
was bo afflicted with swimming in the 
head, accompanied by racking pains in 
the head and face, a stifling sensation 
in the chest, exhausting aching between 
the shoulders, and severe vomiting, 
that a week never passed without I hud 

“ Mu Son mid: 1 You shall tr„ them"' to cease my household WOrtc and 

‘ ' go to bed. 

A comfortable sleep was something I had not known for years—1 had much pain and was very rest 
less. As a girl I suffered from sick headache, and when 1 was about twenty-four years of nge, chronic 
bmousaeesand indigestion came on with great severity. T was then living in London, aud several 
doctors attended me, but without doing me any good. Nor did 1 derive any benefit from attending a 
London Hosprtjil for women. I was dreadfully constipated 

. J.he doctors specially prescribed to cure me of this, but the relief was only temporary* ami this 
indigestion and vomiting, which made me dread taking food, never abated. 

io attempt to do any washing, or anything which necessitated stretching my amis out. or stooping, 
was sure to bring the pains darting through my head, generally most severe on the right side. Vomi¬ 
ting followed these shooting pains every time. This went on until January last. 

^remember thaton J anuary 19th, I hadjhe worst bilious attack I ever had In my life." 

reports say,” 

-™y. vto Hounslow and bought a box, and made me 

take t hem. 































nnnn’o niAuno 


-———-—— —7 

F 

25 per cent. DLscoimt fur Cash or [ 

I^. U'i. - er in|.j[Hh (seeiiiMh h.uitl, ( 


11 1 have not had a single attack of biliousness from that day. The first effect of them was that they 
cleared my head. They then seemed to purify my whole system, and drove the pain away 
altogether. They enabled me to sleep soundly, and gave me a good appetite, and a strong digestion. 

I have eaten well since I got through the first box, and now know what it is to enjoy being hungry* 
They also completely cured me of constipation, the only medicine that ever gave me permanent relief 
in that way. In fact, I feel quit© well again, and my health is excellent* Bile 
Beans have cured me* imu I never cease to recommend them, or explain what caused the 
change in me.” 

This is striking testimony to the remarkable efficacy of the greatest specific of a scientific age. 


A WORD TO WOMEN. 

Many women suffer greatly from 11 that tired 
feeling,” lack of energy, debility, constipation, 
a nd o tlier m i nor ail me n is. These il Is are brou gh t 
about in many cases through want of sufficient 
exercise, con sequent upon the many calls of 
household duties. The result is that eventually 
a state is reached when work becomes almost an 
impossibility, the blood becomes impure, the liver 
sluggish, causing impaired sleep and digestion 
anti a sallow complexion. Women who suffer 
from any of these ailments would be wise to take 
without delay a course of Bile Beans, for when 
winter comes it will find out the weak spots. 
They are ailments that are lamentably common 
among women -folk, and they are highly dangerous 
if neglected. To pass comfortably and success¬ 
fully through the approaching winter the body 
will want putting in a thorough state of repair. 
Bile Beans will do this for you. They clear the 
system, strengthen the nerves, and correct, not 
temporarily, hut permanently, the digestive 
organs. Bile Beans, being purely vegetable, 
coil tain nothing of an injurious nature, and can be 
taken with equal safety by either child or adult. 


PALE GIRLS. 

One of the most serious drawbacks to a pretty 
face, is a pallid, bloodless complexion* Pale 
faces, pale lips, pale gums ; these arc all indica¬ 
tions of the presence of anamiin. The system 
which lacks blood is open to attacks f rom many 
insidious diseases. Bile Beans strengthen tin- 
digestive system so that it turns the food into 
the purest blood, and tones up the liver to enable 
it to keep free from bile and other impure 
secretions. This is the only way to cure an 
anemic condition 


SICK HEADACHE. 

Sick Headache is usually one of the symptoms 
of biliousnessj constipation, or other derangement 
of the digestive organs. It is accompanied by 
nausea, from which it derives its name, and 
is generally more violent in the front part of 
the head. Th# appetite is impaired, and there 
is a bad taste in the mouth. In the treatment of 
this ailment, in the first place, the bowels should 
be opened, but only in a mild and gentle way* 
the diet attended to, and healthy exorcise in¬ 
dulged in as much as possible. A course of 
Bru; Rkans will be found a certain cure. 


BILIOUSNESS and DIZZINESS. 

Mrs. Leaf, 10, Woollett Street,, East. India Docks Road, London, E., speak¬ 
ing to a “Weekly Budget." reporter, said: 

u Two years ago 1 begun to sutEer with attacks of bilious¬ 
ness and dizziness, particularly in the morning. Everything 
would appear to swim round and round, and sometimes on 
getting up of a morning, this swimming sensation would have 
such a bewildering effect that I would have to take hold of 
something to prevent me from falling down. My sight was 
blurred, and everything I looked at appeared to be spotted 
or partly blotted out. These attacks became mure ana more 
frequent, and I consulted a doctor. He gave mo some medi¬ 
cine, which, however, did me no good at all. By this time I 
was m bad that X was really afraid to he left alone. I was a 
sufferer from indigestion, and my food lay like a stone on my 
stomach I seemed to get no nourishment out of it,and day jl 
by day I grew weaker. After this I tried various things, but! 
nothing did me any good, until about four months ago, when 
I chanced to see an advertisement of Charles Forima Bile 
Beans for Biliousness, and decided to try them. After a few doses I began to feel better, and in a re¬ 
markably short time the dizziness entirely left me, and I couM eat and enjoy my food with no fear of 
after effects, I have never had an attack of dizziness or indigestion since, and am now as well as ever 
1 was in my life. I tell everybody that Charles Fordo s Bile Beans for Biliousness have cured me. and 
that if they have indigestion it is their own fault/’ u Yes/’ interrupted Mr. Leaf, " and you may say 
that they cured me too. I used to suffer terribly from biliousness, but the Bile Beans soon put me 
right. 1 am now entirely free from the complaint.” 

























c.v 


AD VERUSEMENTS. 




TO PREVENT INFLUENZA. 

Influenza only seizes upon those whose systems have become run down and weakened. 
Those who keep in the pink of condition snaj> their fingers at this winter scourge. 
Liver chill, colds, attacks of shivering, and similar ailments, have one common origin, namely, 
the condition of the body. When the supply of energy is adequate, the pulse vigorous, the 
digestion good, colds and chills cannot get, a hold. Once the vitality becomes lessened the 
evils just* named creep in. Chas. Fordes BILE BEANS will keep the body in the “pink of 
condition.“ They act* directly upon the liver and end that, cause of so many ailments con¬ 
stipation. They stimulate the circulation, improve the digestion, and increase the energy of 
the whole system. Women especially find them beneficial. Always remember that, preven¬ 
tion of influenza, and Its allied ailments, is better than cure, and that, experience shows no 
preventive known equal to BILE BEANS. 

-— SAMPLE BOX FREE. 


BILE BEANS euro headache, constipation, piles, liver chill, 
indigestion, flatulence, spasms, colds, influenza, dizziness, 
anaemia, debility, blood impurities, sleeplessness, female com¬ 
plaints, and a host of other ailments that owe their origin to 
defective bile flow, assimilation, and digestion. 

Of all chemists, or post free if this Magazine is mentioned, 
from the Bile Bean Manufacturing Go., 119 & 120, London 
Wall, London, E.C., on receipt of prices, 1/1 £ or 2/9. (Large 
box contains three times small size.) 


SAMPLE COUPON. 

The Proprietors wilt gladly 
send a SAMPLE BOX 

FREE to anyone writing for 

same The only conditions 
are that you fill in thf cou¬ 
pon, anti forward it with Id. 
stamp to cover postage* to the 
Rile Bean Mta! Go s. Central 
Distributing Depot Greek 
Street, Leeds, England 

Write mimr of Magazine 


Wile 
eans 


Miousnes 


r am -B uk 


Charles F orders Great Herbal kemedyfor piles, run¬ 
ning sores* cuts, burns, bruises, eczema, etc., 1 1 \ per 
box. Free sample box from the Proprietors, The Bile 
Bean Manulacturing Co., Greek Street.* Leeds, if 
Id. stamp is sent to cover return postage. 


M Zam-Buk Piles Cured, 

ristock Farm, dodging row 

NK. SITTIKOBOH R S E, K!; \T, 

To (he Bile Bean Mfg* Co. 

Sirs, 

I am glad to say the result of using g 
,h Zam-Ruk ' Ointment has been mos f 
fnciory. The Piles (for which I used it with 
Rile Read!) have quite disappeared, and I 
strongly recommend it to all sufferer'*. 

You are at liberty to publish this in i 
form you pi ease 

i oTWd* Mrs, K t'\ TlPFUSfTRft. 


ngmai tram 


















25 r er ce , nu Discount f »r Cash nr 
i+s, G<L j cr month (secuiut dumd ? 

I os. 6d, per mouth) on ihe Three 
Year* 1 J-vstem- — Lists tree uf 


BORD’S PIANOS 

C. STILES & CO., 74 and 76, Southampton Row, London, W.C. (removed from 40 and 4', 
Southampton Row). PIANOS EXCHANGED. 

BEGHSTEIN PIANOS 

System* at advantageous prices and terms,—Lists and particulars free of CHAS* S FILES & CO** 
74 and 7$ t Southampton Row, London* W.C* (removed from 40 and 42, Southampton Row). 


These magnifi¬ 
cent Pianos for 
Hire on the 
Three Years 1 


[Pro tecti o n Jrom 

Chill. 

J 

[AEGEl 

'pure WOOL Z 

__________ Em. 

R 

5_ 


for „ , 


CHRISTMAS 

PRESENTS. 

LIGHT, WARM, and BEAUTIFUL 


LONDON- 

U6 r Rexent Street t W. 
436, Si mad, W.C. 

30, Sioane Street, S. H', 
IIS, Victoria Street, S. W, 

(Six doorxtveit of A rifijr 
and A r *ry Starts,) 

9S& 86, Cbespsidr, E-C. 

•ATH- 

10, New Bond Street. 
BRIGHTON— 

S9, East Street , 


EDINBURGH — 

ft9a, Prlm;e$ Street , 

GLASGOW 

16, tluihnnan Street. 

LEEDS 

23, Commercial Street. 

LIVERPOOL— 

58, Church <vlreef, 

manchestfr 

18, A'/mr Street, 
PLYMOUTH - 

43, treorjpe Sfneer. 



A JAECltiR PRESSING-GOWN 
In Camel-hair ‘'Fleece** end Pure Wool 
Uolll*. Pattern* sent free, 


ROBINSON & CLEAVER, Ld., Belfast, 

And 184,166 & 170, RECENT ST., LONDON, W. 

tAwudtl Uratnl iJlntunn Af ftonmir, Ediutmrgti, ]*»; 

Twe Priiis HlAitsiit, ftiri*, i«f. 

CoUAfl. IjJvHiRi' frwn 3 B 

4-fnld i ll TNsr tint 
Cuff* fop «ir nirmlemeu from 

ail por doters. 


Linen 


MM Collars 


irrtftt /<w 

iff 

j \ dr. 


Guffs, & Shirts. 

shirt*. F3e» qnitll iy Loci* doth. with d-fold 
Pur* Lin ah Prwau, 3$ o fw?r itn ihniitrs 1' ntn 

Manufaeturera to His Gracious Majesty the King. 
jV.J.— To prmuent delay, off LatUr-Ordera and /nauiria 
far SempttM »hou;d be sent direet to Stfatt. 


To the Proprietors of , . 

WRIGHT’S Coal Tar Soap 

HOME FOR ORPHAN BOYS* HIRNE DAY. 

Tlre^PTMiilents: Rev. It Ilortmi, H R. urul IW. F. TV Sthrrr, 

n ,4., l.'MnUirii. iron. finriPTiti : JLTVivt?*, K*|., M fi firm, I h^rit i»t: 

K, IL JCootb, T>( . UH Hun 8re. : JO-v r rwkiwy. KoiuidaT 
aii 1 1 Hens, IMrector; .’Ur. H. W. 

XVe are using your Coal Tar 
Soap In our Marne and think very 
highly of it * A It hough our boys 
attend the public school we are kept 
free from infectious disease, we 
believe by the use of antiseptic 
*oap, 

(Aiusrsn) JY. \Y. SQUIRRELL. 












































CADBURYs Cocoa 


A Perfect Food. 

It has stood t>he 
TEST OF TIME. 

First and 
Foremost. 


Points from the Press. 


'The perfect purity of CADBURY'S 
Cocoa—a strong a point with the 
maker*—constitute* It* firm hold 
upon the public confidence, and 
the secret of it* unJvenuj 
popu lari ty.* *—HmliK 


Cadbury 


1$ COCOA and 
tihe BEST COCOA only. 


Strength, Purity, 
Nourishment. 


PEARS 


SoapmaKers 


By Roy a. I Warrants 


TO THEIR MAJESTIES 


Tke 


King and Queen. 


Original from 


ADVERTISEMENTS FOR “THE STRAND MAGAZIN1" ifaould b* addressed ADVERTISEMENT DEPARTMENT 

GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED. 7— II. SOUTWAMPTON STREET. STRAND. W.C, * 











































UNIVERSITY nc t: 



L 3 9015 05604 9508 


















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Original from 
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN